By Fang and Claw.

Holdershire’s annual conference of The Brotherhood of Witch Hunters began the same as every year. Wizened, old hunters draining the life from new recruits, faster than an elder vampire arising from a ten-thousand-year slumber.

Hunter Gerald stood on stage, reciting the same recycled lecture from years gone by, “And remember, never forget the three S’s: silver, stake and…” Gerald fell silent for a moment, counting on his fingers, “Silver, stake and…. uhm…. salt! Or was it soap… soil? Bah, forget it! Silver and stake can’t go wrong I always say! Served me well it has!” whereafter the ancient hunter left the stage, doing his best to not trip over his dual peg legs. He would have balanced himself with his arms stretched out, had he not lost his left arm fighting a particularly nasty gnome.

“I’ll give credit where credit is due”, thought Nicholas from the back of the musty hall, “at thirty-five, he looks better than most hunters his age. For one, he’s breathing!” Time wore on, as the hall filled with the silver glow of the full moon and the droning of the lecturers washed over the lethargic crowd.

Crossbow Care 101, Introduction to Ghoul Anatomy, Tonics and Potions for Beginners.

Nicholas looked around the room and clicked his tongue, “Poor bastards, doubt any of them will make it through their first hunt.” Having finalized his report, he turned to leave, when he saw a large man hastily retreat into the nearby lavatory. Nicholas darted after the man into the bathroom, “Well I never! Come to slurp from the toilet? You filthy mutt!”

The man’s crooked nose gave an involuntary twitch, as he turned to face Nicholas “And what of you? Smelling of death and decay. I didn’t know mosquitoes were allowed to such prestigious events”, he lay a giant had on Nicholas’ shoulder, his fingernails tore through his tailored suit as they dug into his pale skin, “Better watch out. I swat mosquito for a living!”.  

Nicholas broke free of the man’s grasp and shoved him with inhuman strength, sending the man’s large frame flying through the wooden door of a toilet stand. In a daze, the man hastened to his feet, his mattered beard extending upward toward his pointed ears. He made a start toward Nicholas, lifting him off his feet and slamming him against the tiled wall, beside the smudged mirrors. “What the hell are you doing here in any event?!”, growled the man, “Can’t take us on in a fair fight? Looking for some tips from these fools?!”

Nicholas wriggled his right arm loose from the man’s sturdy grip and with a hard-right hook, hit him squarely in the jaw. His knuckles ached, as if they’d just hit iron bark, but it was enough to momentarily weaken the man, allowing Nicholas to push off against him with his legs and break free. “I should say the same to you!”, hissed Nicholas, “I’ve been spying on this ragtag group of hunters for years! And not once do I recall seeing some overgrown fleabag scurrying about!”

“You batty bastard!”, spat the man.

“Dogbreath!”, replied Nicholas.

“Unholy abomination!”

“Twisted beast!”

“Crooked night stalker!”

“Mangey mongrel!”

The retorts came hard and fast, as Nicholas and the man faced off, quickly diverging into the ancient language, too foul for human ears. And yet, a pair of them seemed to burst in right before the crescendo.

“Gentlemen!”, came the cry from a top hat wearing visitor to the restroom, “Can you believe the news! In Holdershire of all places! Van Helsing! The Van Helsing will be leading a charge against all the dark and twisted vermin that haunt these lands! Oh, what joy! What blessings of Elun upon us!”

Instantly, the hostility between the previous combatants dissipated. “Surely you jest? Van Helsing? Here?” said the man with a crooked nose and pointy ears.

“When was this announced? Myself and my… friend, must have missed the announcement during our bathroom break”, questioned Nicholas.

The man removed his top hat, and splashed water on his face from one of the basins, “By raven. Right in the middle of Hunter Guillame’s lecture on Goblin Tracking, completely derailed that lesson it did! Old Hunter Gerald gave a fancy jig on his stilts, never seen him so alive!” he turned to leave, raising his voice, “Unlike all those horrid beasts when VH gets here tonight! Dead I tell you! The lot of them, all dead!”.

Nicholas and the man stood facing the door in stunned silence, “Van Helsing… if the legends are true, my clan won’t see daybreak”. Nicholas corrected himself, “Well technically we never see daybreak, but you get my point”. The large man, equally shocked by the revelation, nodded his head in agreement, “Nor mine, proud as we are”.

The man extended his large open palm toward Nicholas, “Never thought it would come to this. I don’t share anything with your kind, let alone names and niceties. But the name’s Walter”. Nicholas shook Walter’s callused, furry hand with his slim, cold one, “Nicholas. Nor do I, but tonight we call a truce. After all, there’s only the one winding road into Holdershire and I have plan”.

With the break of the handshake. Both werewolf and vampire left the old hall and set forth into the night. United in their hunt for common prey.

#

By flapping wings and padded feet, the unlikely duo raced toward Mulberry Pass, the sheer cliff face which greeted newcomers, prior to their entry into Holdershire. While Nicholas was the first to arrive and crouch within the shrubbery by the road, he was amazed by the speed at which Walter shortly arrived in his slobbering, wolf form.

Nicholas looked up at the full moon, “Even with flight and the absence of obstacles, you managed to keep up with me. Makes sense that we stay to the shadows on nights like this”.

“Full moon or not, your kind are weak and frail. Snap you like a twig I could! Any time, any place!” barked Walter, “However, as vile and cunning as you are, I appreciate such intuition for this hunt”.       

The pair sat for a while, awaiting the tremble of hooves on hard ground, black and silver carriage in tow. Silver Eagle, the sigil of Van Helsing, had been adorned on many the signposts of the mass graves of beast folk, no doubt such sigil would flash in the moonlight of Holdershire in due course.

Hours passed, as Walter grew restless, “That man from before, he had the stench of cheap ale about him. I fear in his enthusiasm, he misheard the arrival of our prey, perhaps he will not come at all”. Nicholas having not fed for days and having been surrounded by so many warm bodies, mirrored Walter’s anxiety, “Perhaps. Fortunately, I have a stray animal trapped to my left, should our prey not arrive soon”.

Walter laying on all fours to Nicholas’ left-hand side got to his feet and closed the gap between them, “Might I remind you of the moon” Walter bared his splintered teeth, “it would be most unwise!”

Nicholas, began to salivate, “Unwise, but oh so deliciou...”

His voice was swiftly cut amidst the arrival of thundering hooves and the shrill neighing of a dozen black stallions racing around the corner of the pass, making their way toward Holdershire, being careful to not lose their footing – should they fall to their death. A silver eagle flashed on the side of the carriage.

Nicholas tore his predatory urges away from Walter and redirected them toward the carriage. He leapt from his hiding place at the space between driver and steed. In a flash, he simultaneously cut the reigns with his right hand and launched the unassuming driver into the air with his left, sending the poor man over the cliff face and down toward the inky abyss to his doom. The horses continued in a blind panic, leaving the carriage to grind to a halt on the road.

Walter emerged from the bushes on his hind legs and with a heave of his enormous arms, coupled with a deafening howl, lunged the carriage into the air after its driver. With a load crash, the carriage and its contents, met the same fate as Nicholas’ victim.

Nicholas and Walter peered over the cliff face to assess the damage and any signs of life. To their horror, a slow clapping sound caught their attention behind them.

“Predictable, the whole lot of you. Instinctual, violent and irrational”, came the voice from behind them. Walter and Nicholas turned to face the man from the lavatory earlier that night, his top hat absent, allowing his long black hair to fall passed his shoulders.

“Perhaps you should come to my seminars some time. Teach you the first rule about hunting: preparation. Knowing what you are hunting, how to identify it and the correct tactics involved”. With incredible speed, the man stretched out his arms, and with a flick of his wrists, let loose a silver dagger from each.

The dagger from his right-hand struck Nicholas in the shoulder. The left dagger narrowly missed the top of Walter’s neck, rather it bounced off one of the long fangs which protruded passed his bottom jaw and fell harmlessly onto the ground beside him.

Nicholas fell to the ground and writhed in pain, the silver dagger searing his flesh. The man shrugged, “Seems even preparation has its blindsides. The moon is awfully bright tonight, but still, I didn’t think your fangs would extend this much!” He pointed a gloved finger toward Nicholas, “Any other night of the year and you’d be looking a lot like your friend over there”.

Walter lashed out at the man, who nimbly dodged the flailing claws, “We are not friends! Temporary allies yes, but our task is done! Van Helsing is dead!”. The man, continued to dodge Walter’s assaults, before pulling a syringe from within the folds of his jacket, and buried the needle with extreme precision between Walter’s eyes.

Walter roared in agony and fell to all fours on the dusty road. The syringe fell from his face, but not before pumping the luminescent, green contents deep within his skull. The man gave a laugh as he looked down upon his victims: Nicholas’ writhing reduced to a mild shudder and Walter’s hulking form, giving way to his smaller, humanoid appearance.

“Van Helsing dead!? Do you really think there was one hunter who accomplished such feats!? One, singular hunter that would succumb so easily to clan members as young and bullish as yourselves!?”

Walter tried to speak, but found himself paralyzed, as he watched his viscous dark, claws retract into fleshy, callused hands. “I’m a kindly man, so I’ll let you both in on a secret. Besides, it’s not like either of you will have anyone to tell. So yes, I’ll give you some praise. You did just kill a distinguished hunter, but she was one of thousands. One of the many distinguished members of the Van Helsing Clan!”

The man bent down to face Walter and returned the syringe to his inner pocket. From the same pocket, he removed two business cards, the sigil of the silver eagle blazoned upon them. With a leisurely stroll, he made his way toward Nicholas’ lifeless body and gently slipped a card into the breast pocket of his dinner jacket, before returning to Walter and sliding one under his paralyzed hand.

With a condescending tap of his leathered glove on Walter’s hand, the man made his way down the road to Holdershire, “Should by some miracle of Elen one of you should survive, tell your clans to join forces”

He smirked as he kicked dirt of his boots and popped his stiff collar, “A real clan war is about to begin!”