A full moon rose above the hills of the Great Weald, illuminating the lands in pale blue light. In such bright moonlight, the countryside was visible as clearly as day. A vast open moor of rolling hills ran far into the horizon, terminating many leagues away at the snowcapped peaks of the Felmurg Mountains to the North. Trickling brooks coursed through the troughs between the hills in boggy lowlands of peat, heather, and the occasional copse of wind-stunted junipers. Grassy hills and ridges were crowned with outcroppings of mossy stone worn smooth by wind and rain. And winding its way through the moonlit moor was a small caravan of riders escorting a covered carriage down the muddy ruts that passed for a road in this rude country.

They were a dozen horsemen, clad in chainmail armor armed with lances, riding ahead, behind, and flanking a black carriage adorned with bats and gargoyles. Atop the carriage were wooden parapets, within which a pair of crossbow-armed attendants stood vigil, carefully surveying the surrounding countryside for any sign of trouble. And though they had at long last nearly arrived at their destination, the horsemen and crossbowmen remained vigilant even for the final leg of the journey. The keep of Felboge was in sight at last.

The Felboge was a redoubtable structure to be sure. A rocky butte situated upon a hill above the surrounding moors, it had been surrounded with a rampart built out of the native cobblestone and ringed with a ditch filled with sharpened stakes ready to impale any attacker foolish enough to attempt to scale the walls. And if the wooden spears in the moat were not sufficient deterrent to would-be attackers, then perhaps they would be given pause by the dozens of leathery hides of flayed prisoners pierced on iron nails hammered into the joints between the cobblestones. Each breeze that blew off of the moor galvanized the skins affixed to the keep's ramparts, all fluttering and crinkling in the wind like macabre ribbons. Fitting banners for the monstrous lord of this place.

The carriage and the guard contingent were recognized immediately by the gatekeepers, who immediately set about lowering a drawbridge across the stake-laden moat to allow the caravan entry to the keep. On the other side of the keep was a cobblestone parade ground surrounding the entrance to the keep itself. The natural rock face of the butte had been carved, first and crudely by prisoner labor, and then more carefully by skilled dwarven stonemasons. The natural rock faces of the landform had been carved in relief to provide pillars and crenelated balconies. A vaulted gate into the keep opened into the parade ground and was decorated with snarling gargoyles. Already, a number of attendants and courtiers were standing before the doors of the parade ground, awaiting the arrival of carriage and its escort.

The black carriage rattled up the cobblestones and positioned before the doorway of Felboge Keep. The horsemen dismounted from their steeds as the carriage came to a stop. The crossbowmen atop the carriage stowed their arms, descended, and stood at attention on either side of the carriage door.

"Your Excellency Baron Ulrek Bathory of the Felboge, Crown Prince of the Imperium," one of the crossbowman declared, "we have arrived!"

The door of the carriage creaked open. Long, clawlike fingers emerged from the darkness of the carriage's interior and curled around the edge of the door before full opening it. From the carriage emerged a being with skin as pale as the moon shining above, clad in a jet black silken robe. His face was unnaturally gaunt with a long nose; a ratlike visage curled into a perpetual sneer. Between his thin, pale lips was an arcade of crooked, sharp fangs. Baron Ulrek was a terrifying sight, even to those accustomed to serving him. But his retinue and attendants were well practiced, and demonstrated remarkable courtesy to the monstrous being standing before them. The entirety of the welcoming party bowed or stooped to one knee. Demonstrating sufficient loyalty to Baron Ulrek was paramount for those in his service, for the Lord of the Felboge was a frightful master to displease.

"Your Majesty, it is our pleasure to welcome you back to your home," announced the vampire lord's master chamberlain. "I hope that your journey to the Capital was a pleasant enough."

"Hardly," snarled the vampire. "A fruitless journey, as I suspected it would be. My father is insistent on this challenge of his and will not yield to my demands. I was, however, able to make use of the return journey." Ulrek reached with his long, bony fingers into the folds of his robe and withdrew a small stack of neatly-folded letters. 

"I took advantage of the smooth highways of the Imperial Heartland and was able to draft a number of missives during the ride North." Ulrek placed the letters into the chamberlain's hand. "Seal them, and see that they are sent out at once. Pay the couriers handsomely. The sooner they arrive, the better."

"As you wish, sire," the chamberlain acknowledged with a bow before excusing himself from the Baron's presence.

Once inside the keep in the privacy of his study, the chamberlain produced a candle of black wax and a stamp bearing the crest of Baron Ulrek Bathory. Before igniting the candle and sealing the missives right away, curiosity got the better of the chamberlain. The letters were still unsealed and nobody would know if he briefly skimmed the messages. Deciding it would harm nothing to take a peek, the chamberlain looked over both his shoulders to ensure he was alone, and carefully unfolded one of the neatly-folded sheets of vellum before reading it to himself.


[i]Esteemed Mister Solomon Kane,

It is due to a decidedly peculiar set of circumstances that I write to you today. I am unable to relay the exact nature of my situation to you in this missive, but suffice it to say that I am in need of your particular skill set and body of expertise. I am therefore requesting your presence at my court at Felboge Keep, in the northern wards of the Xelwyth Imperium, at your soonest availability. I am in urgent need and therefore prepared to pay you handsomely for the inconvenience of this summons. 

It is requested that you make for the Felboge by way of the Imperium's Northern borders. As you are likely aware, your profession is looked down upon within the Imperium. You are considered persona non grata here in the Imperium and I therefore advise you to travel here under a false name. In order to more easily facilitate your travel to my court, I have ordered relaxed border patrols over the coming fortnights. In the unlikely event that you are apprehended by border guards and recognized by your true identity, [u]do not[/u] present them with this letter as discretion in this matter is of the utmost importance. I have no doubt that you could easily dispatch any border patrol that should attempt to arrest you. Do not hesitate to resist arrest if necessary, you will be pardoned unconditionally of any crime upon arrival.

Respectfully yours,

Baron Ulrek Bathory[/i]

The letter had done nothing but intensify the chamberlain's curiosity. What had happened in the capital that would drive the Baron to summon a vampire hunter to the Xelwyth Imperium, let alone one as notorious as Solomon Kane? The chamberlain was about to read through another letter, but was interrupted when he heard footsteps in the corridor outside his study. Immediately, he folded the letter back up and melted a pool of black wax onto the reverse before pressing the stamp into the wax, leaving a black seal bearing the bat crest of Baron Ulrek.