It was luck that he had been found by the Sarafan priests, years ago, when they raided the dudgeons of the great vampire Janus Audron. When Janus’s servants had come for his mother and brother, he had attempted to choke them with the chains that held him bound with the rest of “the masters treats.” The guards struck him with the flats of their
swords and knocked him unconscious. Thinking him dead, and fearing the master’s wrath for spoiling his dinner, the guards unchained him and threw him into a corner with the other leftovers to be fed to the pet wolves. Turel had remained hidden in the decomposing bodies for several days before the Sarafan made their final attack on the stronghold, killing all the vampires and most of Janus’s worshippers. In the final thrust, Melchiah himself had broken the doors of Janus’s inner sanctum and fought the vampire lord stave to sword, impaling him and ripping out his heart. The heart had been burned and the ashes scattered to the winds. With the battle accomplished, the warrior priests followed their bleeding leader to the pantry to search for survivors. They found only fourteen year old Turel. Melchiah lifted the youth out of the mass of rotten flesh. “You have survived the closest thing to hell, my son,” he said. “You’re very lucky.”

    Turel mused over this memory of his beloved brother, as he sat perched on the walls of the human citadel. His vampire eyes looked past the mountain peaks at the small figure standing on the cliffs over looking the Lake of the Dead. Neither centuries nor scars could mask the identity of the lone figure. If Raziel had been cut into a thousand
pieces, Turel could tell each part he came across, such were his gifts. A smile crossed Turel’s face as he thought of his brother, idealistic, righteous, and undeniably likable. It was Raziel who had begun the vampire purges of long ago. He was a simple priest for a long forgotten God. A man so moved by the senseless destruction the mad vampire Nazarl that he had plunged head first into a battle with the near feeble vampire with nothing but a steel pole topped with kitchen knife. Raziel weakened the vampire enough to bind him and take him back to the nearest village, where he was beheaded. 

    That was the legend told to Turel in the Sarafan schools he attended.  When Turel was able to, he looked back to the famous battle and found the legend truthful enough to disregard any discrepancies. Raziel had founded the Sarafan with his fame as a vampire slayer, his wonderful idealism, his humility to his God and his Cause. Blind and unselfish, his eldest brother, perfect to be Kain’s right hand. Turel often wondered if Kain had known as much about Raziel as Turel did now. Turel no longer held any doubts that Kain new perfectly well who and what he was putting the greatest portion of his gift into when he resurrected the dead Sarafan.
    
    “Ah Raziel,” Turel whispered to himself, “We were lost the minute Kain cast you into the abyss. That was the moment Kain decided his grand scheme had to be put into motion.”

    The abyss... it surely would have been Turel’s fate and not Raziel’s if Kain had known the truth. But again, he’d been lucky.

    The blood of countless lives changed the vampires. Always Kain first, then the rest of the first born. After a millennia, they began to lose their human forms. All but Turel. This was generally agreed, if unspoken, to be a weakness as the other vampires became more... how did Raziel put it... Divine. Indeed, the others had marveled in envy and awe Raziel spread his new wings before them. They considered it a wonder, and hoped for such a change themselves. At least until Kain had ripped the mass of the wings from Raziel’s back. After that, the first born lived in fear of changing 
before the master, always made sure to stay inferior to the master, as was Kain’s plan. Kain never suspected that Turel had already exceeded him, just as Raziel had. Turel, who could see farther, who’s magic was subtler than his brethren, who knew the mind of his father as well as his own.

    Turel had felt the pivotal change coming upon him, indeed had foreseen it months in advance, but had assumed that it meant Kain would be entering into the change state in a matter of weeks. As his own changing approached, Turel sensed that he had made a very dangerous assumption indeed. Turel had told Kain we was going on a trip to the
northern wastes to check reports of a new human uprising. In reality, Turel was looking for a sanctuary away from Kain’s piercing thought.

    And he found it... the cave of the Oracle.

    Overcome with weariness, Turel had stumbled into the cave as his change overtook him. And when he woke up, he could see. Turel looked behind him, through mountains to see Kain sparring with Rahab in the moonlight, a smile on both their faces, and on that of Dumah as he watched from a window. He saw Zephon climbing a cliff overlooking the ancient lighthouse north of his territory, taking simple pleasure in the machinery that still brought a harmless sun to the dead of night after so many centuries.
    Then he turned toward the cavern he had stumbled into to avoid being seen surpassing his father. He saw a vast cavern beyond the wall. He saw the twisting of reality that had been the craft of Moebius the Timestreamer, who Kain had told them all about so many times. In an instant he saw the events that had led up to the Timestreamer’s demise at the
hands of Kain. Then, inexplicably, he saw himself talking to Moebius.

    “What is the answer to this riddle?” Turel asked the empty chamber.

    “answer’s... i have them alllll...if you have the questionsss...and what are the questionsss... to those answersss... vampire,” a voice whispered from nowhere.

    Time and spaced twisted a little, and Moebius walked into the chamber.

    Turel’s musing was interrupted by the movement of Raziel on the horizon.  Raziel leaped into the shallow water surrounding the broken bridge that lead to the remains of Dumah’s territory. So big brother had defeated Rahab already. Poor Rahab, he had been happy enough in his existence, but he, like all of them, was simply waiting 
to die or for the world to rip itself apart. Turel watched Raziel move into the slaughter house that had been Dumah’s palace, and sent a prayer to Dumah that he enjoy his last battle and to welcome his death as a release. He had no doubt of the former.

    Indeed, he had little doubt of anything since Moebius had shown his how to harness his power. Moebius had shown Turel the beginning and the ending of the story of this part of the story, but had left the epilogue up to Turel to witness when he joined Moebius in the next phase. Turel knew he was being manipulated, but was content that the cause was a just enough one to justify it. He believed in his own way that he was helping his brother, his father, and Nosgoth itself to fulfill their destinies, and that when they reached the Wheel of Fate, Kain and his sons would be re-united in the  balanced world.

    For now, he was simply to watch. After his instruction at the hands of Moebius, Turel had returned to the sanctuary to watch Raziel’s little passion play unfold. When Kain had rid them of the heart and soul of their group, they had begun the slow withdrawal from Kain and fortified themselves away from each other. When Kain had begun the genocide of the Razielim, Turel allowed himself to be killed in the battle.  Quite dramatically, too, as he stood between a wounded Kain and the final dying gasp of the Razielim. He had used magic to smash the wall joining Raziel’s castle to the underground lake, flooding the chamber and taking Turel and the last of Raziel’s children into the depths, and into oblivion. Instants before his body began his dissolve, Moebius pulled him from the timestream, and Turel was sent into hiding.
    
    He was dropped into the safest place in Nosgoth for someone hiding from the vampire clans.. the last stronghold of the humans. They had accepted him as their protector in exchange for small portions of their blood. Turel had staved off the invasion of the Rahabim when they had become bold and hungry enough to invade the stronghold.  From this vantage he had watched Kain’s plan unfold.

    Kain hoped to bring balance to Nosgoth. In part because he wished to continue his rule, in part because the deaths of millions rested on his shoulders.  Perfectly balanced, Kain was. Much like the pillar he represented still. Kain, like 
Mortanius before him, had killed Raziel to unleash his new form on the corruption that was spread across Nosgoth. Kain knew that Mortanius, as the necromancer, was beyond death and couldn’t resist an encore presentation to try to right his wrong. 

    “Oh Mortanius,” said Moebius to Turel once, “a wonderful judge of strength, horrible judge of moral. Raziel isn’t going martyr himself anymore than Kain did. Raziel is still Kain’s son, and will remember it before the end. That’s is why I’ve chosen you, Turel.” 

    They were all going to die. Turel knew this, but it didn’t trouble him.  He was content to watch the events unfold and play his part. Kain had said goodbye to his children already, and now waited in the Oracle’s Chronoplast, ready to move through time to the next phase of the game. Turel felt mild regret that he wasn’t still “alive” to hear Kain farewell, but he’d see him soon enough.

    Kain still hoped to right the pillar without sacrificing himself. The thing was it no longer mattered if Raziel killed Kain. If Raziel did, he would undoubtedly swallow his soul, and then have to die himself. Either that, or Raziel would resume his place at Kain’s side. Turel would be there for that final scene.

    “I wish I could’ve said goodbye to poor Melchiah, but I’ll see him soon enough.  Be ready Raziel, be ready father.”

    Turel took one last look across the mountains. Kain had had his final words with Raziel, and led him through the Chronoplast.

    Finally, The first phase of the game was over. They were going beyond Mortanius’s reach... and right into Moebius’s. It was time for Turel to join the play. He stood up and began the journey towards the Chronoplast. It was finally time.