Pastoral Visit

You’ve been meaning to check on one of the medics for weeks now. Mira, they call her. Quiet girl. Keeps to herself.

The soldiers speak well of her work – kind, yet particularly effective. But you’ve missed her presence at morning prayer. In your experience, it’s those who avoid the gods whom need them most.

So you visit her tent just after dawn, when the dawn’s light cleanses the camp with the Dawnflower’s golden glow.

“Chaplain,” you announce loudly, pausing for just a moment before entering.

“Yes, chaplain” comes the reply as you part thick canvas. The woman seated behind a desk inside flinches for just a moment.

“Brother Tibus,” she greets you with a curt nod but you can read her pained expression “apologies, I have a headache.”

You step inside quickly to close off the light, moving past assorted medical equipment and towards her small workspace. You can’t help but think that the light of the Dawnflower would be better suited than lamplight for helping with such issues.

”I was just finishing my notes” she says, placing her pen down. “Please, have a seat.”

You sit down across from her and gently go to take her hands, offering her a healing prayer to help with the pain. Her hands dart backwards at your approach. That’s odd.

“No no, I’m quite alright, sorry. I’ve recently taken medication and would rather observe the effect of it.”

That seems reasonable, but given your reason for visiting, given her pale complexion and exhausted look, perhaps she needs divine help more than she knows.

She offers you a cup of tea which you graciously accept. A gesture of normalcy and hospitality.

“I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion,” you announce. “I’ve missed you at morning prayers. The Dawnflower’s light blesses us all and it would do the soldiers well to see all of the medics in attendance.”

Your eyes scan across the clutter on her desk while she pours each of you a cup. A small roughly carved and painted charm catches your eye for a moment. Like something a barbarian or goblin might carry.

“I’m afraid I’m not much for morning prayers,” she says with a self-deprecating smile as she hands you the cup. “Never been much of a morning person.”

The smile is genuine, almost shy. Her lips pull back slightly with the expression.

There.

Your breath catches.

Too sharp. Too long. Delicate points that do not belong in a human mouth.

She lifts her own cup to drink and you see them again more clearly now against the ceramic.

She lowers her cup, oblivious. “This is the last of the good tea, I’m afraid. Supply lines haven’t quite caught up yet out here.”

Small talk. Pleasant conversation like nothing at all is wrong.

You lift your own cup with steady hands and a silent prayer to the Dawnflower. You take a sip. It tastes awful.

Vampire. The word echoes in your skull like a funeral bell.

You’re sitting across from a vampire, drinking tea, and discussing supply lines.

She’s still talking “-though I suppose the occasional dawn shifts in the medical tent are their own kind of prayer. Just… bloodier.”

She doesn’t even realise what she just said. What you saw.

She doesn’t realise that you know what she is.

Looking across the desk at her, you notice that she hasn’t blinked. She hasn’t breathed. A trick of this dim lamplight perhaps?

“The Dawnflower accepts all forms of service,” you hear yourself saying automatically. Does she though? Does she really? Does our lady of the sun accept those who flee from her light?

You pray again. For guidance or wisdom. What does justice look like when mercy has fangs? How can undead creatures be redeemed?

You take another sip of your tea. Still awful. Everything is wrong.

You manage to hold your composure and look her in the eye. Too pale.

You speak while slowly retrieving a bronze symbol of Sarenrae from around your neck, “You know, the Dawnflower teaches us that light has a way of easing hard work. Long hours like yours can wear the soul thin.”

She holds her teacup closely, like a shield. Her reaction is subtle. Eyes dart to your symbol then quickly back.

She takes a sip, more carefully this time and with her eyes still trained on you. Something in your brain screams at you to run.

“Of course,” she responds simply.

You think of all the lives she has saved. Of how many lives could yet be lost without her. Either way you need to get out of this tent.

Making excuses of preparations for prayer, you set down your cup and stand. You force a warm smile and thank Mira for her time before parting canvas once more to golden morning light.

“Take care, chaplain” she says as you leave. You don’t look back.

Your mind races as you walk, the sun’s gentle rays warming your face.

You think of an off-handed comment from one of the men about a medic with corpse-cold hands. Her avoidance of the dawn and of prayer. Her avoidance of you.

Sarenrae teaches us that everyone can be redeemed. The soldiers she cares for speak so highly of her. They speak of miraculous healing from what seems to be an ordinary medic.

Vampires are devious creatures and to leave one alone for so long with the wounded… It is likely acting polite now to gain trust.

But what if you are wrong? No. It has fangs and pale skin. It hides from the Dawnflower’s light. It probably only pretends to breathe to keep up the masquerade

It’s not right. Nothing here is right at all. Nobody in this camp is safe so long as this unholy creature lurks.

You realise that you’re clutching your symbol of Sarenrae tightly. You’ve already passed the gathering spot for prayer.

The commander needs to know. By the dawn’s light you will not allow another soul in this camp to suffer this abomination.