Celia Graves's Fellowship

Duchesses Garden lies bright with garlands and trembling candlelight. Elianor Vale and Maurice Headsman stand beneath the flowering arbor as anxious guests watch the ceremony already underway, their murmurs breaking like frightened birds.

A mud-spattered courier, a gaunt young adult man with cropped black hair, a torn blue riding cloak, and blood darkening one sleeve, forces through the gathering. His horse is lathered and limping.

The courier reaches the wedding party and thrusts a black-waxed letter into the space between Elianor and Maurice. His knees buckle, but Maurice catches his shoulder before he falls.

The sealed letter rests in Elianor's hands while the garden falls silent around it. Beyond the walls, the wedding bells continue their gentle, terribly ordinary ringing.

The curse beneath Celia's skin tightens like a buried hook, but Prisoner's Resolve answers with a colder strength, locking her purpose in place. The pressure breaks without bending her.

Garran leads them from the garlanded garden at a hard pace, Elianor riding close and Maurice guarding the rear. The bells fade behind them.

Before dusk, the village palisade rises ahead, smoke drifting above its rooftops. Garran brings them through the gate, and the attack lies directly before them.

Celia charges through the smoke toward the nearest vampire, her flail swinging low. Plagueheart Vision strips away the confusion, marking the creature’s cursed presence amid fleeing villagers.

The curse beneath Celia’s skin pulls against her stride, trying to turn her limbs sluggish. Blight-Hardened flesh refuses the weakness, and she drives onward through the pain.

The vampire, an adult vampire woman is a tall, gaunt woman in a torn crimson gown, her ash-pale face framed by black hair and one silver fang exposed. She turns as Celia closes.

Celia’s flail crashes into the vampire’s raised arm, knocking it aside and forcing the creature back across the muddy square. The impact opens the distance for no escape.

The vampire bares both fangs and steadies herself within the flail’s reach. Behind Celia, Elianor calls for the wounded to be brought toward the gate while smoke rolls over the rooftops.

At her declaration, the vampires in the smoke cease hunting the fleeing villagers. They turn together toward the square, obeying the tall woman’s raised hand.

The clustered vampires obey at once, peeling away toward the gate and chapel. Their sudden discipline makes the truth plain: this attack has a commander, and she stands within Celia’s reach.

The nearest vampire smiles without looking back. Behind her, the chapel bell begins to toll, though no living hand is visible on its rope.

Maurice turns toward the fleeing villagers, placing his massive frame between them and the chapel road. Elianor follows, raising her hands to guide the wounded toward the gate.

Celia plants her holy staff in the mud and calls divine force through it. Innate Spellcasting gives the power shape, while Plagueheart Vision fixes the vampire’s cursed heart in a blazing outline.

The Cursed hook beneath Celia’s skin catches on the invocation, twisting the spell’s path. Her will holds it, and the holy staff channels the crooked torrent into a single white blast.

Divine energy strikes the nearest vampire squarely and tears through her crimson gown in a thunderless burst. She is hurled across the square, collapsing beside the chapel steps, her command broken.

The spell’s cost arrives as black light crawls from Celia’s palm into the holy staff, leaving its wood split and smoking. Around the square, the Village Vampires hesitate without their leader.

The question crosses the smoke with quiet force. The curse beneath Celia’s skin twists against her words, hindering the divine command, but Innate Spellcasting gives it shape and Plague Lore names the affliction before her.

The vampire rises beside the chapel steps. Celia’s will bears down through the staff’s smoking wood, and the creature’s defiance buckles beneath the promise of cure or destruction.

Across the square, the Village Vampires lower their hands and stop advancing. Their commander’s surrender leaves the chapel road open, while the first pale threads of sanctified force gather around Celia’s staff.

She extends one trembling hand, exposing herself to Celia’s power. The square holds its breath, and even the bell above the chapel falls silent.

Celia channels sanctified force through the holy staff. Its split wood flares white as Innate Spellcasting gives the power shape, and Sealing Rites bind it to the vampire’s exposed curse.

The Cursed hook beneath Celia’s skin twists against the spell, but Plague Lore traces the affliction past fang and blood to its buried root. Her will follows that trail.

Sanctified force enters the vampire’s chest without tearing flesh. It finds the black knot beneath her heart and unravels it, drawing the curse out in silent strands of ash.

The vampire’s pallor warms with returning life. Around the square, the Village Vampires recoil from the vanished command, their fangs withdrawing as the cure’s radiance reaches them.

The last ash leaves the staff’s grain, and its white glow settles into a steady ember. Maurice holds the villagers back while Elianor watches the cured woman, ready to help.