Orion Hill, 1704


When I first encountered Lady Thalaroth and Carmilla, the two had emerged from the Infernal and carved out a quiet life for themselves in West Germany. They lived in a small town nestled deep within the forest, forming a partnership with the townspeople. The locals vouched for them, willing to say anything necessary to drive my hunters away, to throw us off their scent.

Had magic been present, my knights would have detected it. Had the people been influenced by the hellish power the pair possessed, we would have known. Yet there was nothing. The townsfolk were not enchanted or coerced. They protected the two Infernal of their own free will and lied without hesitation to keep us away. We could have forced our way in. Broken down doors, raided homes and shops. But we are better than that.

My knights waited until nightfall, until the town slept. Then they moved.

Carmilla was waiting.

She sat on a bench before a small house no larger than a pigpen, holding her sword, the Unmaker. It was the first time any of them had laid eyes on that blade, and my knights later told me it unsettled them. A flat weapon, larger than she was, resting patiently, as if eager to be swung. They said it was as if the blade whispered to them and they could hear the sound of cries coming from inside the blade.

She did not look at them. She did not rise. Her presence alone was warning enough, and she knew it. Carmilla knew they had been watching. With a single gesture, she beckoned them forward, then snuffed out her lantern. She made it so no one would be forced to witness what might have followed.

My knights behaved as they were trained to. Respectfully. Had I sent the Patel, the encounter would have ended differently. Had the Florentina gone, Carmilla might have attacked out of boredom. No, I sent my people because only they could earn the audience I sought. They approached and informed the infernal general that they meant no harm. That they carried a summons to meet me, at a time and place of their choosing. Carmilla asked no questions. She took the letter I had written and waved my knights away as if they were little more than an irritation.

Three days later, a reply appeared on my bedside table. It had been delivered while Charlotte and I slept. There was a letter sitting there, but the true message was far more important. They knew where we lived. They knew who we were. And had they wished to reach us, to hurt us, they could have done so.

Instead, like us, they chose peace.

I remember smiling when I saw the letter and read it for the first time. Next to it sat an apple and a wedge of cheese. They had proven themselves every bit the threat I needed them to be.

That same day, I changed the locks on my home, and doubled our security. Charlotte was furious. I found it amusing.

Lady Thalaroth arranged our meeting in a garden at the center of their town, for her safety and ours. She knew we would never strike in public unless provoked. And we knew that sitting in one of the nearby buildings, her monster waited patiently, watching. I went alone knowing that if she had wanted me dead, I would have been days ago. I sat beside her and brought a basket of food for lunch. It seemed kind to share. We ate bread, tomatoes, cheese, sliced turkey, and drank wine I had kept from my time in Italy.

I asked her about the Infernal, about their aggression toward the Earth and the Divine. Lady Thalaroth told me she had once served on a council that ruled the Infernal for thousands of years. That long before our civilizations existed, she watched over the souls of the Evergarden and witnessed the first among them depart their world to find what would become ours.

She told me she once ruled a court, the one we now know as Duat. In her time, it bore another name, an Infernal name she refused to give. She spoke of it with shame, haunted by memories she did not voice aloud. I didn’t wish to pry, and even to this day she has yet to mutter the name.

She explained that the Infernal Realm was once a place of judgment for those not chosen by the Divine, which was most. Souls were judged by the lives they lived and assigned to different courts. What we now call the Nine Rings.

In her time, she ruled with honor and strict law. The guilty were prosecuted, sent to a court that fit the punishment that came with as a result of their life.

Those who earned peace were allowed to pass on to the Plains of Asphodel.

It was not until a new council member rose that corruption took hold.

You may think me a fool for believing her so easily. But I did. I know the weight of leadership, and I recognized her pain. Even to this day, I feel it myself when I speak with her.

We spoke until the sun began to set. We laughed. We cried. The fair lady loved her realm deeply and felt adrift in ours. In such an alien world. Her hatred was reserved for our enemy, and in that, we shared a drink.

I offered her the title of Lord to lead the first new Coven in over seven hundred years. The offer came with a debt. One repaid only if she and her general would devote themselves to removing Satan from power. And that when the time came for his destruction, she would see it to the end. She replied with a question, asking what would happen after he was eliminated. I remember smiling and telling her that she can then have her home back. She sat in silence after that, allowing a smile to sit on her face for a bit. I expected her to leave and consider it. Instead, she stood and shook my hand, then accepted.

Today, Lady Thalaroth and Carmilla lead the Roth. They are our smallest Coven, yet one that rivals even my own in strength and power. She has proven herself a valuable ally, and more than that, a close friend. Her power guides us against the Infernal threat, and perhaps one day, she will reclaim her place and find rest in her world once again
.
Until then, she and the Covens will continue the fight.

And we will all smile when we hear the fear carried in a whisper, spoken with a single name.

Roth.