funranium | D&D Perspectives #3 (Reply)

Before heading out to uncharted lands, the party did some time, in the penal sense of time, in the largest city in the Palatinate, Goldenfork. They were given to Detective-Inspector Dezet with a snigger by the assigning officer at the Constabulary of Goldenfork to help him with his neverending quest to solve the Smilin' Jack Vampire Killings from the previous century. The party came as close as ever to catching Jack before it all went wrong. Dezet released them in the hopes that they'd catch Jack. The party left Goldenfork faster than a Irishman flees a bar without whiskey.

Inspector Dezet’s office would have sent any right minded dwarf into apoplectic fits. It was built to human scale for one, but the stacks of reports would have made giants think twice about doing the filing. The “carpet” of the office was composed of 133 years of stubbed out handrolls flicked to the floor and glued to the original stone surface by untold spilled cups of coffee. What would be considered unhealthy obsessive-compulsive attention to detail and cleanliness among humans is normal by dwarven standards. The fact Dezet had not succumbed to a virulent disease spawned in his own office nor died in a conflagration sparked by the composting lower layers of papers were a testament to his constitution and vigilance.

He, quite obviously, is not a right minded dwarf.

It had been almost a year and a half since he released his charges from their servitude to him. A year and a half since Dezet had burnt his nephew’s body, along with the vampire that killed him, in the forge at his hovel in the Green Crescent District.

Dezet hadn’t been back since. Smilin’ Jack took his career away with a spree of murders 133 years ago because he couldn’t let the case go. Now one of Jack’s vampire children had taken his nephew and with it his last vestiges of comfort in this city. Home was a just a memory now.

This city, Goldenfork, was a whore. She opened wide to embrace any who came through her gates if they had money in hand. No price that couldn’t be paid, no desire too depraved, no service unavailable within her walls. And that was the beauty of this place, that anyone from anywhere could come and just be part of the machine. The rich throwing money into the machine for fun and the poor grinding themselves away, turning blood to coin.

The fact Dezet had been hunting Jack for 133 years without success is not a surprise; that until eighteen months ago he hadn’t found a single other vampire should be. Perhaps in a city like this, it’s just too hard to tell a vampire from the background noise.

Perhaps he just needed to know where to look.

Eighteen months ago, his charges ran across rumors of Jack at a pub called the Gnoll’s Head down in the Shambles. They’d been told Jack had been carousing all night long just the other day. “A homecoming”, he’d said. He said he want to make sure that everyone knew that “Jack was back.” They didn’t know who Jack was but the drinks were free and that was all the mob had needed to know. And they knew Jack was back.

Eighteen months ago, his charges had been spending most of their time at the Al-Hasran Trading House, a coffee shop and Kurzim mercantile enterprise of ill repute. It was there, in the gymnasium next door, that they came across Tesserman, Jack’s calling card. It was Tesserman that burned in the forge with his nephew after Dezet shot them both through the heart with the same bolt.

Gnoll’s Head to Al-Hasran. Al-Hasran to Gnoll’s Head. Every night, a watchful vigil in the pub that ends beard plastered to a table with spilled beer. Every morning, he consumes countless cups of the foul Kurzim coffee from the pressurized monster to keep sharp for next night.

After eighteen months, this is a regimen that would kill a younger man, even a younger dwarf. Dezet hasn’t worried about his health since that night.

One hundred and thirty three years ago, Dezet interrupted a delicate moment Jack was having with a nobleman’s daughter. Jack snapped her neck and beat a hasty retreat. As he did, Jack promised Dezet that he would watch him die.

Every night since then he expected to be the one Jack would step out of the shadows and end it. To stay sane, he decided to hunt the hunter but to no avail.

One hundred and thirty three years. No career, no home, no family, no friends and no help.

Wise vampires are patient. Jack never promised to kill to Dezet.