The Nico/Lorath vampire AU that's had its hooks in me for the past few days. It's some time after the big Horadrim Break Up™ but before Lorath's settled down in his cabin.
Honestly not too worried about following canon or keeping track of the timeline bc this one is more for fun.
And I am ignoring any of the lore on how Sanctuary vampires actually work. So be warned.
Chapter 1 is here. Chapter 2 is here. Chapter 3 is here. Chapter 4 is here. Chapter 5 is here.
---
“What is this?”
Elias didn’t look up from his desk. The scritch scratch of his quill moved unabated.
“You’ve been going through my things.”
Lorath tossed the journal on the floor. It fell open, loose papers scattering across the floor. Demonic runes and symbols were scrawled all over the pages.
“Elias. What the Hell is this?”
Elias tilted his head to the side and cracked his shoulder, “Hell is precisely correct, Lorath.”
Lorath clenched his fists, “You’ve been using demonic magic.”
Elias flipped a page in his journal, “I told you. It’s long past time for us to look to other powers.”
“Other pow–! Elias, the weapons of Hell are dangerous! They’re too great a risk to use.”
A thud as Elias snapped the journal closed.
“Too ‘great a risk’? Shall I follow your path then? Forever making preparations for Tyrael’s return? Don’t be such a coward, Lorath.”
“Elias, weapons of Hell cannot be used for good. You may have righteous motives now, but these weapons were made for one purpose only. You think you could use it for good, and maybe you can for a time, but it will twist you. This path can only ever lead to ruination.”
Elias rose to his feet and turned to face him. The pallor of his skin proved to Lorath that these were not just notes made in idle curiosity.
“You know as well as I the contents of Rathma’s Prophecy. You know the Lords of Hell are coming to Sanctuary. You might be content to hide away in this vault until they arrive, but I am not.”
Lorath flushed red, “If you do this, then you go against everything the Horadrim stand for.”
Elias scoffed, “Oh please, the Horadrim have always used whatever tools they had at their disposal—demonic or otherwise. Lorath, if humanity is to survive then it must adapt–”
Lorath snapped.
“Enough!”
Elias blinked, “I– Lorath?”
“I will hear no more of this. If you choose to do this—to go down this path—you’ll do it alone.”
Elias hesitated.
For a moment Lorath was filled with wild hope. Perhaps this ultimatum would be enough to shut down this insane idea. Lorath would make it up to him later, somehow. They’d talk and find a path together. Something that didn’t involve the type of demonology that would scar one’s soul.
But Elias’ face shuttered and went blank and Lorath knew he had lost him.
“Fine. I’ll make the hard choices that you’re not capable of.”
Elias brushed past him, knocking his shoulder to the side. He got to the door when–
“Your talisman.” Lorath said, unable to resist twisting the knife.
Elias paused, tall, broad shoulders framed in the doorway. He pulled the Horadric talisman off his neck—the sound of the cord snapping echoed loudly in Lorath's ears—and held it in his hand.
Lorath could not see his expression. Was there remorse? Sadness? If he had said something then, held his temper, tried to reach out with understanding, would things have turned out differently?
He would never know.
Elias’ hand caught fire, a bright unnatural flame the color of blood, and the talisman burned to ash, then fell from his hand.
He walked away and did not turn back.
---
Lorath woke up.
That was a surprise. Why was that surprising?
His head pounded in agony. Had he been drinking again?
The world took its time coming into focus.
He was in… a bed? That was strange, he expected to wake up in another pigsty.
But he hadn’t been drinking had he? He’d– He’d–
Sharp fierce pain in his neck. The world going dark.
Nico. What happened to–?
Lorath fought to open his eyes. It fought back against him.
A voice filtered in.
“Lorath?... Donan! I think he’s–”
Darkness again.
---
Tyrael sat across from him. “It is as I tried to tell you, this was not our hunt.”
Lorath, already defensive and wary, responded: “Then whose hunt is it? What good are the Horadrim if not to stop this kind of evil?”
Tyrael looked disappointed in his answer, “I founded the Horadrim to fight a far greater threat than they could ever pose.”
“What was I supposed to do? Just walk away? Leave him to suffer?”
“The Horadrim must be strong enough to endure. That was your task.”
Lorath staggered back as if struck, “I… I tried… Tyrael, I swear you to I–”
Tyrael sighed and got to his feet. He turned to leave.
“Wait. Don’t go.” Lorath tried to say, but the words remained trapped in his throat. Try as he might, he could not free them.
Instead he stood there, frozen, as Tyrael walked away.
---
Lorath woke. Again.
Ah. So he was still alive.
The pain had dimmed to a low thrum. His arm ached. His throat burned.
Water. He needed–
“Ah. Here. Drink.”
A hand slipped behind his head, tilting it forward. A cup was pressed to his lips and he was met with cool, soothing water.
“Slowly now, Lorath.”
The cup was pulled away.
This time he succeeded in opening his eyes. It took a moment for his sight to work properly but slowly Donan shifted into focus.
Wait. Donan? Where was–?
Alarm made Lorath struggle to sit up. “Ni–co. Wh–ere?” His voice was raspy.
Donan rolled his eyes, “Honestly you two… He’s fine– lie down, Lorath. He’s fine! See?”
He pointed to the figure standing in the doorway. Lorath squinted and focused.
Nico. Alive. In clothes a bit too large for him. Lorath could see his arms, not a burn or mark on him. Eyes awake and alert. Relief flooded through Lorath.
Lorath cleared his throat, “W–what happened?”
Donan raised an eyebrow, “You mean after your vampire friend almost drained you to death?”
Nico flinched.
“Not his fault,” Lorath managed to finally sit up properly, “You alright?”
“...I’m fine.” Nico said, subdued. He hovered near the doorway, looking as if wanted nothing more than to flee the room.
“You’re lucky I brought this with me to Kyovashad.” Donan reached forward and tapped on the amulet around Lorath’s neck. Lorath blinked down at it.
“Wait… isn’t this..?”
Donan nodded, “The healing talisman I found on our trip to Skovos—How many decades ago was that now?”
“Surprised you still had it on you.”
“I was going to donate it to the Cathedral.”
Lorath blinked at him, “Donate it? Why?”
Donan fell silent. Lorath caught a glimpse of a vast well of grief in his eyes. “It cannot heal everything. And I was tired of the reminder.”
“Donan..?”
Donan rose to his feet, “I’d tell you to get some rest but I know you won’t listen. Food should be ready shortly.”
Nico stepped aside to let him pass. Donan did not look at him as he left and Lorath got the impression that Donan was angry with the man. Had something happened?
Once he left Lorath took the opportunity to look over Nico again. Blood really had a miraculous healing effect on vampires. Nico looked as if he had never even been harmed. Lorath could see not a scratch on him.
But something else was wrong.
Nico lingered by the doorway as if he feared to approach.
“Nico?” Lorath asked, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Nico buried his face in his hands.
Lorath leaned forward in alarm, “Nico?”
“How can you fucking ask me that?”
Lorath faltered, “I–”
“I almost fucking killed you, Lorath.” His hands gripped his hair, “If Donan hadn’t shown up. If he hadn’t stopped me– hadn’t had that fucking amulet–”
“Nico…” Lorath trailed off.
“How can you even– fuck–” The man’s nails were digging into his scalp. Lorath worried he was going to start to hurt himself if Lorath didn’t stop this.
“Come here,” When Nico didn’t move Lorath repeated himself, “Nico. Come here.”
He took a step forward. Then another. Slowly, as if Lorath was pulling him with an invisible leash, he approached Lorath’s bedside.
Lorath reached out and laid a hand on his arm. There was an overwhelming relief to be able to touch him. To feel that he was alive and unharmed. Lorath’s fingers slid down to his wrist, where the burns had been at their worst. He was met with smooth, unmarred skin.
Nico was shaking as he lowered himself to the chair where Donan had sat. He took Lorath’s hand in his, pressed it against his cheek. Lorath finally noticed the bandages covering his own arm.
Nico traced the edges of the bandage with a fingertip, “It’s likely going to scar. Your neck too.”
Lorath shrugged, “So I’ll have another scar.”
“That’s not the fucking point, Lorath.” Nico snapped.
“I’m alive, what does it matter?”
“What does it–? It matters because I almost fucking killed you!”
“And you were only in that position because I told Prava about you.” Lorath snapped back, “Neither of us are dead yet. That’s what matters.”
“You– are so–”
“Stubborn? Bloody bull-headed? A raging arsehole?”
Nico glared at him. He looked as if he wanted to strangle Lorath, which was truthfully a far more preferable sight than seeing him so wracked with guilt.
He reached forward and took Lorath’s face in his hands. Lorath blinked in surprise at the touch. What was he–?
His hands were gentle, and he oh so carefully pulled Lorath forward.
And kissed him.
Lorath’s mind went curiously blank. He’s not sure what he had expected, but it was not this.
His treacherous hand, still on Nico’s cheek, slid up to dig into his hair. Pulled him closer.
His delirious, blood loss musing was right.
His hair was soft.
---
The three sat together at the table. Donan had made a stew. Lorath sipped at the broth, the liquid soothing his still itchy throat.
He had been unconscious for three days. The city had gone into lockdown, and knights were going door to door, looking for the escaped prisoner.
They were in the home of one of Donan’s friends (“I saved her life once. She and her wife are traveling down to Caldeum for the winter, and she has graciously allowed me the use of her home while I visit Kyovashad.”)
Lorath told them of his theory that Inquisitor Voss was the vampire they were looking for. When he described the man’s appearance, Nico recognized the description (“That’s him! The man at the tavern who tried to buy me a drink.”)
Donan had the last piece of the puzzle: “Ah, yes. The Fang of Zir. I remember reading about it in an old Vizjerei text. Zir was thought to be one of the first vampires, or possibly an ancient nephalem with powers over blood. The author was unsure. But the Fang is said to empower vampires, ‘shielding them from the Light.’”
“That must be how he’s avoided detection this long.” Lorath said. “His amulet, the one with the Cathedral's symbol, there was a fang embedded in it.”
“Wait,” Nico interrupted, “This guy walks around with it hanging from his neck? Completely visible? Doesn’t hide it or anything?”
“Hmm, he sounds arrogant.” Donan said.
“We could use that.” Lorath said.
He saw Nico open his mouth to make a comment and then falter, looking away and falling silent instead.
Lorath frowned.
He turned to Donan, “You said you once found some texts about vampires. Anything in there about a cure?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nico go still.
Donan hummed and rubbed his chin, “Well… One scholar had theorized a potential ritual that might be able to ‘cleanse tainted blood.’ But I don’t believe they ever got the chance to test it out.”
“Do you think you could get this ritual to work?” Lorath pressed.
Donan gave him a flat look, “Figure out how to cast an ancient magical ritual, that was only ever a theory, in a scroll I read in passing years ago?”
“Yes,” Lorath said, “Didn’t you use to love this sort of challenge? I seem to recall you once buying a book in a language no one could read just so you could decipher it.”
Donan grumbled, but Lorath could see the sudden fire the intellectual challenge lit in his eyes. He hasn’t changed at all, Lorath thought, yet this time the thought was tender.
“...We still need to stop this Inquisitor Voss first.” Nico said.
Donan snorted, “I assume you have a plan?” He asked Lorath.
Thinking about the different seasons in Diablo and the effects of them on the world and the Wanderer. Of course the Wanderer was fine after that mess with Lord Zir because of the seasonal mechanic, but, what if there was some lingering effect that just wasn't terribly overt?
I keep thinking about the Wanderer just accepting that they're fine after the fact. No problems, no remaining issues, everything is fine. Except, perhaps not entirely? Maybe they see a little better in the dark, and never question it. Maybe they smell blood a little more keenly, even if it isn't exactly appetising. Maybe iron rich foods are more appealing than they were previously. Nothing overt enough to make them worry about it, but perhaps some of those traits get stronger over time.
They never crave blood, they don't burn in the daylight, nothing that really echoes that ordeal in a way that's easy to identify until much later. Maybe their teeth are still a little sharper, but by comparison to proper fangs and claws, they seem normal. Little things they start to question only long after the fact, or after it's pointed out. That their teeth are a bit sharp for a human, that they navigate a bit too easily in the dark, they enjoy liver a lot more than they used to.
Just, the Wanderer with slightly vampire-adjacement traits that they reason away or do not notice. Because the sun doesn't burn, they can't turn into a flock of bats (except that's still possible and perhaps that scares the hell out of them at one point), and while blood smells stronger than it used to it's just blood and has no greater appeal. Just enough 'off' for those who are aware of vampires to be a little wary despite all the evidence that this person walks in the daylight and is still decisively human.
The Nico/Lorath vampire AU that's had its hooks in me for the past few days. It's some time after the big Horadrim Break Up™ but before Lorath's settled down in his cabin.
Honestly not too worried about following canon or keeping track of the timeline bc this one is more for fun.
And I am ignoring any of the lore on how Sanctuary vampires actually work. So be warned.
Chapter 1 is here. Chapter 2 is here. Chapter 3 is here. Chapter 4 is here.
--
Lorath stopped Donan halfway up the steps to the Cathedral.
“Donan. A word.”
Donan blinked, shocked to see him, “Lorath? Is that you–”
Lorath grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the side.
“The knights just brought in a vampire,” Lorath said, “I need you to find out where they’re holding him, without letting Prava know.”
Donan stared.
“Seriously? We haven't spoken in years and now you show up making demands? Not even a ‘Hello, Donan. How are you, Donan?’”
“There's no time, Donan!” Lorath snapped, “They're going to burn an innocent man alive.”
Donan’s brow furrowed, “They think this man is a vampire?”
“He is a vampire. But he's not the one behind the murders,” Lorath said, “We’ve been trying to find the one responsible. I think he's one of the Inquisitors.”
“We?” Donan asked, “Don’t tell me you've taken on another apprentice?”
“No,” Lorath said shortly, “Nico—the one the Knights caught—has been helping me.”
“The one who's a vampire.”
“Yes, he's a bloody vampire,” Lorath snapped, “Are you going to help me save his life or not?”
“Have you spoken to Prava about this? Explained the situation?”
People murmured and glanced over as they passed by them on the steps.
Lorath groaned, “You think she's going to listen to reason? Don't be so bloody naïve, Donan.”
Donan crossed his arms and glared, “You haven't changed one bit.” It was not a compliment.
Lorath snorted, “You're one to talk.”
Donan scoffed and pulled his arm away, turning to leave.
Lorath felt panic bubbling over: “Please.”
Donan stopped, his back to Lorath. But he didn’t leave and that was all the opening Lorath needed.
Lorath continued, desperate, “He’s innocent. He's a good man, Donan. He doesn't deserve this.”
Lorath could see the tension in his shoulders. For a moment he feared Donan would walk away.
Donan’s shoulders drooped, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, “...Fine. I'll help. But just because I don't want an innocent man’s blood on my conscience.”
---
Lorath leaned against a wall and tried not to shiver in the cold. He hated this part the most, the waiting.
Donan had discovered Nico was being held in one of the prisons beneath the Cathedral. Prava had not entirely disregarded Lorath’s words about the second vampire; she simply believed they were working together and that Nico could lead the knights to his maker.
If she had just listened to me then he could have, Lorath thought bitterly. They never bloody listen.
Lorath’s ruminations were interrupted by a cry of alarm.
“Fire! In the Cathedral! Someone get some water!”
It looked like Donan’s distraction worked: the knight guarding the side entrance to the Cathedral jerked to her feet at the cry and ran off to follow the order, trusting in the strength of the padlock to keep intruders at bay.
Her mistake.
Lorath pulled out a small rune, engraved with the arcane symbol for fire, placed it in the lock opening, and activated it. The rune glowed red and the lock melted.
Lorath would never admit it to Donan, but he was reluctantly impressed.
He pulled the melted lock open and descended into the dungeon, weapon at the ready. It was surprisingly well-lit although Lorath could see no candles. Whatever magic Inarius had infused into the stonework made the area glow with some sourceless ambient light.
Lorath expected guards, but the hallway was unsettingly empty. Had Donan’s information been wrong?
This was not the Cathedral’s usual dungeon for prisoners or law-breakers. Perhaps Prava did not trust the usual stone and metal that so easily kept humans at bay to work on a vampire.
At the end of the path, however, there was a figure in armor.
“Vigo?”
The man in question whirled around in surprise, “I– I’m not. Old man? What–?”
They stared at each other.
Lorath’s eyes narrowed, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Vigo flinched. Then rallied himself, “You’re one to talk, old man. This place is off-limits.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I– I’m a guard. I’m… guarding the prisoner.”
He had keys in his hands. Lorath raised an eyebrow, “Are you here to free the prisoner?”
“No! I– mean. I just–” He twisted the key around in his hands.
“That’s right,” Lorath said, “Nico said you met at the bar, his first night here in the city.”
Vigo stared, wide-eyed, then his gaze slid off to the side. He was quiet.
“You know.” Lorath said, “You know he’s innocent. You know he couldn’t have been behind the murders if he only arrived here a week ago.”
Vigo said weakly, “Prava– Revered Mother Prava said he had a partner. That he was working with someone.”
“He was human when you met him,” Lorath said, “Did he seem like a monster then?”
Vigo tightened his grip on the keys and remained silent.
Lorath changed tactics, “How is he? Have you seen him?”
“... no.” Vigo’s shoulders bowed, “He’s held past this door but I haven’t… The screaming…”
“What screaming?” Lorath asked, alarmed.
“I… I don’t. I think the Light was burning him. I haven’t gone in.”
“Open the door.” Lorath demanded.
Vigo hesitated.
“You know he’s not behind this. He’s been bloody helping me try to find the real killer.”
“But… The Reverend Mother…” He said weakly, “We have orders…”
Lorath snapped. “To Hell with your bloody orders! You’ll burn an innocent man alive on orders?”
When Vigo didn’t reply Lorath stepped forward and snatched the keys from his limp hands. Vigo didn’t stop him.
Lorath stomped past him and went towards the locked door.
Despite Vigo’s words, Lorath could hear no screaming. In fact there was no sound at all from beyond the door.
The silence frightened him more than if there had been screaming.
Still, he opened the door and entered.
His stomach dropped.
Nico was chained to the wall, arms up, behind his head. It looked like his shoulders had been pulled out of their sockets. He was slumped forward, head down, unmoving.
The worst was the smell. Where the chains touched him, the skin was red and still sizzling. The nauseatingly sweet, putrid aroma of burnt flesh hung in the air.
“Nico?”
There was no response.
This is your fault.
He couldn’t be dead.
Another life you’ve ruined.
No. No. No.
You told Prava. You led him right to her knights.
With shaking hands, Lorath unlocked the mantacles holding Nico upright. He slumped to the ground.
Here lie the consequences of your actions.
“Nico…?” He was pale. Unmoving.
You fail everyone who crosses your path.
No.
He would not.
Would not allow this.
Lorath drew his polearm and sliced a cut on his arm. He held it to Nico’s dry lips.
The blood dripped down.
Nico didn’t move.
“C’mon you bloody bastard. Drink. Drink!”
Lorath pressed his fingers against the wound to coat them in blood, ignoring the sting of pain, and then pressed them deep into Nico’s mouth.
“Drink the fucking blood, Nico!”
Again.
Again.
Again.
There. Had that been a twitch?
Or was that simply Lorath’s guilt, desperately hoping there was still a chance for him to fix this?
Lorath pressed the wound to Nico’s mouth.
“C’mon Nico. Please. Please.”
And then a sudden pain.
Fangs dug into his arm.
Nico’s eyes flew open, filled with red. He gripped Lorath’s arm with unnatural strength, holding him in place as he drank.
Lorath welcomed the pain. It meant Nico was alive.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
But it was not enough. Nico released his arm and pulled Lorath closer.
Fangs dug into his neck. This time there was no euphoria, no dizzying pleasure.
Only pain.
The world began to spin. Lorath felt dizzy. Light-headed.
That’s the blood loss.
“Nico… that’s enough… Nico… that’s…”
But Nico was not listening. Feral. Driven by unnatural instinct and overwhelming hunger.
He slumped over.
The world slowly went out of focus. Narrowing down to a single point.
He should… do something. Stop this.
Nico's hair looked soft. Lorath wanted to touch it, but his limbs felt too heavy to lift.
I've been wanting to write this fic for a while and Woke up in a Mood™ today
cw: sex, erectile dysfunction
---
Lorath never gave much thought to his age.
He’s aware of how his body changed over the years—aches that no longer fully went away, memories slightly hazy with the passage of time (or drink), a general weariness that weighed on him. The way his hair greyed and thinned.
But he’d never chased after some imaginary lost youth like he’d seen some men do. He’d never tried to color his hair with dyes, never tried to reclaim some lost measure of youth with reckless acts (well, he could admit he’d occasionally been reckless—but because it had been necessary at the time, not because he was trying to prove himself), never chased after a younger lover.
Well.
He’d ended up with a younger lover anyway, but Nico had pursued him, not the other way around.
Given how life in Sanctuary most often ended in violence, differences in age never quite seemed to matter in the long run.
Still, Lorath was an old man.
Perhaps something like this was inevitable.
“I’m sorry.” He said. It was slightly muffled by the arm draped over his face. Humiliation crawled up his spine and he could not bring himself to look at Nico—terrified of seeing disappointment or pity in his gaze.
He felt Nico gently press a smattering of kisses against his chest, “For what?”
Was he really going to force Lorath to say it aloud?
Nico cupped his hip, thumb gently stroking the skin there. His kisses led him to Lorath’s nipple, which he gently took between his teeth, making Lorath hiss out a breath.
“For…” He trailed off.
Nico hummed. He continued his kisses down the line of his chest, scraping his teeth against the side of his ribs, “For… making me come? Giving me a mindblowing orgasm?”
Lorath grit his teeth, “For not being able to fuck you into the bed.”
There. It was out.
As much as he wanted to (and Hells, did he want to) his body refused to cooperate.
His cock remained stubbornly soft.
Nico just hummed in response. He pressed long, lingering kisses against Lorath’s stomach, interspaced with occasional nips that made Lorath’s breathing falter.
Did Nico think with enough time and patience, Lorath would get hard? What, that Lorath wasn’t trying enough?
“It’s not going to bloody work,” he snapped, suddenly filled with frustrated fury. He rose up on his elbows to glare at Nico.
Better to just stop this now, let Lorath flee and lick his wounds in peace, wait for this abject humiliation to pass.
Nico met his eyes calmly. Despite Lorath’s earlier fear, he could see no disappointment in his gaze. Just the same familiar warm mix of affection and arousal.
“Does this feel good?” He asked.
“I’m not going to be able to get hard.” Lorath admitted.
Nico bit his thigh, making Lorath gasp and arch up, “That’s not what I asked. Does this feel good?”
Lorath flopped back down onto the bed.
“...yes.” He admitted.
Nico soothed the bite with his tongue, “Do you want me to stop?”
A longer pause. Nico waited, unmoving as Lorath thought.
“...no.” He admitted.
“I’m glad. Me neither.”
He took Lorath’s soft cock into his mouth. Lorath’s eyes fluttered shut.
He could feel Nico gently suck, carefully flicking his tongue against the tip of his cock. He flattened his tongue against the underside—Lorath groaned—before sinking in deeper and taking the whole of it into his mouth.
Lorath could feel Nico’s lips brushing against the hair at his groin. His hands fisted the bedsheets underneath him.
Nico pulled back, “Oohhh, I could do this all day.” His voice was rough, dazed with arousal.
Lorath’s legs twitched, “Yeah?”
“Yessss,” Nico hissed, he pressed another kiss to Lorath’s thigh, “I’ve dreamed of this.”
“Hmm?” Lorath asked, wordlessly.
“You. At your desk. Working or reading,” Nico pressed Lorath’s soft cock up against his stomach and then licked a long stripe up against it with his tongue, “Me underneath it.”
Lorath arched up, “S-sucking me off?”
“Sometimes. But sometimes I just… keep you in my mouth,” Nico took him back into his mouth and hummed, the vibrations pulling a breathy moan out of Lorath, before retreating again, “For hours.”
“Fuck.” Lorath gasped.
“While you write,” He took a hold of Lorath’s thighs, gently stroking his thumb down the soft skin on the inside as he pulled them further open, “While you read. Just… keeping you warm on those cold winter nights.”
Lorath whimpered.
Nico took him in his mouth again. Lorath writhed on the bed.
He pulled back again, driving Lorath crazy, “You. Trying to work. Getting into a rhythm. And then–” He swallowed up Lorath’s soft cock again.
Lorath whined, “A-and then… You—fuck, ah—dis-distract me. And I-I have to—fuck—start all over– over again.”
“Yes,” Nico hissed, “Fuck, I can take you in my mouth so easily like this, Lorath.”
“You could—fuck–fuck–ahhh—c-could keep me warm all– all d-day like this.”
Nico took him down to the root once more, hands digging into his arse to pull him closer. He hummed again and Lorath–
Lorath–
“Ah, fuck. Nico– Nico– Ni– ah, fuck. Please.”
Hardness or not, the pleasure rose, overwhelming in its intensity. Orgasm creeping steadily closer.
Lorath’s hand tangled in Nico’s hair, keeping him in place. He knew he was pulling and that it would hurt—but equally that Nico loved it.
Sure enough he could see Nico’s hips grinding down against the bed, could feel the way he moaned around Lorath’s cock—pulling a choked gasp from him.
His legs trembled, his hip arched up, his head pressed back down against the bed. Even when the sensation turned overwhelming, his cock oversensitive from orgasm, Nico continued to suck, leaving Lorath a whimpering mess.
Slowly, he pulled away.
Lorath tried to catch his breath. To remember what it was like to be a person again.
Well.
It seemed an orgasm was still possible.
Good to know.
Nico lazily kissed back up his chest.
Lorath pulled him up to reach his mouth, kissing him with a fervour to express all he struggled to say.
They pressed their foreheads together, their breathing slowly syncing up. Nico’s eyes were so green, so beautiful.
Wait. Hadn’t Nico–?
Lorath reached down and wrapped a hand around Nico’s cock. Hard again.
“The joys of youth,” Lorath teased, loving the way it made Nico snort with laughter, the way his nose crinkled up in amusement.
“It’s your fault,” Nico tried to snap back. The effect was somewhat marred by the fact that he couldn’t stop smiling, “Maybe you should try to be less enticing.”
Lorath had never thought of himself as particularly enticing, truth be told.
It took only a few strokes for Nico to come again for the second time that evening.
Lorath watched his expression through it, the way his eyes grew hazy, the way his mouth softened and fell open, the way his name sounded so much better when it came out of Nico’s gasping mouth.
Lorath pressed a kiss to Nico’s cheek, to his lips, and pulled him into his arms.
They lay there together in comfort as sleep gently found them.
Earlier I did the math of travel times within Sanctuary, mostly from Westmarch to Kyovashad, based on the information that it took 7-8 days from Kingsport to Skovos on a continuous journey without breaks (from "The Lost Horadrim")
When it comes to sailing, there are two modes for sailing:
Open-sea sailing, where there is a day and night crew that mans the ship for 24 hours, so they don't dock often.
Costal / Day sailing, where the ship stops every night so the crew can rest, which will double the time it takes to cover the distance.
There is the third option when it comes to the route of Kingsport to Gea Kul or Kurast, where it's most likely to find a trading ship to take you, which means they might make several stops, most definitely at Lut Gholein for supplies and trade, and extend the travel time by a bit. But they will also most likely travel continuously as you want to transport goods as fast as possible for better profit.
So overall, it would take from three weeks to a month to travel between Kingsport and Kurast, assuming favorable conditions and no pirates or other disasters at sea.
When it comes to horseback riding, there are two modes of travel:
Traveling with your own horse, where you can travel for 8-10 hours a day and let the horse rest in between. This will take about 30 days to cover the same distance as the ship does in a week.
Traveling with a fresh horse - this means you will take a new horse every town and can travel continuously with a rested mount. However this is usually reserved for high ranking officials and couriers, so regular people might not be able to afford it or most places wouldn't provide it to them. It would take around 15-17 days with this method.
So overall I put that travel time to 20 days, in ideal conditions and without consideration for the roads, just to make the math easier.
Which means traveling from Westmarch to Kyovashad with this route will take about 3.5-4 months, and even 5 months if you pick . And with these two measurements, you guys can calculate the travel times to any point of Sanctuary for all your story needs 💙
The Nico/Lorath vampire AU that's had its hooks in me for the past few days. It's some time after the big Horadrim Break Up™ but before Lorath's settled down in his cabin.
Honestly not too worried about following canon or keeping track of the timeline bc this one is more for fun.
And I am ignoring any of the lore on how Sanctuary vampires actually work. So be warned.
Chapter 1 is here. Chapter 2 is here. Chapter 3 is here.
---
Lorath was tense when he emerged—with his vampire senses, Lorath had no doubt he was fully aware of what had transpired—but to his relief, Nico made no comment and Lorath gradually relaxed.
There was something else bothering Lorath. Some strange, niggling detail his mind kept circling back around to.
If this other vampire was connected to the Cathedral—enough to know of an investigation before it being made public—then how had he avoided detection thus far? How had he managed to either avoid sunlight and not draw suspicion? Prava was no fool. She’d notice if one of her priests began avoiding morning mass.
Lorath groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. There was something… some text he read once about vampires but to his frustration, the memory of it eluded him.
Think, old man, think.
The thought came unbidden: Donan would remember.
“Lorath.” Nico said. It sounded like he’d been calling his name for a while.
“What,” Lorath said flatly.
“You should get some rest too. It’s going to be a long night.”
“I don’t need rest, I need to figure out how this bloody vampire has avoided detection for so long,” Lorath said.
Lorath thought the man was going to continue to insist and was preparing himself for an argument but instead–
“How do you know so much about all this anyway?” Nico asked instead. He leaned against the edge of the desk.
Lorath sighed.
He pulled his talisman off, holding it in his hand, “This is the mark of the Horadrim. An ancient order of scholars and mages, sworn to protect Sanctuary from demons, or all manner of evil.”
Nico reached out, brushed a finger against the edge of the talisman, “And you’re one of these Horadrim?”
“Aye...Though these days, we are few in number.”
“Are you the only one left?” Nico asked softly.
“No. There is another Horadrim. Donan. And… Elias.”
“Elias?” Nico asked.
“He is—was—my apprentice,” Lorath rubbed at the talisman in his hand with his thumb.
“Did he…?”
“No. He’s still alive, I just… couldn’t give him what he was looking for,” Lorath sighed, “He left. Went to find his own path. Haven’t heard from him since.”
Nico hummed, “And you?”
“What about me?”
“What are you looking for, Lorath?” He asked.
Lorath… didn’t know.
Once he’d wanted to be a hero like the Horadrim of old. He thought he could make a difference in Sanctuary. Help people. Stand against the darkness with allies at his side. But then came Malthael and his Reapers. Westmarch. All the dead.
And even with Malthael’s defeat, the slaughter he left in his wake rippled across Sanctuary. It seemed that for every life they saved, another three would die. Every demon they had repelled, another caused havoc elsewhere. Warlords and tyrants and monsters reigned. There was no holding back the darkness.
What was he looking for? Why was he wandering Sanctuary, carrying around this amulet as if it still had meaning?
“What about you?” Lorath asked, “Why stay here in Kyovashad where you are in such danger?”
“I want to find the man who did this to me. I want to stop him before he kills anyone else.”
“Vengeance?” Lorath wouldn’t blame him.
“...I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t a part of it. But…” He looked down at his hands, “Vengeance won’t make me human again, will it?”
There was a long pause.
“Do you–” Nico cut himself off, biting his lip.
“Do I know a cure?” Lorath asked.
Nico looked at him. Lorath hated to dim the hope in his eyes.
“I’ve never heard of one,” Lorath said, “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t out there somewhere. Sanctuary is a big place, with many hidden secrets.”
“Would you come to Scosglen with me?”
Lorath blinked, “What?”
“I mean,” Nico’s hands twitched, “Once we stop this vampire—other vampire—I don’t know where you intend to go next but… Would you come with me to Scosglen? For a little while?”
“You mentioned you were from Scosglen. You intend to go home then?” Lorath asked.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay. Now that I’m… like this. But I need to at least tell my sister. I won’t just… disappear without a word.”
“And afterwards?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to figure something out. But I would appreciate the company. If you’re willing?”
“...I can do that, aye.” Lorath said. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, “Maybe you’re right. I should get some rest.”
He pinned the talisman back and laid down on the bed. He was not sure if he would manage sleep—rest did not come easily to him most days—but he would at least try.
---
Lorath woke to a touch on his shoulder and a voice calling his name.
“Lorath, it's time. The sun’s already set.”
He threw back the blanket—had Nico covered him with it?—and rose, “What are we waiting for, let's go.”
“Do you feel him? Do you know where he is?” Lorath asked.
“Yes.” Nico said, “He’s that direction. I feel his anticipation. He’s waiting for something. He’s… excited?”
Well that was ominous.
“Lead the way then.”
They set off into the night with their hoods drawn. They avoided the patrolling knights as best they could while following the pull of Nico’s bond. Slowly it became clear it was pulling them toward the Cathedral.
“Well, I guess your theory about him being a member of the church was right,” Nico said, “But, I don’t understand how. When I approached it was… difficult. Made my skin itch. Like standing too close to a fire. ”
“The Cathedral is built on sanctified holy ground,” Lorath said, “Inarius may be an arse, but he’s still an angel. It repels demonic and dark forces.”
“So… how is this vampire not being repelled?”
Lorath frowned, “I’m not sure. A spell perhaps? An artifact that shields him from its effects?”
“Is that why the knights haven’t found him? Does it protect–”
Nico froze, his arm shooting out to stop Lorath in place.
“What? What is it?” asked Lorath.
“Something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean something’s wrong?”
“He feels too… smug. Too satisfied,” Nico said. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, as if straining to hear.
His eyes snapped open.
“It’s a trap.”
“What?” Lorath hissed.
“The knights. I can hear them. They’re surrounding us.”
“Hells,” Lorath made to draw his polearm but Nico grabbed his arm.
“I’m going to lead them away.”
“Nico–”
“I’ll be fine. I’m fast. I’ll draw their attention and lead them away. I’ll find you after. Meet me near the Cathedral.”
Nico squeezed his shoulder briefly, then took off. He heard a metal crash—had Nico knocked a knight over?—and shouts of alarm. Lorath ducked around the corner just in time to avoid a pair of knights running past, called by the noise.
Dammit. He’d been so caught up in making use of Nico’s bond with the vampire that he forgot a simple fact: the bond worked both ways.
He needed to get to the Cathedral. He needed to stop this vampire. He had to trust that Nico would manage to lose the knights.
He moved quickly through the streets, no longer worried about stealth. When he could see the courtyard, he stayed out of sight, waiting for Nico to join him.
And waited.
Dammit, he would go in alone then.
He paused as he saw a figure descend halfway down the Cathedral steps and then stop. It seemed as if he was waiting for someone. It took a moment but Lorath recognized the man: this was the Inquisitor that Prava had wanted him to work with, Voss. Something about his appearance unsettled Lorath.
He followed the man’s gaze.
It gave him a clear sight of the knights’ triumphant return, dragging a bound and bleeding Nico behind them.
---
It was all over the city: the vampire had been caught and would burn in two days' time.
Lorath supposed he should be grateful for Prava’s dramatics. She wanted to cement the Cathedral’s authority and reassure people’s faith in the Knights Penitent by making a spectacle of it. Lorath did not complain, it would give him time to save Nico.
First, he would need to find out where they were holding him. The Cathedral likely had its own prison cells, but Lorath wasn’t sure where the entrance was located. But Vigo might know.
Then he would need to find that Inquisitor Voss. He had no proof, other than the fact the man unsettled him, but Lorath knew he was the vampire they were looking for. There was something about the way he had descended the steps at the exact moment the knights arrived, the way he had already known which direction Nico was coming from, the satisfaction Lorath could read in his posture.
It was him, Lorath was certain of it.
Lorath would wait until Prava’s sermon was already underway before slipping inside, to avoid drawing her attention. Then he would find Vigo and find out where Nico was being held. Then together they’d find and stop Voss. Somehow.
But outside the Cathedral steps, something else caught his eye.
Or rather, someone else.
Because there, climbing up the long Cathedral steps, was Donan.
Ooh, thank you for the prompts! I decided to do both.
Home Made Soup
Fat sizzles in the pot as he scoops the last of the cooked bacon up the side. Rendered down to add a little richness back into the lean venison now browning in the bottom of the pot. A little more fat to help ward off the ever present chill of the mountains. It’d help keep the meat tender, make the stew a little more filling. It was a trick his father had used when things were a bit lean in the coldest months, whether they really needed it or not, and Lorath puts it to the same use. Especially now, when he does need it against the unforgiving weather.
The vegetables he has on hand go into the pot, filling his little cabin with the comforting scents of onions and garlic frying in bacon fat. They’ll melt into the stew as it cooks down, even if he lets them brown and crisp a little now. Half a bottle of wine floods the bottom of the pot, stopping the sizzling in an instant. It isn’t particularly good, but it’ll round out the thin broth made from the last of the good bones.
He hasn’t any good beef bones to cook down for it, not like the Wolf City Tavern seemed to always have on hand back when he was young. It’d muted down the gamy flavour of the venison, softened it for those folk who didn’t care for the taste to be so pronounced. Further softened with sun dried tomatoes, usually well kept in a flavourful oil that might have been a bit wasted in the pot with so many other strong flavours. It had made for a damn fine stew in cold weather anyway. Though, Lorath hadn’t ever had any complaint about the taste of fresh venison. His father had never had any complaints about the taste of fresh game either, and had tended to make broth with the bones of what was available even if he could have afforded more variety.
That practicality was something Lorath hadn’t been able to leave aside even in his more rebellious moments. Now, it was serving him particularly well. Making the most of what he had, thickening the soup with a few extra potatoes diced small, and adding some sweet winter squash in place of carrots he simply did not have.
The occasional substitution varied the flavour of the stew nearly every time he made it. Bacon was one of the few things he could usually manage, rarely did he use oil for that purpose. Occasionally he had no extra fat with which to cook things, and the stew would end up a little less filling. With the onion and garlic thrown in with whatever else he had at the same time. Dried herbs cooking down with everything else when he had them, whether he’d foraged and dried them himself, or bartered with the herbalist in the city.
Lorath rolls his shoulders and settles himself on the stool by the fire to mind both it and his slowly cooking supper. Feet eased out towards the raised stone bed of the hearth to warm through his boots. The remainder of the wine bottle held idle in one hand. It really is better suited for cooking than drinking, but he takes a long pull from the bottle anyway. There wasn’t enough left to do much with, he reasoned to himself, and it’d be a shame to waste it even if it wasn’t particularly good. A little weak, really, but better than than vinegar. It wasn’t too harsh. Perhaps it’d have been better if it were, he thinks. Turning the bottle again and feeling the weight of the remaining wine shift. A rolling tide of red that makes him sigh and bring the bottle back to his lips rather than think on it.
Between the herbs, bacon fat, and tender venison, the wine disappears nicely into the stew. Blending into a fuller flavour that the bottle alone has sorely lacked. That the thin bone broth had also lacked. It isn’t as rich and hearty as the Wolf City Tavern’s fare. Isn’t the same as what his father would have made. It’s good enough, more than pleasant considering everything. Most importantly, however, it’s more than enough to see him warmed through and comfortably full for the evening.
It’d keep the chill away for the night even if it couldn’t guarantee restful sleep.
Autumn Ale
The sharpest change of weather has yet to bloom, but already the city is alive with the preparations for the last harvest of the season. People hurrying about as the air changes, chill in the evening and crisp from morning until well after noon, with the last lingering warmth of summer fading away like smoke on the breeze. Beyond the city walls the leaves glitter in myriad hues of red and gold, all those that will be bare come the winter shine in their late season livery. Fairly glowing in the sun like a horizon aflame, bright banners heralding the end of the harvest season to every mortal eye. All while those that will remain green stand sombre and stately in their unchanging coats of verdant shade.
A chill breeze sweeps down the crowded thoroughfare, carrying the change in the air to the people out in their daily activity. Stinging in noses with the fragrant turn of Autumn, all its shades of late season fruit and sweet leaf rot held aloft in the cold. It doesn’t enter as easily into the tavern. Swirling briefly at the door like an indecisive guest before whipping back out into the open corridors of Westmarch’s streets. Leaving behind that whisper of cool suggestion that makes those seated closest to the door hunch their shoulders in defence.
Lorath sits nearer the bar than the door, a freshly filled mug in his hand. This year’s late season brew is as good as any other has been in his young life. Richer than the pale summer brews, with its welcoming dark brown hue and creamy head. In the tankard he can’t pick out the fine glints of ruby colour that would flash when held up to a candle or the sun. Tiny fragments of jewel toned light that slipped back into mahogany and then deep chestnut when poured into a fine glass.
At the bar, older men argue about those purported colours and how they can taste the differences in them. Some have refined enough pallets to mean what they say. Those few are notably less boisterous than those who insist they can taste the telling differences in the hue of the ale. Lorath’s own pallet isn’t quite so well honed yet, but he can tell who’s talking out of his arse, and who’s just winding others up for a pointless argument. Who’s just having a good natured, if loud, discussion about the almost fruity notes of the late season ale that suits the cooling weather.
Those half drunk declarations about nuance and the fruitier notes of the late season Autumn ale are mostly nonsense. Joyfully inebriated noise intended to stoke argument from those too serious about it, or agreement from those in on the joke. All in pursuit of yet more pointless noise in the din of conversation. Like a cresting wave, the noise rises and then recedes with the barkeep’s intervention. A polite reminder that if they want a row, they can step outside to shout and see how well the Rakkisguard takes to their foolishness.
Nonsense or not, it does make Lorath think a little harder about the ale in his own mug. Considering if he can pick out the individual flavours in it, if the colour is really a reliable indication or not.
That rich colour lends itself well to malty sweetness, but it’s hardly fruity by any definition. The flavour has a pronounced nuttiness to it. Lingering with an almost roasted finish when the sweetness fades. It’s warm and rich on his tongue, not nearly as heavy as the winter brews that will come with the frost after the harvest. Not nearly as thick and sweet as the good port he’s had the pleasant fortune to taste. The laughter and posturing jests rise again, easily covering the quietly pleased sound Lorath makes. That soft, groaning sigh elicited by a good ale swallowed up in the rest of the noise and unnoticed by anyone.
Contemplation of the complexities of flavour aside, it is a truly enjoyable seasonal brew. The mild warmth in his belly won’t spread as quickly as it might have with a strong wine. The door of the tavern opens again, swirling another reminder of the changing season through the warmth of the room while Lorath finishes off his ale. Tipping his head back to fully enjoy the last sweet pull of it contrasted with the cool breeze against his throat. Savouring the malt sweetness that clings in his mouth and throat, how that same fragrance lingers in his nose even after he’s set the mug aside. Leaving him with a deeply satisfying memory of it even when the mug is empty and he’s stepped back out into the crisp Autumn air, with the scent of woodsmoke and damp leaves on the breeze.
It’s one memory of many, a pleasant echo that isn’t always answered in kind.
Ale is a rare thing in the Fractured Peaks even when he has the money to spend, and it’s never as good as what he remembers from Westmarch. Lorath doesn’t really mean to think about it. Like looking back over his shoulder down a road he knows won’t show him the place he left behind. He doesn’t think about it often, or he thinks he shouldn’t dwell on it, perhaps that is a better way to phrase it. It lends to a specific flavour of melancholy he doesn’t know what to do with.
Not when that vaguely wistful notion inclines him to the hazy pleasantry of memories he fears will be stained with the bruises of a road poorly travelled. It brushes past him with the biting of the wind outside. And perhaps, he thinks, it is the cold wind whistling past the door that stirs the memory more than the ale in his mug now.
The rich dark ale had been brought up from somewhere nearer Kehjistan, and Lorath hadn’t paid too much attention to what the barkeep had been saying about it. Something about the caravan coming through unscathed, and perhaps it was nice to hear of someone having some decent luck for a change. He was benefitting from it all the same.
Lorath tips his mug gently, watching how the firelight plays over the foam like a flash of golden Autumn sun. Reflecting warm shades of the season where the landscape didn’t. The familiar malty tone of it lends a sweetness he can’t help but enjoy, taking in that familiar comfort despite himself, and finding some pleasure in the notes of warm spices that build over it. Warming the nose of the ale against the cold. Complimenting the lingering woodsmoke that perfumes the whole of the tavern no matter how many times the door opens.
Admittedly, the spices are a little heavy handed. Perhaps intentionally so to stand up against the frigid environ the ale was shipping to. It is pleasing all the same. Certainly welcome against the bitter cold, Lorath thinks to himself. It’s remarkably popular amongst the locals, and he hasn’t a single thing to say against it.
Lorath tips his head back as he finishes the last long pull of his ale, and idly wonders how well he’d pick out the notes of a Westmarch Autumn brew now. Perhaps better, for age and experience to have refined his pallet somewhat. Perhaps worse for the same, dulled by indifference or...Hm. He pulls up his hood as he leaves. The warm, richly spiced flavour still lingering in his throat as the wind howls down the streets of Kyovashad like a petulant child. The edge of melancholy doesn’t quite set against him with the warmth in his veins, it might bite deep in the morning, but for the moment he lets the firelight gleam of Autumn stick in his mind. Red and gold over Kehjistani ale rather than leaves in the trees.
Still struggling with writer’s block and a completely shot ability to focus, despite having a multitude of ideas. (And the new problem of an additional Diablo OC other than Jason who’s down bad for the old man.)
So, working on that other OC and his backstory since that’s all I can really focus on at the moment. Might post a little about him later if I can get anything coherent down.
I have maybe three separate post-LoH pieces I’m working on that are canon compliant. All of them are going to be sad regardless of when they’re finished, because I need that catharsis almost as much as my sorcerer does.
The one truly not canon-compliant story I have going is a result of everything that happened in Diablo’s 14 season event, and some paraphrased commentary Tyrael had about Pandemonium in Storm of Light. About half of that is an excuse to bully my sorcerer a bit more, dropping him through one of the Rupture tears back to Westmarch approximately fifty years ago for a short time. Nowhere near long enough to have any kind of real impact on the events of Reaper of Souls, but maybe long enough to make a couple of impressions and question his own sanity after the fact.
I have a kind of rough outline of all of them, but no ability to focus long enough to do anything with any of them.
Trying to focus on writing but every time I open a document or my notebook to do that, suddenly I have no comprehension of language or ability to visualise a single bloody thing. Why.
The Nico/Lorath vampire AU that's had its hooks in me for the past few days. Its some time after the big Horadrim Break Up™ but before Lorath's settled down in his cabin.
Honestly not too worried about following canon or keeping track of the timeline bc this one is more for fun.
And I am ignoring any of the lore on how Sanctuary vampires actually work. So be warned.
Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here.
----
Lorath woke up feeling disoriented the next morning.
He had hazy dreams of being pressed up against a wall, of lips brushing against his neck, of gently rocking down against a firm leg that had slotted itself between his. Lorath, caught between fear and desire, unsure if he wanted to push the figure away or pull him closer.
He rubbed his eyes and resolutely ignored his morning erection. It had been some time since he had been physically close to someone. That’s all it was.
More importantly, there was something he was missing. Some detail that didn’t fit with what he saw last night. The man he saw last night, who was struggling against his very nature, didn’t strike him as a murderer.
…He needed to talk to that young girl, Sara, again.
---
Prava had kept her word about mobilizing the Knights.
On his way to the Cathedral, Lorath saw them out in force, passing through every shaded alleyway, knocking on doors and demanding to be allowed in to check people’s cellars or basements.
Lorath felt a stitch of anxiety as he climbed the Cathedral steps. Dammit, he should have waited for confirmation before telling Prava anything. But the anger had made him reckless.
Prava was busy giving a sermon, the pews full of desperate, frightened people, but Lorath had no patience to wait. He caught sight of the Knight from before, Vigo, and made a beeline for him.
“Vigo. I need a word.”
“The Reverend Mother is in the middle of a sermon, old man. Can’t it wait?” Vigo whispered harshly.
“No,” Lorath said, not bothering to lower his voice, “The girl from yesterday, Sara, where is she? I need to talk to her.”
“Ask the Reverend Mother. After the sermon,” Vigo whispered.
“Either you lead me to her, or I start searching for her myself. Which option do you think will be more disruptive to Prava?” Lorath asked.
People in the back pews were starting to turn their heads and stare.
Vigo groaned, glancing around and then led him out of the Cathedral, “There’s an orphanage that's sponsored by the Church. It’s not far. It’s that building right over there. Go find her yourself.”
---
Sara caught sight of him first as he approached.
“Mister Lorath!” She ran up to him. She looked better. There was a rosiness to her cheeks that was missing last night and she had on some warmer clothes.
“Hello Sara. How are you?” he asked.
“They gave me a coat,” she twirled to show it off, “And food!”
“Good, good,” Lorath replied, at least Prava kept her word on this, “Sara, can I ask you some questions about yesterday?”
She blinked up at him, “...okay.”
“What do you remember about last night, before I found you?”
“Hmm. I remember feeling cold. And sleepy. I laid down for just a little bit. Then I think someone was shaking me? I thought… For a moment I thought it was my papa trying to wake me up. Then you showed up and I saw the man with the strange face,” she said, “And that’s it. Does that help?”
“Yes, Sara, thank you. That helps. You should go back inside where it’s warm.” Lorath replied.
Well shit.
It sounded like the man had just been trying to save this girl’s life. If she had fallen asleep outside, then the cold likely would have killed her in the night. If the man had not been trying to attack her then…
Lorath recalled the rats in his hideout. He’d thought nothing of it at the time (beyond conclusive proof that he’d found the right place) but… if the vampire had been feeding on humans, then why kill rats too? Unless…
There were two of them.
One, the murderer Lorath was looking for. The other—the man Lorath met last night who let him go, who tried to save a young girl from exposure, who fed on rats to avoid feeding on humans— innocent.
And Lorath had just thrown him to the wolves.
---
He needed to find this man. Before the Knights did.
He’d tried to corner Prava after the sermon and get her to call off the Knights Penitent, explaining his theory about the two vampires—one, the killer; the other, innocent—but she’d brushed him off.
Any creature that burns in Father Inarius’ Light is a monster that must be purged from Sanctuary. You’ve done your duty, Lorath Nahr, now the Knights Penitent will handle the rest.
Dammit, he should have waited! Should have known the Church was going to turn to excessive force. Lorath raged at himself. But still, at least he never told them about the man’s hideout. There was still a chance to save him.
Lorath did not go there directly. Prava was no fool. She would send Knights to follow him. Instead he took winding paths through the streets. Once he was sure he’d lost his tail, he went to the burned down tavern. It didn’t look like the Knights had found it yet.
He pulled back the broken table and opened the hatch. He took a deep breath, please, let me have arrived in time, and descended down the ladder.
At the bottom of the cellar he turned around, lighting a flame in his hand for light.
The man was standing in the middle of the room, watching him. He had his daggers drawn, ready for a fight. It was not lost on Lorath that the man could have attacked him at point as he was descending. Yet he did not.
“You again,” He said flatly when he saw Lorath.
“Me again,” replied Lorath.
The man studied him, then gave a frustrated sigh and sheathed his daggers, “Listen. I wasn’t trying to hurt the girl. She was going to freeze to death, I was only trying–”
“I know,” Lorath interrupted, “And I know you’re not behind the other killings either.”
The man stared wide-eyed at him. For a moment he looked hopeful, before his face went blank once again, “Let me guess. You believe me and if I turn myself in to the Church, then you can help me?”
“I do believe you’re innocent. But I’m not with the Church,” Lorath said, “I’m here to help.”
The man still looked like he wanted to bolt, glancing behind him at the ladder leading out. Except where would he go? It was daylight outside.
Lorath held out his hand, “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” Please, he thought, please just trust me.
There was a pause and the man studied Lorath’s eyes. Lorath wasn’t sure what he saw in them, but whatever it was made the man sigh and his shoulders slump.
“I really hope I don’t regret this,” he said, and he took Lorath’s hand.
---
Lorath covered the man with his cloak to shield him from the sun and led him to the inn he was staying at. They took side streets behind houses and avoided the Knights.
Once inside, Lorath pulled the curtains firmly shut. They would need to lie low until sundown. Meanwhile, Lorath needed some answers.
The man watched him warily as Lorath lit some candles to provide at least some light. He purposefully placed his polearm against the wall, out of his hands.
“So,” Lorath said. The room he had rented was small, really only containing a bed, a small desk with a chair, a small basin with water for washing up, and a bathroom off to the side. The man sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Lorath leaned against the desk across from him and resolutely refused to think about the dream he had the night before.
“So,” he cleared his throat and started again, “Tell me your story. Who are you? How long have you been a vampire?”
The man took a deep breath, “My name is Nico. I’ve been a vampire for… a week now? Maybe a bit more? It’s been hard to keep track of the days… I’m a hunter from Scosglen. I mean, I was born in Caldeum but– sorry, that’s not important. I came to Kyovashad as part of an escort in a merchant caravan. I just.. I’d never been this far east, I wanted to see it. I figured I could see the sights, get to know the people…
“It happened my first night here. I hadn’t even found an inn to stay at yet. I stopped at a bar, I don’t… I don’t remember the name. I was only going to get a drink to warm up a bit. I stayed and talked with a few people.”
Lorath interrupted, “Do you remember any names?”
Nico bit his lip, Lorath could see an elongated fang peeking out, “I remember playing cards with a few off duty knights. There was a woman named Elaine, some guy called Vigo—he was friendly—Markus, and… Jon? I think that were their names.”
Lorath nodded, “Did anything else stand out? Anyone who might have been watching you?”
“There was another man who tried to buy me a drink. I didn’t really catch his name. He kept his hood up. I think he wanted… well, sex. But I wasn’t really looking for anything that night. I turned him down and I think he left soon after?”
“Do you remember what happened after you left the bar?”
Nico rubbed his hands over his face, “I think one of them mentioned an inn. I was heading in that direction when… when…” He took a breath, pressed his fingertips against his brow, “Someone called out to me from the alleyway. Knew my name? When I stopped he moved… fast. Incredibly fast– grabbed me and– and– dragged me into…”
Lorath straightened up, trying to find the words to reassure Nico, but it wasn’t necessary. Nico closed his eyes and slowed and deepened his breathing. His hands relaxed at his sides.
Interesting, Lorath thought, he knows meditation techniques.
After a few moments Nico opened his eyes again, “I woke up again hours later. My head was pounding. Everything sounded so… loud. I could hear a woman complaining about her husband coming home late, even though there was no one else in the alleyway with me. I could hear footsteps, people walking multiple streets over.”
He paused, swallowed, “And the hunger.”
Nico closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Lorath could see the long line of his throat. “I’ve known starvation. I’ve lived in Scosglen since the Days of Ash. It’s recovering—now—but there were long months with very little to eat, and many mouths to feed. This… this was worse. Worse because an end to the hunger was right there, all around me, and all I had to do was reach out and take it.”
Lorath cleared his throat, “...and did you?”
Nico opened his eyes and met Lorath’s, “...He got lucky. Or… I got lucky. There was a man in the alleyway across mine. He was drunk. Passed out. I could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. I could practically see the blood rushing just under his skin,” He swallowed, “But there was light. Sunlight. The first rays of dawn. It burned me when I tried to cross. Not enough to kill me obviously but the pain was enough to snap me awake.”
Nico lowered his eyes, “I followed the instinct. Grabbed a rat instead. Managed to get away. Found that burned out tavern.”
Lorath stared. The fact that this man—freshly turned—still managed the self-control to avoid harming anyone was… incredible.
Lorath asked, “What about Benji? The man whose body was found on the Cathedral steps. You were asking about him.”
Nico nodded, “Sometimes I get… I don’t know how to describe it. Visions? Glimpses? It’s like I can sometimes… see, or hear the thoughts of the one who made me. He’s been… angry. Frustrated. I saw the man—Benji?—I saw a vision of where he hid the body. I found it. Left it out for the knights. Hoped they’d find him.”
Lorath furrowed his brow, “Do you know who he is? Can you feel him right now?”
Nico shook his head, “I’ve been trying to find him. To find out who he is. But… It's hard. I can feel him sometimes, like an itch in the back of my neck.”
Lorath scratched his beard. “I suspect this man turned you as a scapegoat. You said you arrived in town around a week ago? The disappearances started long before that. The Knights were already investigating, although they kept it under wraps. Perhaps your maker turned you, expecting you to go on a feral rampage. The Knights would then catch you, kill you, and the investigation would stop. Case closed. He didn’t count on your morals, or incredible self-control.”
Nico blinked at the compliment. Then he frowned, “Wait, you said the Knights were keeping their investigation a secret. Then…”
Lorath nodded, “Then how would this maker know about their investigation? It stands to reason he has to be a member of the church.”
Nico stared, wide-eyed.
“Right,” Lorath stood and rolled his shoulders, ”Get some rest while you can. Tonight we’ll see if we can’t use this bond between you to track down your maker.”
Nico hesitated, rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s… harder when I’m hungry. Hard to focus.”
Lorath hummed. He couldn’t exactly ask the innkeeper for live rats, and he had no interest in playing ratcatcher.
Lorath asked slowly, “How much blood do you need exactly?”
Nico shrugged, “A rat or two should be fine? They’re not exactly filling. Or good. I’m used to tuning out hunger though. Mostly. I just need… something to stave off the worst of it.”
Lorath fiddled with the gloves on his hands, “And human blood? I’ve read that it’s far more filling for vampires.”
Nico stared at him again, “Lorath, you’re not saying…?”
“Just leave me enough to work with tonight,” He quipped, trying to ignore the sudden nervousness.
Still, Nico hesitated, “I’m not sure…”
“What,” Lorath joked, “Old men not your type?”
“No. That’s not it,” Nico glanced over him and Lorath tried to ignore the way the heated gaze made his stomach jolt, “You are… very definitely my type. Too much so I think. You smell… so fucking delicious.”
It was Lorath’s turn to stare, wide-eyed, “I– what?”
Nico swallowed, “Are you sure? About your offer?”
His eyes were dark with hunger and it made the hair on Lorath’s arms stand up. He wasn’t sure if it was due to fear or… or…
“Yes.”
Nico nodded slowly, “Come here then. Sit down,” He patted the space on the bed next to him.
Lorath could feel his heartbeat rushing in his ears.
Nico’s eyes softened, “You can change your mind. You don’t have to–”
“No,” Lorath interrupted, “I trust you,” and sat on the bed beside him.
Nico was gentle as he took a hold of Lorath’s arm. He carefully pulled off his glove, gently tugged at each individual finger. Once removed, he placed it on the bed beside him.
He rolled up the sleeve of Lorath’s robe. Lorath felt goosebumps rise wherever the man's fingers brushed against him.
Nico gently stroked his thumb over Lorath’s wrist. Lorath’s fingers twitched.
Nico made eye contact: “Are you sure?”
Lorath nodded.
Nico’s fangs extended and he held Lorath’s eyes as he bit down.
Lorath expected the pain. What he did not expect was how quickly the pain faded and how… good it would feel.
Pleasure made him gasp. It raced along his nerves, setting his body alight. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was electrifying.
He was completely aware of his body: the way his heart raced at a gallop, the way his legs trembled, the way he gasped for air. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice and he wanted nothing more than to let go.
Lorath wanted… wanted… He… Fuck, he couldn’t think.
Nico pulled away.
He gently lapped at the wound and Lorath watched in breathless fascination as the skin stitched itself back together and closed up.
There was a pause, they stared at one another.
Nico’s eyes lowered to Lorath’s lips.
Lorath could see his tongue peek out—tinged with red, with Lorath’s blood—as Nico licked his own lips.
Then, “Bathroom,” Lorath choked out and fled.
He had barely slammed the door shut behind him before he was frantically pulling up his robes. He got a shaking hand on his cock and it only took two shameful strokes before he was coming—gasping out Nico’s name—all over the floor.
He leaned back against the door, legs still feeling too weak to move.
The Nico/Lorath vampire AU that's had its hooks in me for the past few days. Its some time after the big Horadrim Break Up™ but before Lorath's settled down in his cabin.
Honestly not too worried about following canon or keeping track of the timeline bc this one is more for fun.
And I am ignoring any of the lore on how Sanctuary vampires actually work. So be warned.
Part 1 is here.
---
If it was a vampire, it must have a lair nearby. Somewhere underground and isolated, like a crypt or a basement. There was also the mystery of this stranger also asking questions.
Lorath went back to Lirene and Towen to let them know the church had found Benji’s body. Except when he got there Lirene, eyes red-rimmed but dry, told him they had already been informed.
“By who?” Lorath asked, “Someone from the church?”
“I… I don’t think I asked his name. He said he was also looking into the disappearances. I assumed he was working with you,” she responded.
“This man, did he have spiky hair? Shaved on the sides?” Lorath asked.
“Yes, that’s him. Is he your partner?”
“...No, not exactly.” Lorath frowned, “When did he come by exactly?”
“Not long ago. An hour maybe?”
Lorath’s eyes narrowed, “So, after sunset?”
“Yes?” She said, confused.
Lorath scratched his beard. Either this man was the vampire he was looking for, or he might have information Lorath needed. Either way he needed to find this stranger. It had not been long since the sun had set, which meant his lair had to be nearby.
“Lirene, one last question: Are there any abandoned houses nearby? Ones with basements?”
“Um,” She bit her lip, “There was an old tavern that caught fire last year. Rumor has it the owner was a heretic. As far as I know, no one’s bought up the property, it's still there. I think it had a cellar?”
“Thank you, Lirene. I’m sorry again… about Benji.”
---
The place certainly looked abandoned from the outside. The wood was charred black and the roof had partially caved in. Still, the door swung open easily, and inside Lorath could see footprints in the soot-stained floor. He found a cellar, the hatch purposfully hidden beneath a broken table.
He descended, a magical flame in his hand burning to give him some light.
Inside the cellar there was evidence that someone, at least, had been squatting here. There was a dirty mattress in the corner, someone had spread a cloak over it, and there was a bag propped up against the wall beside it. The most damning evidence, however, were the bodies of rats strewn about, bodies drained of blood.
Definitely a vampire’s hideaway.
Therefore Lorath felt no guilt as he opened up the man’s bag and began to rummage through it.
“Clothes, clothes and…. Hmm, what’s this?” Lorath pulled out a small carved totem of a wolf, hanging from a snapped leather cord. It was made of stone, with a few runes inscribed on the wolf’s side. They looked druidic, Lorath recognized a symbol for protection, but the others were unfamiliar.
“From Scosglen perhaps?” Lorath muttered to himself. This looked personal and important. And sentimental enough that perhaps a tracking spell might work. This cellar was as good a place as any.
Lorath rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a small piece of chalk. He placed the charm in the center and drew Horadric symbols around it. The charm glowed briefly and it pulsed when Lorath picked it up.
It would grow warmer as Lorath neared its owner and he set out to find him.
The news of a death had put people on edge and the streets were empty. The charm occasionally pulsed, leading Lorath winding through the city streets. Once it grew hot in his hand, Lorath slowed down.
He heard a man’s voice speaking, too quiet to make out the words. Lorath approached and lit a flame in his hand to see better.
In the alleyway he saw the man crouched beside a figure on the ground. It was the stranger the bartender had described, with hair like a bird’s crest. And on the ground…
The body of a young girl.
Fury roared in Lorath’s chest and it powered his spell as he launched a ball of fire at the vampire, “Get away from her!”
It hit the vampire in the shoulder, sending him stumbling back. He hissed at Lorath, fangs bared, and fled. Lorath went to give chase but stopped as he realized the girl was still moving. She was alive. He’d made it in time before the vampire had the chance to feed.
“Hey,” He knelt beside the girl, taking care not to frighten her further, “It’s okay, you’re alright.”
“W-Who a-are you?” She was pale and shivering, looking around with confusion. Lorath slipped off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She couldn’t have been any older than ten.
“My name’s Lorath. What’s your name?”
“S-Sara.” She shivered, pulling the cloak more firmly around her.
“Sara, where are your parents? Do you know where you are?” He asked softly.
“I-I d-don’t have p-parents, sir. I’m a-an orphan.”
Well shit, he thought.
---
Out of a lack of any other options, Lorath took her to the Cathedral of Light.
Prava raised an eyebrow at the sight of them, “You’ve returned.”
Lorath nodded at the girl beside him, “This is Sara. I found her in an alleyway. She says her parents passed away a few weeks ago and she’s been on the streets ever since.”
Prava knelt in front of the girl, “Father Inarius’ light shine upon you, child.”
Sara blinked at her, “...I like the mark on your head.”
Prava smiled and stood. She made a gesture to one of the knights. “We will offer her food and shelter. Thank you for bringing this lost child to us, Lorath. Father bless you.”
Sarah offered Lorath his cloak back, “Thank you, mister,” and followed the Knight deeper into the Cathedral.
Prava turned to him, “Was it the vampire?”
After a moment Lorath nodded, “Caught him in the act. I’m going back out to find him.” He scratched his beard again then sighed. As much as he disliked the Cathedral of Light, he would not put innocent people in danger due to his enmity.
He described the man to Prava, who nodded.
“I’ll inform the Knights of his description. They’ll scour the city for him. Father willing, they’ll find him soon,” she said.
Lorath didn’t bother with a response and left.
He had a vampire to track down.
---
It might have been smarter to wait until daylight. Lorath had been on his feet since dawn and exhaustion was nipping at his heels.
But fury drove Lorath onward.
He followed the pulsing heat of the charm. The vampire moved fast, always keeping ahead of him, trying to lose him in the winding city streets. Perhaps if Lorath had paused to think, he might have noticed he was being lured.
The only warning he had was the slightest bit of movement out of the corner of his eye—before he was slammed against the wall.
The charm fell from his hand as his wrists were pinned above his head. Fuck, I’m such a bloody idiot, he thought as a body pressed him against the wall. He braced himself for pain as he felt teeth against his neck.
And waited.
The pain didn’t come. The teeth did not sink. The vampire held him there, teeth at his throat and yet did not bite down.
His teeth twitched against Lorath’s neck with the urge to bite.
Yet he didn’t.
Instead, Lorath felt his lips press against the vein in his neck. Feeling his rapid pulse, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
He was trembling, not Lorath, but the vampire was trembling.
He pulled back, far enough for Lorath to see his face. His eyes were black with hunger, his face twisted into a vampire’s monstrous visage, his teeth sharp and gleaming in the moonlight. And yet, somehow, even though all that…
There was something human about those eyes.
“I… am not… going to hurt you.” The vampire said shakily. “I promise.”
Lorath could see the struggle in the man’s face to keep the hunger at bay. The way the eyes kept snapping back down to his neck. But the man somehow found the strength of will to pull away.
And run.
Leaving Lorath to slump back against the wall, trembling and shaken.
The Nico/Lorath vampire AU that's had its hooks in me for the past few days. Its some time after the big Horadrim Break Up™ but before Lorath's settled down in his cabin.
Honestly not too worried about following canon or keeping track of the timeline bc this one is more for fun.
And I am ignoring any of the lore on how Sanctuary vampires actually work. So be warned.
----
It was not Lorath’s first time in Kyovashad.
He had first passed by here when Tyrael led them to the Horadric Vault near Menestad, all those years ago. The city had grown since then, the Cathedral spreading its roots into the surrounding area. It was larger now and some might say safer, with its high stone walls and patrolling guards, but Lorath knew better. The city simply held different dangers.
Still, at least the people had not changed much. They knew better than to ask prying questions. Lorath was grateful for that as he ordered another drink and the bartender served him with nothing more than a side glance.
Scosglen looked to be recovering.
Lorath hadn’t lingered, passing through quickly with his hood up to avoid drawing attention but still, from the rumors he’d heard, Donan had been doing a decent job. Elias, for intents and purposes, had disappeared. Lorath had not gone looking, exactly, but he’d kept an ear out for any sign of his former apprentice.
He didn’t know why he kept poking at this wound. They were gone. They had found other paths. It was only Lorath who was still waiting. For what, he could not say, only he felt… stuck. Trapped. Unable to return to a past that no longer had room for him, and equally unable to chart a new path, forge new bonds.
He slowly spun the tankard in his hand, staring at its swirling depths as if it would provide any guidance.
“...gone missing…”
Slowly, the low conversation from a nearby table filtered into Lorath’s awareness. He tilted his head slightly to hear better.
“Another missing person? That’s the fifth one this month. Why aren’t the Knights doing anything?”
“Pshh, the Knights don’t care unless you’ve gold to donate.”
Lorath moved before he was even consciously aware he had made the decision. The table fell silent as he slid onto an empty seat.
“What’s this about people going missing?”
They stared at him with undisguised suspicion.
“What’s it to you, stranger?” One of them, a burly man with thick arms, asked.
Elias would have bought them a round, played at being friendly, slowly drawn information out from them without them even realizing it. By the end of the night, they would have not only told him everything he wanted to know, but probably even invited him home for dinner afterwards. The man was charismatic like that. Donan would have asked the bartender instead, slipping him a few gold coins for information, or perhaps tried to catch one of the men in a conversation alone.
Lorath simply glared back at the man, “Do you want help with your missing people or not?”
The men glanced at each other. Lorath felt certain they were going to throw him out of the bar but one of the men, the burly one who questioned him, glanced at the amulet pinned to his cloak clasp. Perhaps he recognized the symbol of the Horadrim, or perhaps he just recognized it as a mark of something. But either way, he raised a hand and the table quieted down.
“Folk’s been going missing. Mostly undesirables. The kind the Knights don’t care about.”
Lorath’s brow furrowed, “How long’s this been going on?”
The man shrugged, “Don’t know. Hard to tell. Most of the missing are poor, or those with no roof over their heads. Knights think they just moved on. Left the city to find somewhere else to beg.”
“But you think otherwise,” said Lorath.
The man glowered at him, “...my brother Benji’s didn't come home last night. His wife’s newly pregnant. There’s no way he would leave her. He was damn excited to be a father, I tell you. There’s no way he would have cut and run.”
Lorath nodded, “I believe you. Tell me about your brother. When was the last time you saw him?”
Finally, Lorath thought, something he could do. Someone he could help. Maybe everything else in his life was spiraling, and maybe he felt lost and unmoored, but this? This was what the Horadrim were for.
---
Lorath rented out a room at the inn for a few days. His funds were starting to run low, but Lorath would need a base from which to conduct his investigation. The burly man at the bar, Towen, did not have much more information than what he’d already shared at the bar, but he managed to introduce Lorath to the missing man’s wife.
The missing man—Benji—was a tailor. He and his wife, Lirene, had just gotten married the year before and she was a few months pregnant. Benji was a regular patron at the bar, Light’s Rest. He had a weakness for cards, and was in quite a bit of debt. Which was why the Knights thought he fled town.
Lirene had then told Lorath the rumors she’d heard of people going missing. A baker down the street occasionally gave away the stale bread that didn’t sell that day, but the man who usually took the leftovers hadn’t been by in over a month. A washerwoman claimed her neighbour had just up and disappeared. A man who claimed his wife disappeared, but his neighbour swore she ran off with a passing merchant. A dozen other different stories that were hard to verify.
It was hard to distinguish a pattern. There were no clear signs of demonic activity he could see: no complaints of strange noises or chanting, no hellish symbols burned into walls, no smell of rotten sulfur in the air. As much as Lorath hated the thought, the disappearances could be the result of a sick individual. But then where were the bodies? He needed something more concrete than rumors.
Lacking any solid leads, the next morning he went back to the bar where Benji was last seen. The bartender was the last person known to have seen him and Lorath questioned if Benji had been talking to anyone new that evening, or done anything different.
The bartender squinted at him, “...you with that other man?”
Lorath blinked, “Other man?”
“Yeah,” the bartender wiped the glass in his hands with a cloth, “There was another man here last night asking the same questions. Told him the same thing I told you: No, I didn’t hear nothing.”
“This other man,” Lorath asked, his heart in his throat, “What did he look like?”
The bartender shrugged, “Shortish. Shaved hair on the sides but kind of longish and stuck up in the middle? Bit of a scary-looking fellow.”
That… did not sound like anyone Lorath knew. He swallowed back the bitter disappointment.
“Was he one of the Knights Penitent?”
The bartender snorted, “Nah, no way. Man was dressed in leathers, never seen him around here before. He stopped by, asked some questions, paid for a drink but left it untouched on the counter. ‘Bout the missing man and what he did that night, same as you.”
Lorath’s brow furrowed. Was someone else also investigating these missing people?
The bar door slammed open. The burly man, Towen, stepped in and made a beeline to Lorath.
“Is it true?”
Lorath blinked, “Is what true?”
“The body! Rumor has it the Knights found a body, just a few hours ago. Said it was left on the steps of the Cathedral in the night.”
Lorath scratched at his beard. Well then, he had his next destination. He needed to get a look at that corpse.
---
The Cathedral of Light was the heart of Kyovashad. Built atop the highest point in the city, it was visible from anywhere. A shining beacon of wealth and prosperity while the lower reaches of the city had to make due in squalor. A large statue of Inarius towered over pilgrims and locals alike, beckoning and intimidating them in equal measure.
Lorath could not say he liked the church. He disagreed with the way they ignored the demonic half of their heritage (not that he thought Lilith should be worshipped, but ignoring a fundamental part of their history robbed the Cathedral of their credibility. How could they claim to have the truth when they ignored half their history and humanity’s very nature?) and part of it was his personal disdain for blind faith in general.
All of which to say, Lorath was already mildly irritated when he entered the Cathedral and came face to face with the Reverend Mother Prava.
Lorath did not waste time with pleasantries: “Rumor has it a corpse was left on the Cathedral steps. Show me.”
Prava raised an eyebrow as she studied him, her eyes briefly lingering on his Horadric amulet, “You must be the Horadrim, Lorath Nahr.”
Lorath blinked, surprised by the recognition.
Prava continued, “Your reputation precedes you. Donan has told me about you.”
The fact that Donan had spoken about him was unsettling and furthered his irritation.
“Then you know why I'm here,” Lorath said shortly, “Now are you going to show me the body or not?”
Prava watched him for a moment then nodded to one of the Knights, “Very well then. Vigo, show him what we found.”
The Knight saluted and led Lorath down a hallway to a little side room.
The body was on a table. It was an adult male, with simple clothes coated in dirt, pale with dark hair. Lorath could see a faint resemblance to the burly man from the bar (he would have to inform Towen his brother was dead, he thought with a pang). The cause of death was not immediately visible until Lorath got a glimpse of two little holes on the side of his neck.
“The body was found precisely as is,” came Prava’s voice from behind him, “He was not killed at the Cathedral steps, there was no sign of a struggle or blood, but instead left there.”
“Drained of blood,” Lorath muttered more to himself, “Vampires?”
“You live up to your reputation. It is a bloodsucker behind the missing then?”
Lorath looked over to her, “So, you are aware of the rumors. Most people don't seem to think the Knights are doing anything about it.”
Prava simply watched him steadily, “Kyovashad is the heart of our faith, we are aware of everything that goes on in our city. But rumors spread quickly and people are prone to panic.”
Lorath snorted, “So if you know everything in this city, why haven't you caught this vampire yet?”
“That is why Father Inarius’s Light has led you to us, Lorath.” She nodded again at Vigo, who pulled out a roll of parchment and held it out to Lorath.
Let it be Known:
The man who carries this letter
is engaged in Holy Purpose.
He is
Lorath Nahr
He investigates with my benediction,
invested with Authority to act in my name.
Those who impede or obstruct his efforts
act against the will of the Light and our
Father Inarius and will be treated as Heretics
and Enemies of the church.
Those who aid and assist his efforts will be Blessed
- Revered Mother Prava
Lorath took the paper, “So, you want me to do the dirty work then your Knights swoop in and take credit once the vampire is caught.”
Prava tilted her head to a figure in the corner lit by the window: a tall, thin man with a shaved head. He did not wear the humble robes of a priest, but instead was dressed in red and white silks. He wore a pendant with the symbol of the Cathedral of Light, but it was unusual, with what looked like an animal fang embedded into the symbol’s drop of blood.
“You will work with Inquisitor Voss. He will assist you in your investigation and report your findings to me directly.”
Lorath looked at the writ in his hands. This would make his search much easier: all those who were hesitant to speak with a stranger would open up, with this he could enter any house, get access to any manner of records that might help in tracking down this vampire.
The paper sparked and burned as Lorath called fire to his hands.
“I don’t need your bloody authority, or your help.”
Prava did not look upset, rather she looked almost amused, “Donan did mention you were intractable.”
Lorath grit his teeth and walked away.
He did not need her, or her Father’s, bloody permission to stop a vampire. He could do it on his own.
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