Across the world, when the moon rises people go inside. They go to sleep or wait out the night to see the day. A few stalwart defenders of the light may wander the roads. Armed with torches to push away the dark. But eventually, the pale moon wins, the long shadows rule and everything is calm and peaceful. Not so in the Sanguine Alliance. Where the vampires of the cities were rising up from their slumber. On the countryside, most people closed their windows and locked their door. Many prayed to the Widows or Justinian to deliver them from their existence.

As Lord Garkeron rushed his steed through a small, countryside village he found such beliefs baffling and arrogant. No light would save them. No widow would free them. The night, the land, their blood, it was all the vampires. They were mere blood bags, cattle that should be happy to even be alive. He guessed it was just natural for something as short living as a human to pray for a simple higher power to save them. Alas, he would continue to let his mind wander if he did not arrive at his destination.

The estate of Lord Ersten was a massive, black, walled place. It was once a large farm though the Lord saw it fit to renovate and uplift the place. Now it was one of few estates to grace the western bank of the Black Water. Garkeron dismounted his steed after he galloped onto the main square, where a handful of servants took the fierce steed to the stables. Garkeron noticed that all of them were human, not fledglings. Then the large, main, heavy oaken door burst open. Revealing the Lord of the estate. Lord Ersten was a comely man. Untouched by diseases even in his mortal life. Now his white, long hair stood as a testament of his age. It wouldn’t take long now. A century at the most, before he was asked to become an Ascendant. [b]“Lord Garkeron! My ward! What a pleasure it is to welcome you home!”[/b] the white-haired vampire greeted, as he waved his free hand. In the other, he held a rather large goblet. [b]“A pleasure as always.”[/b] Garkeron shook his guardian’s hand as he greeted him. Both then went inside. Where several other vampires were gathered.

[b]“What would you have. I got a wonderful vintage. A Castello Vigiroso. Year 8596. Absolutely wonderful. Are you familiar with Castello’s stories?”[/b] Ersten asked excitingly. Several Lords and Ladies rolled their eyes. Most probably heard the story several times already. Though not Garkeron. [b]“No, I’m afraid I have not.”[/b] He said as he let Ersten pour a new goblet and hand it to him. He took a quick sip. The vintage’s taste exploded in his mouth. A fire was unleashed from the crimson liquid as he traveled the vampire’s throat.[b] “A fierce vintage, I must say. This must have been difficult to acquire naturally from any human.”[/b]

[b]“It was, it was!”[/b] Ersten said as he poured a glass for himself. [b]“Castello Vigiroso prided itself in making very fiery humans. Lord Vigir produced a very interesting taste by letting his humans fight. Sometimes to the death just to keep that edge in.”[/b] Unlike most, Garkeron was listening attentively. [b]“Obviously arming the cattle is a rather risky thing to do. One thing led to another and in the year 8595 a human revolted. Him and a few more fled into the nearby woods. Lord Vigir needed a year and all his people to find the band, as they torched the vineyards and freed more and more people. When they caught them, Lord Vigir ordered them to be drained immediately to maintain that precious taste.”[/b] Ersten held up the bottle to look at the emblem, letting out a content sigh. [b]“Such a perfect taste. You can taste the viciousness. The human’s name is forgotten, obviously. Martyrdom makes for poor vines. But that human’s blood is something to remember forever.”[/b] The old Lord mused, before putting the bottle away and sat on the last chair of the circle. [b]“But enough musing about wine and martyrs. Ladies and gentlemen. The fledglings are growing a bit weary of playing servant all the time. Many voices have risen, all saying the same thing. They want a raid.”[/b]

A Lady rose from her seat. [b]“The Fledglings can say what they want. They have no voice, no age. We should not bend at their will!”[/b] she sneered. A few nodded in agreement. Ersten extended his hand towards her and lowered it. The lady, respectfully, sat down again. [b]“I quite agree. Fledglings should not get a habit of demanding things of their elders.”[/b] He continued. [b]“However, I do agree that the last few decades have been rather… dull.”[/b] Several others nodded in agreement now. [b]“A raid would cull the weaker younglings. Allowing stronger vampires to rise up. Who here did not participate in a Rotwatch raid?”[/b] A few did raise their hands. Garkeron too. [b]“Ah, a pity. Well, I do propose we hold one. For various reasons. To show that the Sanguine Alliance is still very much alive. To steal away those lush and plump Justinians and to weed out the weakest amongst us.”[/b]

[b]“Aye, I agree.”[/b] One lord vocally offered his support. [b]“Me too.”[/b] Another joined in. [b]“I will join too.”[/b] A lady said. More and more joined in. First the youngest, who have not yet participated in a Rotwatch raid. Then the older ones too. First Ersten smiled, but his smile collapsed for only a second when he saw more support.

After the meeting Garkonen, who had also offered to join, approached the Lord in his garden, looking west towards the sinking moon. [b]“A lot of Lords and Ladies are joining. It is unexpected.”[/b] He opened, as he took a seat next to his Guardian. Ersten nodded, though said nothing. [b]“Too many?”[/b] Garkonen offered. Ersten remained silent for a moment.[b] “There is a painful truth I have realized over the years.”[/b] He eventually said. [b]“Justinian grew large and powerful on the other side of the mountains. Oh, there were such lush lands. Green fields and huge woods and herbs that would make the blood so sweet. Have you ever drunk the blood of a Hersian noblewoman, Garkonen? Oh, such elegant taste. It waltzes in your mouth.”[/b] The old vampire mused nostalgically as he moved his goblet through the air. As if he was dancing with it. [b]“Now the supposed God of light holds that land. We are not so strong as we would like to believe, my little ward.”[/b]

[b]“You fear we would not win at Rotwatch?”[/b] Garkonen asked rather surprised. If history was to repeat itself, and it always did, then they would win at Rotwatch. After the victory, they would triple the garrison for a few years. Then slowly it would bleed from greedy generals and the inevitability of shifting wars.

[b]“Oh no. I fear Justinian’s inescapable wrath.”[/b]