Prologue 

Across the Red Stream the foul smell of petrichore is the beginning of a new era. Time is kept track of by counting stars. They come and they go, lasting several tides. Some are brighter than others. Those are the ones making a difference between day and night. During the Bloodrain there are no stars to be counted, just a dark sky pouring the essence of life all over every land.  After seven thousand stars were counted, multiple generations had taken their first and last breath, the era of the Renaissance had finally ended. 

He spat out some blood. The earth around him was moist and red. The roof of his temple had shattered. How long has it been since the last drop of blood has fallen from the sky? He did not know. He had spent the whole Bloodrain in total delirium. His memory was foggy, but he remembered one face. The false prophet, as he called him. A warrior from the lost islands. A human who had seen the things humankind was not supposed to know about. The Old Wanderer some call it. A beast with the will to kill everything  that he so preciously loved. 

The Puppetmaster will always know the face of the one who killed him. Aside from that there was not much that he remembered. Apparently you don’t come back from death with the same memories you died with. He got up and tried to collect what exactly he knew. He remembered his murder of course. Then he remembered that he is the master of all the puppets in the High North. He felt all the eyes that he could see through. They belonged to the puppets roaming around. They were less of loyal servants and more a part of him. Right now he was too tired to reach out to them, but he could feel them. There were less than he remembered. Puppets don’t make it through a Bloodrain easier than any other creature. The Bloodrain kills and sets the stage for a grand rebirth. That is just how it is. A storm of change. The highest of the tides. He remembered that he carries the will of a god they call Father and he that some of his power leaked out into his most loyal servants. They used to be just normal puppets but are now prophets as well, his prophets he hoped. He had to thank them for his life. They have stitched his wounds and reawakened him through the power of the Bloodrain. The change of a new era was still lingering in the air. 

He felt the presence of four new prophets. His knights, his saviours, former puppets. The Puppetmaster never suffered such a defeat as the one that the false prophet handed to him just before the bloodrain. Now though he might be stronger than ever. With his new prophets he could start and win another war. He laughed out loud. His ribcage started burning. This war would have to wait. The Puppetmaster might still need a lot of rest before he could unleash the power that he dreamt of.

In his temple he found four dead animals lying around. They were sacrificed here for him. Carefully placed around the altar as a symbol of love and devolution to their master. One bull, one snake, one human and the remains of a Behemoth. The prophets were kind to him. Each has hunted down an animal crucial to his recovery and placed it here to devour. He kneeled down at the altar and started his feast with the human. Drinking his blood fed the Vamps that his shell of a body was connected to. He felt his strength returning and turned to the bull. The fat and the meat was exactly what his human side needed. He can’t remember the last time that his body had eaten something. He filled his stomach and as soon as he felt strong enough he reached out to those four saviours of his. He wanted to see their faces.

He was just done drinking the snake's venom as the four entered his temple. “Master, we are glad to see you back amongst the living." He smiled. Even after all the power they got, they remained his loyal servants… for now at least. That was good news. “Well, I have heard that you four are the ones responsible for my survival.” The four servants bowed down. “We just did our duties, master.” They still behaved as if they were just normal puppets in his hive mind. That was untrue but it could be useful to him.

“I feel that the bloodrain evolved you into something special. I don’t think it would be appropriate to call you mere puppets anymore. Don’t you agree?” He looked at them carefully. Even though they behaved as one, each of them could not be any more different from each other: A giant of a man, a female-born, a  wiesel and a child stood before him. All of them were united by the Vamps nesting somewhere in their bodies. “We are whatever you want us to be.” He liked that. But he knew that this was a lie. If the false prophet had proven anything to the master, then it was that he was not as omnipotent as he had thought. There are greater powers behind every prophet and the fact that he was just killed by the false one proved that he as well was no true god. Merely a prophet of the father. If those four  are now prophets as well, they might just kill him as easily as the other one. Once they understood who their true god was.

“Well, I think I know what I would want you to be, but I trust you to be strong enough to decide that for yourselves now.” He had to ensure that they still serve him even when they would inevitably learn of their worth. He had to make a deal with them now. “As you say master.” Why does no one speak for themselves? They acted so synchronised as a group even though their sacrifices to him showed them to be unique in character? He needed to crack them open like a decknut. Carefully one after another. “I will grant you all the rank of knighthood. A rank that will be understood all across the Red Stream.” He took a deep breath. “Will the one who gifted me the bull step forward!” The giant stepped forward. Killing the Bull might have been a proof of his strength. His skin was pale, his left eye was grey and where his right eye would have been now there was the nesting place of his vamp. He must be twice as tall as the other prophets in front of him, which made him even taller than the master himself. Aside from that he also had muscles that proved his capability to rival the bull he killed. “You have proven strength. I will call you a true warrior and I want everyone to think the same of you. You are the incarnation of war and from now on Sir Warfare Knight of the Puppets.” The Puppetmaster walked to his deathbed and got his kopesh. Half shortsword, half sickle it was his preferred weapon. As he came back, Warfare was already on his knees. Now he was barely a head smaller than his master. The Master still had a hold of their thoughts and could give them commands without talking. That must be a good sign. He laid his sword on the giant's shoulders, first the left then the right shoulder. “May your name be feared all over the stream, may you be my greatest general in Wartimes.” The master lifted his kopesh from his head and the giant got up and walked back to his peers. “Now I would like to know who thought of the snake?” Forward stepped a small scrunkly one. If the master did not know any better he would think that he served the mother. His feminine features were just very pronounced and his breasts indecent. He liked his servants with cut of breastfat if they were to ever grow fat. He saw the fat of a breast as a sign of the Mother, a god he despised deeply. Creating without intent was what she had done. Without the father all life would still be animalistic. He cut off everything that represented this dimwitted god. May we all become men when we join the Father. But the vamp hanging onto his neck clearly showed the Master who this puppet would be loyal to. He kneeled down. “You proved a kind of wit to me that I have never seen in a puppet. A snake's venom can be vitalising in a way that only few scholars acknowledge.” He put his weapon on the puppets shoulders as well. “You shall be Sir Pestilence Knight of the Puppets, a plague hunting down humans and strengthening my puppets in a way only the  blessings from beyond could do.” 

Now the master was really curious: “Who hunted down a human for me to devour?” Forward stepped the dark skinned puppet. Skinny with reddish eyes, the Puppetmaster failed to see where his vamp had bitten this Puppet. But he  kneeled loyally just like the rest of them: “I think your actions spoke more clearly than a thousand words. I will simply call you Sir Death Knight of the Puppets.” The knight smiled and got up. There was something about him that seemed vicious in a way that usual puppets are just too mindless for. The master could not wait to learn more about Death.

The last remaining Knight was just a small child. Just as dark skinned as the Knight before him. He tried to reach out, but was not sure if this one even was a puppet. Unprompted he stepped forward and kneeled before the Master. “The Bethemoth was obviously not my work alone, Master. It fell in battle during the Bloodrain.” There he was. His presence was dark and looming. Weak and strong at the same time. He might never have been a normal puppet. Memories showed him leading the battle and giving orders to the other Knights. As if he was a Puppetmaster himself. This one was a leader. It almost scared the master. If one of his knights was ever to betray him in order to take his place, this was the one. “Fine, I see you are selling yourself short. Do not think I can not see what you are. In this temple there is no place for false humility.” The prophet in front of him kneeled even deeper as if he was to apologize for deceiving his master. “Don’t mistake my words for humility, I am simply as proud of the soldiers helping me as I am proud of my own part in this battle.” The Puppetmaster nodded. This one was smart. It may be good or bad. He is the one that could never betray the Puppetmaster if he wants to remain in power. “I think I know what your name is supposed to be: Sir Conquest Knight of the Puppets. May you be known as my will, my right hand and the knight to rule above all the other knights. I think this is the only title worthy of the slayer of Behemoth Eve.” Conquest bowed down even further. His forehead and his chest now touched the floor of the temple. The Puppetmaster wanted him to get up and step back like the others but Conquest had a final phrase of politeness before he followed the orders: “You are being too generous, my master.” Finally he got back up and stepped to the others.

The Puppetmaster took his time to think of a response: “I am only as generous as all of you deserve. Think of this not as a sign of my character but as a reflection of your actions and how vital they were to help this realm step forward into a new era.” 

They bowed once more and he decided to finally bring this little theater  to an end: “Now everyone: Leave! It might take seasons till we have garnered the strength to bring war back to the humans and I need my rest as much as everyone else in this fallen Kingdom.”

As he tried to catch his first night of sleep in this new era, he could not stop thinking about this face. The face of his murderer. It was looming over everything like a dark shadow. The biggest fear of the puppetmaster was knowing that he had to let go of this Grudge. He had to let go because this monster was not easy to kill. He had to make a decision between revenge and all his other ambitions. Revenge was just not important enough as an ambition in order to let go of a generational war.