As Gorfang scanned the ruins in the starlight, a tiny sound behind him made him turn. Standing behind him - and a fair way from the stairs - was a male Fae Mhor. It was hard to pin down, but something in the way he moved and held himself was different to the other dark elves. Then the orc noticed the trails of blood down his chin, and the stains on his armour - around the chest and neck rather than up the arms as in Gorfang's case. A memory clicked. "You're the vampire," he said flatly. The man made a graceful gesture of acknowledgement. "I am Cirenydd," he agreed, "and I need to talk to you about two things." Gorfang grunted. "Get on with it then."
Cirenydd 
walked slowly forward until he was ten yards from the orc. "Firstly, I owe you and your companions my thanks. Your disruption led directly to the death of my mistress, Elalevia. With her death, the binding with which she enslaved me was broken. Once her consort, then fed to her pets when she tired of me, then a hundred years an undead slave. Now - a free vampire. I thank you." Gorfang nodded slightly, accepting the comment with little interest.
"However."
"That slaying has had other repercussions. My mistress planned for her end, and prepared a contingency. Like many other necromancers, she has taken the step beyond, and will rise as a lich. Her version of the ritual, however, goes beyond that available to most of her ilk. For one thing, when she rises, those of her sworn mortal servants that yet live will surrender their life-force to increase her power. You may have seen me slaying; but I have not been slaying those responsible for the fall of the tower, but my ex-fellows that survived it. I have found all that I can, but dawn is nearly upon me, and I can do no more."
"A monster is arising! You bear part responsibility for this. You little dream what will be unleashed if she is not stopped. You must track down the sources of her power before the sun rises and kill them!"
At this moment, a familiar voice whispered into Gorfang's ear; it was Méabh. Duck was all she said. Gorfang flashed a dangerous grin at Cirenydd. "Thanks for the warning!" he commented. "Excuse me..." and hurled himself prone, rolling away across the tower roof.
From a position suspendedin mid-air by Telekinesis thirty feet away from the tower-top, Méabh released a Fireball. A massive blaze of flame engulfed the tower roof in a beacon-like blast that was visible for miles. As Méabh and Gorfang watched, however, the flames that roared across the stone guttered and died where they touched Cirenydd, defeated by his magic resistance, and the vampire smiled gently.
Eloy
looked up sharply, as a dull boom heralded the detonation of the Fireball atop the tower. Clearly silhouetted in the conflagration, he could see the unmistakable shape of Gorfang rising, weapons aloft. A thought struck him. Turning, he looked back at the remains of Afendalind's tower, to see Setram the dragon's head turn to observe the same sight with interest. Pulling away from the tower, the dragon wove his foreclaws in an unmistakable spell before lifting up and turning to head for the citadel tower.
Scorched and blackened, and still trailing a haze of aromatic pale blue smoke from the destruction of his treasured cheroots, Eloy turned and began to run towards the citadel.
Gorfang surged to his feet and charged. "Why should I trust you after that?" he roared. For an instant, an expression of complete bewilderment replaced the usual self-assured smugness of the vampire's countenance, and then Gorfang was upon him. Cirenydd fixed his gaze on the charging orc, and the red of his eyes seemed to burn into the back of Gorfang's skull. "You really don't want to do that," said the vampire, and the force of his dominating will was like a mountain. For a moment Gorfang hesitated. Then a single swipe of the terrible bronze khopesh sheared off the vampire's left arm completely.
He gazed down at it and frowned. There was little blood. "How inconvenient," he said with mild irritation. The next moment, Méabh dropped to the roof from the sky, with True Strike cast, and she and Gorfang struck simultaneously. The khopesh of Aklimah, Veldrin Sk'aal and Rilliantorin smote through the vampire's undead body together, the silver blade of the Kyraura thrumming with bright joy at such a deed. Mangled beyond the ability of his dark spirit to hold it together, the physical body of Cirenydd disintegrated into a drift of heavy, dark vapour.
As the orc and the aasimar stood and watched, the thick, noxious gas drifted to the roof surface and began to slip between the blocks, seeking the minute gaps between the stones that it could fit through. Gorfang, expressing contempt in his own way, pissed on the stuff; although it probably didn't do much harm, the indignity was not lost; the smoke twitched as it tried to evade the stream. Méabh watched, mildly amused, and suddenly the glitter of the distant firelight 
on the bouncing fluid sparked an idea. "Daylight!" she cried, and spun to run to the stairs. Gorfang grinned evilly and pulled the Rod of Daylight from his belt.
On the floor below, Eloy had just run up the stairs (yet another room full of bodies, he thought, tracking Gorfang's a doddle!) and had stopped, startled, at the sight of thick black smoke streaming through the ceiling and coiling into the room.
Something purposeful about its' movements alarmed him, and he swung the bow Varlan off his back and nocked an arrow. Belurith's Ghost Touch arrows looked to be about to come in handy again! Sighting at the largest mass, he loosed, and the arrow tore through the stuff which twitched and recoiled. Encouraged, he shot again and again. The smoke retreated, heading for the floor of the room. Oddly, water was now dripping through the ceiling as well. At least, it looked like water....
At that moment Méabh appeared at the top of the stairs and lobbed a Daylight spell onto the floor of the room near Eloy's feet. Through teari
ng, dazzled eyes, the human saw the smoke recoil upwards again, pained and repelled by the warm, bright light. A few seconds later, a second wash of heartening light bloomed above on the roof, and the vapour became frantic, seeking and feeling for crannies to force itself into to avoid the spells. Clearing his eyes, Eloy began to launch more arrows at the smoke.
For several more minutes, this dance went on, with the three adventurers using forces inimical to vampires to herd the vaporous Cirenydd into remaining in the tower room. Then, finally, the level of light increased suddenly. Eloy glanced out of the window, and saw a beautiful sight; the morning sun was rising in the east. Silhouetted against it was the ominous black shape of Setram the dragon, still distant, but rapidly approaching.
Inside the room, the warm golden light of the summer dawn was reaching into the tower room, spreading across the floor... and the ceiling. Where it touched the black vapour, it burned, consumed by the simplest and holiest expression of the laws of nature. In moments, all was gone, and Cirenydd was no more.
His possessions, of course, remained strewn across the roof of the tower, and added to what Gorfang had already plundered from the late occupants of the tower there were quite a few enchanted items. Méabh Identified them and each took a few that seemed useful.
A few 
minutes later, Setram landed on the citadel mound with an emormous crash. Standing next to the well leading to his lair, he reared up against the tower, bringing his head level with the roof where the three companions stood. Gorfang gulped slightly as the sheer size and power of Setram was brought home to him once more. His head singing with the hazard of the monster, Eloy noted as if from a great distance the fact that the massive wounds inflicted by Méabh were quite gone; the consequences of the spell he'd seen him cast, probably.
The great head swivelled slowly, regarding each in turn as he slowly inhaled through his sensitive nostrils. Gorfang realized he was still gripping his bloodied swords, perhaps not the most diplomatic of stances. It crossed Eloy's mind that he was scorched and blackened exactly like someone who'd been flamed by a dragon. Méabh knew her invisibility had long worn off, leaving her visible. If any of these things occurred to Setram, he made no comment. Instead he spoke of other things.
"My alliance appears to be terminated," he commented. Gorfang spoke up. "Maybe it's time for a new one?" he said. The dragon rumbled noncommittally. Méabh spoke next.
"Greetings, 
Master of the Dark," she said, respectfully and cryptically, engaging the dragon's interest twice over. Dragons love riddles. "Greetings, Sorceress of mixed bloodlines," he responded. Méabh continued. "With respect," she said, "may we humbly ask your intentions?" The dragon seemed to approve of her approach. "I shall continue to live in my city," he said, stressing the my, "and watch these little creatures conduct their wars. When they're all dead, I'll cherry pick the best of their treasure to add to my hoard."
"Maybe," said Méabh slowly, "we could combine our forces to rid the towers of their occupants?" The dragon looked at her for several seconds. Then it asked, "What is in it for you? What would you want if we made this alliance?" Méabh blinked. "Not much; the odd item you were not interested in - potions, scrolls..." "Weapons," Gorfang put in. "I have no interest in weapons," responded the dragon flatly, and perhaps a shade quickly. I know, thought Gorfang, but said nothing. Méabh turned the question around. "What do we have that you would want?" she asked. Eloy set his teeth, half expecting the answer to be your liver or something similar. The dragon reflected for a moment. "I have it in mind," he said slowly, "to follow in the... footsteps... of my distant and illustrious cousin, Varkar Barduric. To achieve this, I need to master the art of shapechanging. Teach me the spell Polymorph Self, sorceress of many bloods, and our alliance will be sealed to all our profit."
Méabh looked down for a moment, gathering her thoughts. How to say No to a dragon with diplomacy? Eventually she responded, "I cannot do that here; I can cast it, but I cannot create the scroll you need to learn the magic. However, if you come with us to our home, south of here..." Setram shook his head. "I cannot leave my city," he said. "Your treasure?" asked Eloy. "Partly," said the dragon, "but more than that, I do not desire to come within the reach of the Dark One who rules the nation south of here. Were Skufruss Dragonlord to learn of my presence here, my days of freedom would be over." Gorfang thought to himself, If that brute flies into Lossal there'll be more than one sort of trouble! Méabh thought for a moment. "There is another way," she said. "I could Polymorph you into a form similar to ours, and you could then travel with us without causing comment. Then, when we reach Lossal, I can teach you the spell and you will be able to shift your shape at will." Setram looked impressed with this idea. "Let us resolve our immediate problems," he said, "then we will speak again of this."
Gorfang got down to business. "What do we have left?" he said. "The lich, the healer, the demonologist, and the pyromancer. I vote we take the lich; will you take the fire woman?" he asked the dragon. Setram snorted. "Of all of them, my powers are least suited to engage her," he pointed out. "I will visit with Tvia and her sneak-thieves, and see just how good a healer she really is." Gorfang decided to push his luck. "Give us a lift?" he asked. Setram considered a moment, then lifted a wing to the level of the tower-top. "Climb on," he offered.
Eloy balked at this. Pointing out that heights just weren't his thing, he set off down the stairs instead to begin the walk to the ruins of Eralevia's tower. Once the other two were settled aboard, Setram took off vertically with a mighty bound, this powerful wings sending him rocketing two hundred feet or more into the air before he levelled off. Both Gorfang and Méabh fortunately proved to be excellent fliers, and revelled in the sensation as the dragon launched himself into a long, sloping glide towards the far western end of the ruined city.
As Setram soared away towards the territory of Tvia, Gorfang and Méabh began to explore the destroyed tower occupied until recently by the necromancer priestess Eralevia. The spells set by the attackers of the previous day had blown out the footings of the tower on the outer side, toppling it off the rise occupied by the city and scattering its' remains over a wide cone on the plain below.
Around the rough semicircle of the footings that remained, bodies of Fae Mhor and bugbears were scattered. Some had died in the collapse of the tower, and some had died from wounds almost certainly inflicted by a vampire. Some, though, appeared to have had their skulls ruptured by an explosion of some kind of energy taking place inside their heads - and recently, they were still warm and some had coils of smoke rising from their empty skulls.
Searching in the remains of the tower itself, the pair found the shattered stump of the stairs that had led up to the higher floors. These stairs continued down as well, but the top 20' or so was choked with rubble from the fallen tower. Most of it was small pieces, and it looked as if a little determined digging would clear the stairs and allow access to the cellars below.
Midway through the digging, Eloy arrived, and the others promptly stopped and left him to finish off on the grounds that they'd already done their share. There wasn't much left, and around half an hour later the stairs were cleared and the three descended into the cellars below.
They found a rectangular store-room, with the dessicated and fossilized remains of the containers the original stores had been in. Mixed with those were some newer boxes and barrels containing the Fae Mhor's supplies. Gorfang investigated, and found a barrel containing a dark, aromatic liquid. It smelled like it might contain alcohol, and he scrawled 'Gorfang's' on it with a bit of charcoal. Eloy cast a Detect Poison on it and shook his head; there was enough poison in it to kill a regiment.
The 
splintered remnants of a door gave into a passage, which they followed for a little while until the walls at the side gave way to an open space. The floor of the passage ran on over the gap, suspended on pillars, to meet a second door at the far end. Twenty feet below was a flat surface; a closer look revealed it to be turned earth. In that earth were set dozens of what looked worryingly like grave-markers. One, larger than the rest, topped an open hole. No - not a hole. A grave.
The companions descended the steps to the 'ground' below and began poking around. The marker over the open grave was marked Cirenydd, and the hole contained an empty coffin. The others were closed; but after a few moments, a scritching sound became audible and steadily louder, culminating in decayed, skeletal hands tearing through the earth surface to pull wizened undead forms from the earth. Their eyes burned with an unnatural hate, and they advanced on the three intruders with obvious menace....
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