Gaining entry into the castle was not difficult. Phasing through a grill that stretched across a stone tunnel opening at ground level, Raziel made his way into what could only by some sort of drainage ditch. It was a high cavernous chamber with stone troths in the floor to let the rain water drain out.
Leading up from this dank chamber was a flight of stone stairs. Ascending these Raziel found himself staring at dimly lit catacombs stretching out through the darkness.
Corpses, leaking ethereal gasses, were laid to rest in a multitude. Wooden coffins rested shelves carved into the rock, all of them marked with that odd dragon like seal of Vorador’s.
Selecting the nearest corpse, Raziel stepped torward the casket and concentrated; projecting his essence down into the new vessel.
He found this method of re-entering the material realm repugnant in the extreme but until he found a way to gather matter without the aid of planar portals, he would just have to improvise with this.
The body was that of a vampire, dead for a very long time but prepared with great ceremony. It had been wrapped and treated to ensure that it not spoil too badly. As such it was far easier to rework it back to his usual image, twisting up out of the spectral realm and back into the physical.
The transformation having taken place inside a coffin, Raziel pushed his way out scattering the wood and sending it cascading down over the floor.
The vampires laid to rest here numbered perhaps a few hundred and even in death none of them had the smell of the clans. These were the bodies of Cabal.
“Vorador’s race…” Raziel muttered to himself, glancing up and down at the rows of coffins. Was this the fate of those who had survived the rule of the Sarafan, to die in isolation on a barren island? Was this all of them? The blue wraith made a quick count and decided it was not. He vaguely remembered the number he had helped transport to this island being much higher than just a hundred.
The catacombs did not hold Raziel long. The only barrier between him and the castle above was a gate that was rusted shut.
He picked at the hinges with a talon to free them sufficiently and then slammed his shoulder into the frame. The gate swung open with a loud crash when it struck the walls.
Beyond was a storage area that in turn opened up into a large banquet hall, the ceiling soaring high overhead. Vacant tables and chairs were laid out in perfect rows leading to the main table at the far end. Banners hung from the walls, well tended despite their age and carrying the dragon symbol of Vorador. The very stone here was like the outside, a mix of different shades and colours that again revealed how this fortress had been built using materials taken from the city below.
Braziers stood out from the walls, each glowing not with a flame but with a small orb of glass that pulsed with a strange luminescence. Raziel had seen lights such as these down in the ruined city, most of them broken.
Raziel footsteps echoed in the silent hall as he moved between the tables, judging the number of seats and coming up with a number of about a thousand.
Above the head table was a very large portrait set into a polished golden frame. It showed a vampire, a female. She was pale skinned and her hair was long and raven black, tied back behind her head in a flowing ponytail. The skin of her cheeks and brow had dark designs drawn in tattoo that complimented the lines of the flawless face.
The painted figure stood in relief against a red and golden sky staring up with a look of fierce determination in her pale violet eyes.
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“This castle had been vacated for years, centuries perhaps. But it was not unattended;, the surfaces swept and polished, candlesticks and portrait frames untarnished. I still had to account for that prowling vampire that had chased me through the ruined city below. I would have to search this keep cautiously.”
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Looking away from the portrait, Raziel glanced around wondering why his presence here had gone so un-attended by the chameleon. This castle had to be what she had been protected but here he was inside what could only be the main hall and he could not sense her. It was unlikely that she could evade his notice completely, not with his heightened senses.
It occurred to him then that perhaps it was not the castle itself she was protecting but rather something IN the castle.
With no other recourse left open to him, Raziel began to explore the keep room by room. Some chambers were armouries, the weapons all tended to and swept spotless of rust. Others were smaller dinning rooms and lounges and these were swept and free of dust. Even the fire places he found were devoid of old ashes.
If the chameleon kept this castle clean then her devotion to that duty was nothing short of fanatical.  
Suddenly he came to a door that was locked, fastened in place by a large padlock and chain. One does not lock a door unless there is something worth stealing behind it. Raziel was no thief but still this stirred his curiosity.
The chain was easy to break and he pulled it away, letting the padlock land on the carpeted floor with a dull thud.
The door’s hinged hadn’t been oiled in a long time though and it moved only reluctantly as he pushed it, dragging forward and making a very loud creaking. The light flooded into the chamber from outside as Raziel crept within, looking around and tensing for any sudden danger. Sensing nothing he continued inside.
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“The room I entered was clearly a study of some kind, surfaces full of scrolls and ancient tomes all sealed with locks and buckles.”
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Shelves were set in long rows that ran from wall to wall, piling high al the way up to an arched gothic ceiling. This chamber had not had the benefit of any sort of caretaking as dust moved in puffs off the floor with every step. Even the locks and buckles used to keep these tomes locked away from prying eyes were rusty.
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“It was yet more proof of Vorador’s presence, for as I knew from Kain, he had stood jealous guard over his stores of old knowledge and secrets.”
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This did not bode well however, for why would Vorador seal up his library and abandon it for what must have been a considerable time?
Raziel picked up a book from a shelf and dusted it over. The cover was plain leather and told him nothing. Preying the buckle away he opened the book, gently as he was afraid after so long the pages might be brittle. The parchment crackled at the touch and Raziel had to be very careful with his talons turning the pages.
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“The tome I held was no book from antiquity. It was far more modern yet of greater interest. As I flicked through the first few pages, I realized that recorded here were the day to day details of Vorador’s life; ever since Kain had banished him to these islands.
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To Raziel’s surprise, the writing on the page was not the first entry either. This book told of events taking place on this island at some time in the page five centuries and opening another book further along the shelf, Raziel saw that the diary entries continued.
He felt momentarily stunned as he gazed at the row upon row of books in this room. Was all of this Vorador’s journal, dutifully recorded down here? Had Vorador himself written ALL of this?
Quickly he sought out a table and chair and sat, piling the books before him and reading with intense interest.
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“I learned of the fate of the Cabal, the only vampires in Nosgoth not to descend from Kain. They alone had not fall into animalistic mutations, retaining their rational minds. Vorador had guided them over their evolution, helping them come to terms with their growing power.”
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He read on, the books piling up on the table before him. The story drew him in and seeing through these writings he had an insight into Vorador’s mind that revealed to Raziel something profound.
Vorador, while maintaining a detached and dismissive façade, was in reality a being of great and powerful emotion. He saw all of the Cabal as his children and he nurtured them as any further would, doing everything within his power to ensure that they survived. He had not once used them to further his own gains, never even considered it.
All thought-out his writing was mention of one person in particular, one of his children who he had lost long ago and still missed intensely. Umah.
That name was very familiar and the reference came instantly to mind. The Keeper, that strange god like entity, had mentioned the name Umah to him when they had met on the ocean floor. He had called her ‘Umah the Barren’. But what did that mean? With no answer to this question Raziel continued reading the narrative.
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“They had bred the humans they had brought with them like cattle, maintaining a balanced relationship with them in order to preserve their crop. Yet the corruption spread out from the mainland and the humans began to die out.”
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Finding the remains of human slaves along with those humans sent with them, the Cabal had found themselves at a numerical disadvantage to the humans. Fearing that the humans might rise up and kill them all, Vorador had proposed a method of cohabitation once used in eons past by the Serioli. Blood would be taken once a mouth from those humans healthy enough to do so to create a stockpile. This surplus of blood would keep the vampires fed and eliminated the need to hunt. In return the vampires protected the humans from encouragement by the clans from the mainland who were becoming increasingly more demonic.
This arrangement allowed both species to exist in a wary sort of peace.
But the human population began to shrink, the land producing less and less food to keep a large group alive.
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“With their source of sustenance dwindling… and there it broke off; the narrative coming to an abrupt stop. There were no further entries.”
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Only when he had reached the final page of the book did Raziel realise that he and read through most of the tomes around him, a large pile stacked on the table in front of him. He had been so enthralled by the story that he had gone through book after book without really realising it.
He had only come out from its grasp by the disappointing cessation of words. The last entry, if he was any judge of elapsed time, was somewhere in the past thousand years.
The Cabal could not have all starved to death as he had seen humans on the way here, they still survived.
“Then where are you, Vorador?”
He would not have starved to death on some rock in the middle of the sea. If there had been a way to survive then Vorador would have found it.
Suddenly the blue wraith sat up straight and sniffed. There it was again, that tell tale scent of another vampire. It was the chameleon.
Quickly Raziel darted to the chamber door and stepped out, making no attempt at stealth.
The smell was close and coming closer and now he could pin point its direction. A door in a nearby corridor lead out into another lounge like room, a small chamber with a large chair that sat facing a full fire place and in was in here that the smell was strongest.
Raziel opened that door and stepped inside, moving to the side of the chair.
“I know you’re here.” He said, turning his head back and forth and if to catch sight of the invisible presence.
“I warned you to stay away.” The voice said in reply and Raziel caught sight of movement to his left. Quickly he turned to face his attacker as it became visible long enough to strike out at him with the flash of a sword blade.