The dense, acrid haze of spent gunpowder slowly vanished in the wake of the vampiric intervention, an eerie silence hanging over the scene. Cecco was pacing, clearly irritated by what had occurred. I assume he wanted to keep chasing them down but was, justifiably, horrified of matching blades with three of whatever we just barely scraped by defeating.

“Vittorio, come on.” Cecco said, shortly. He slipped his blade into its back-sheath and sighed.

“On you.” I said, coming to his side. I put a hand on his shoulder and shook it a bit as we walked. “What’s the matter?”

Cecco sighed. “It feels wrong.” He said, holding silent for a bit. “How can we end one vampire and have three more running around after.”

“I don’t think they’re local.” I said, returning my hand to my side, resting it upon my sword’s pommel. “The one they killed mentioned something about a House Volkheim, doesn’t sound local. And based on the way those names sounded, I assume House Volkheim was the one who dragged them off.”

“I feel you’re reaching pretty far; vampires don’t organize in houses.”

“I have a feeling you didn’t think they organized in 3 man kill-teams either or hunted each other either.”

“Mm.” Cecco hummed, placing his hands behind his head and stretching as we walked. “I’ll take your word on it, your father alluded to your book smarts after all.”

“Not that there exists any… Books on vampires, really. Beyond the murmurs in the capital and vague word of mouth, all we know is that they exist.”

Cecco seemed content with that answer, and we didn’t make much conversation on the way back to the tavern. We had come across the guard we saved before, though the exchange was a brief back and forth of platitudes for what we did.

Upon returning to the tavern we were met with Vicenzo, who was standing just outside the front entrance, pipe in hand as was seemingly customary for him. He lifted his pipe and bowed his head. “Successful are we, masters Cecco and Vittorio?”

Cecco nodded. “Yea, we cleaned up your vampire problem.”

“Good, good.” He smiled widely.

“So do you actually make gambesons there, the place was a veritable shithole.” Cecco exclaimed. jabbing a finger at him.

“Oh, excuse my wording, I assume this was a crisis of semantics. It’s a speculative property, I’m hoping to resell it once the woods recede to its domain.” He laughed.

“So, it was just kidnapping people and dragging them there? They weren’t your workers?”

“Oh dear, I hadn’t realized it claimed multiple victims.” Vicenzo said, shocked.

“I assume it’s taken them from this very town, no? Has nobody gone missing?” I asked.

“Likely sourced from the forest tribals, who knows.” He shrugged. “So, payment first, or drinks first?” Vicenzo said. “And you, Vittorio, care for the pipe?” He said, tipping the pipe towards me with a grin. I accepted it took a steady, following him as he opened the door and led us to the bar. He urged me to hold onto the pipe, saying I’ve earned it for the job I’ve done.

“Hey, welcome back!” The bartender voiced, lifting a rag-draped hand before going back to cleaning mugs, placing one ahead of each of us.

“Campestrian Ale, for the three of us please. On me.” Vicenzo chimes, gesturing with a hand.

The night went by quickly, and before long we were retiring to bed, the both of us quite buzzed. As we discarded our armor and crawled into the bed Cecco pulled me close and held me, arms crossed over my torso as my beck pressed against him. He made no further action, really, he just held me close as he drifted off to sleep near instantly. We both wore heavy clothes for sleeping, essentially our winter getup sans the armor. It kept a good barrier between us to spare me to brunt of his chill. I could feel the gentle tingle of frost through his hands gently nestled across my chest, though. I had a feeling times like this won’t come often. The night went by peacefully, Cecco’s gentle snoring lulling me off to sleep not too long after him.

The morning was not that peaceful. We were forced awake by a heavy pounding at our doors with nary a lick of sunlight coming through the windows, a muffled voice called out.

“Inquisitors! Inquisitors!”

Cecco groggily awakened, lumbering his way to answer the door. As the door swung up, the grizzled face of an older man came into view, a jagged scar branching the gap between his eyebrow and cheekbone.

“A Campestrian has come, he seeks an audience with the Inquisition.”

“And what about you? Who are you?” Cecco said, rubbing his wrist against his chin to scatter some icy flakes of drool. He must’ve been sleeping good.

The old man seemed a bit taken aback by the lack of urgency. “U-Uhm, Leopoldo Bianchi, I’m the captain of the local guard, Knights Mercantile.”

Cecco nodded as he backed off from the door. He came over to the bed and nudged me awake. “Come on, Campestrian’s here apparently.”

I bolted up, what would’ve become a hangover seemingly scattering from my mind at the mention of a Campestrian.

“Oh yea, you’ve never seen one before.” Cecco said, scratching his head. “Try not to come off as a fan or something, that’s weird.”

I crawled out of bed, gently nudging past Cecco and going to the door.

“Leopoldo Bianchi.” He said, bowing.

“Vittorio Intaglio, a pleasure.” He attempted to speak up, but I cut him off. “Yes, the same Intaglio.”

Leopoldo ducked his head once more. “It’s an honor. I apologize for such short notice.”

Cecco came up beside me, resting an elbow on my shoulder as he spoke. “Alright, lead the way then. Let’s see this Campestrian.”

Leopoldo bowed once more, an act he seemed very prone to engage in, and made his way downstairs. I inched Cecco off my shoulder as I moved to follow behind. The three of us quickly made our way downstairs to an empty, dimply lit tavern occupied by a single man. Beautiful yet tattered and dingy plates clung loosely to the twitchy, upright frame of the Campestrian. Unlike most armored men i’ve seen, he seemed to prefer tabards and other cloth trimmings as decoration. The metal and cloth of his attire alike were crudely painted in bizarre, jagged patterns that almost hurt to look at. Several eye sigils were painted on areas like his chest and the sides of his hips, as well as attached on various wax-sealed charms that hung off random places. He spoke to himself in soft whispers as his helmet moved from side to side to address whatever things occupied his clearly addled mind.

“A minute, please.” The Campestrian said, jabbing two fingers upwards while his free hand swept beneath it in some kind of surreal gesture. “Are you two the Inquisition?” He said, clapping his hands together softly and bowing. His bow had a slight list, leaning left a bit as he did so.

Cecco nodded, but I cut him off before he could speak. “Correct, I am Vittorio Intaglio, Heir to the Inquisition.”

The Campestrian placed a hand on my shoulder. “You are chosen then.”

I backed off a bit, his hand falling to his side. “Huh?”

“The disappearances have ceased, but the lodge lays empty, humans are sparse in my frontier.” He jabbed two fingers up, again. “The frontiers are impetuous; they seek to devour the gentle world.”

It was difficult to put a finger on what was going on, something felt off about the way he spoke. It felt like he was speaking to me, but to a me that was slightly behind me and taller. He was talking… past me?

Cecco finally spoke up, allowing me to ponder this Campestrian on my own for a bit. “There are frontiers this close to Provvidenza?”

The Campestrian threw his arms out to his sides, holding them out wide. “The world is a frontier, it shifts and shapes itself. Where men die, nature follows, where nature follows, the frontiers arise. Campestrians are the fence, our lodges the posts.” He dropped his hands to his sides, armor clattering as his arms seemingly hung loose. “With the Lodge empty, the frontiers will attempt to reclaim this land, the wellsprings we once vanquished in ancient times they seek to light anew.” He shook his head.

“Frontier Reclamation, is what we call it in the Cacciare, very inventive, I didn’t come up with it.” Cecco said, mostly to me. “It’s not common, the Campestrians.” He jutted a thumb over to the odd man. “Are the first line of defense, we’re just on-hand to help repel a reclamation if it occurs. That’s why we’ve been settled out west, the drought’s made the lodge’s thin, I think.”

The Campestrian nodded. “The Inquisition speaks truthfully.”

“So what about all of this, then?” I asked, motioning my hands around. “Do you need our help?”

“Preferable.” He stated. “Help would be appreciated. I have asked the knights as well to accompany. Their, the frontiers, warband will come, though i’ve not the slightest bit of an idea when.”

“And when do you need us?” Cecco said.

“Whenever.”

Cecco and I didn’t speak for a second, and Leopoldo didn’t butt in.

“So why come here so late?” Cecco stated plainly.

“Oh, is it?” He looked around confused. “I see, so you were sleeping.”

We all sat silent for a few more moments.

“Yes.” Cecco and I said in unison.

“Peculiar.” He tapped his helmet. “Then perhaps I will go as well, to bed.” He bowed, turning on a heel to leave the building. “I will be here when you awaken, and I as well awaken.” He said moments before leaving through the front door.

Leopoldo sighed. “Are they all this strange?”

“What, you’ve never met him before, isn’t he local?” I asked.

“They keep to themselves, why bug ’em?” He said, laughing. “He doesn’t seem like the sociable type anyways.”

“Most of them are like that.” Cecco said. “They’re all a bit off, something about living on the frontiers makes them odd.”

I huffed. “Then let’s settle this in the morning, I’m tired. He’s obviously going to go walk in circles or something until we wake up, so let’s not waste his time.” I turned to walk upstairs.

Cecco shrugged and joined me, the two of us retreating to the bedroom to catch up on sleep, assuming the same cuddly position as before but with much less liquid persuasion behind it. Perhaps times like this might be more common than I thought. Or perhaps this is just how friends… associates? Perhaps this is just how associates act where he’s from.

I don’t mind it, really.