text: D'Harcourt whistles, and a servant emerges from the mansion. The servant is dressed in fine clothing, but his skin is deathly pale and his gaze is blank. "Terrence, lead the guests to the sitting room."
  
  Terrence wordlessly complies, leading you into the depths of the house. It's as spectacular on the inside as it is on the outside, the walls covered in rare art and gorgeous sculptures. D'Harcourt seems to be a real appreciator of portraiture, perhaps to compensate for the lack of mirrors in his house. You figure out his nature almost instantly.
  
  As Terrence leads you through the house, you lean in to whisper into Frye's ear. "Be careful, this one's a —"
  
  "A vampire, yes," d'Harcourt says, "it's an unfortunate term, but I suppose it works well enough for our purposes. I'm forced to sustain myself off blood, a fact that I cannot say I am particularly proud of."
  
  Before you can formulate a response, you arrive at the sitting room. It's a finely decorated lounge with leather couches, fine cherry-wood tables, and a softly carpeted floor. A fireplace is burning in the corner.
  
  "Please, sit," d'Harcourt says with the practiced manners of an experienced host. You comply, save for Crowley. He stands at attention, as if expecting violence to break out at any moment.
  
  "Crowley, don't piss it off," John Boy whispers.
  
  "If the gentleman is more comfortable standing, he can stand," d'Harcourt says with a smile, "I could chain myself up, if it would make you all more comfortable."
  
  "You could break through chains in an instant," you say. To this, d'Harcourt raises his hands in mock guilt.
  
  "My friends, I harbour no ill will towards the living, and I didn't mean to deceive you. The townspeople know what I am, and we live in harmony."
  
  "How do you sustain yourself?" you ask. You vaguely remember a taxonomical study on vampires that describes them as creatures of deception, hunting through social manipulation and clever disguises.
  
  "Every solstice, I accept an offering. In return, my knowledge of the arcane sciences provides the prosperous village you saw. The villagers are quite happy to trade two people a year for healthy soil, clean water, and full bellies."
  
  A moment goes by as you digest that information. "What task have you for us, then?" Frye says, breaking the silence.
  
  "I'm glad you ask. Unfortunately, I am... unable to kill another of my own kind, and another vampire has taken residence in the warrens below the town. He is unscrupulous, and kills when the fancy strikes him. Worse still, he infects recklessly. I'm worried he will spread vampirism through the village quite recklessly, and all of my work in setting up a sanctuary will have been for nothing."
  
  "And what's in it for us?" Frye asks.
  
  "As you can see, I am a wealthy man. I can pay you handsomely, and provide you with the bounty of our harvest, as provisions of our travels."
  
  "We'll do it," Frye says instantly.
  
  "You sure about this one?" John Boy asks.
  
  "I've never killed a vampire. I wonder what it's like," Tor says.
  
  Stitcher reluctantly nods. "It's bad enough these folk have to deal with one creature of the night. We've a duty to kill this beast."
  
  D'Harcourt's gaze turns to you. He glances at your signet ring. "Lord Winter, I am terribly sorry. I should have recognized a member of your most noble line sooner," he bows immaculately. "I suppose you are a man of the arcane sciences, then? If I remember correctly, the men of your family were great mages, were they not?"
  
  You nod. "I've been instructed in the mysteries since I was a lad."
  
  "Then, perhaps you would feel more at home in my library, while your companions dispatch with this menace? You travel with famed adventurers, but if you don't mind my saying so, I doubt the field of battle is the appropriate place for a scholar such as yourself."
  
  "The lordling fights well," Stitcher says.
  
  "Everyone here is free. I won't force you to come along, Lord Winter," Frye says.
  
  > stay with the Vampire
  You stay behind with the urbane vampire. He lounges easily on the couch, staring at a wallpaper. "So tell me, how are your studies at the University?"
  
  "How did you know I was a student?"
  
  He chuckles. "I knew some of your family. Prodigious magicians, all. Terribly secretive, however."
  
  You shrug. "I didn't know any of them well."
  
  "Loneliness is the worst curse of them all, is it not?" he says.
  
  "I can think of worse curses," you say. "No offence."
  
  He laughs politely. "None taken. Mine is a dire condition."
  
  A few moments go by in amicable silence. "I have some bad news for you," he says.
  
  "What's that?"
  
  "Your friends are dead. There is no beast, there is no other vampire. I lured them into an interdimensional gateway and fed them to a curious race of pain-worshippers I encountered in my younger days. In exchange, a portion of their magic goes to sustaining our village."
  
  You're momentarily stunned by his matter-of-factness. "Why are you telling me this?" you ask, after collecting yourself.
  
  "You are a student of the arcane, are you not? I offer you a choice. Learn the arts with me, or I will drink of your blood," even as he threatens you, he still doesn't drop his courtly manners. He speaks with the politeness of a man asking if you fancy a sporting fencing match.
  
  > attack the Vampire
  You close your fist and summon a crackling ball of arcane energy. You hurl the ball at the vampire's head, but he effortlessly summons a shimmering ward that harmlessly dissipates the spell.
  
  "Perhaps your bloodline is weak, after all," he says with a smile. He crosses the room in less than a second, before biting your throat with such force that it cracks your spine in two.