CHAPTER 7: GAME NIGHT DIPLOMACY
One month into his resurrection, and Kol missed Netflix with an intensity that bordered on physical pain.
He sat on the compound's balcony, watching Marcel's vampires and the Quarter's witches maintain their careful détente through a combination of territorial boundaries and mutual suspicion. Two groups that should be allies, circling each other like wary dogs, ready to snap at the first sign of weakness.
Below, an argument erupted. Diego, one of Marcel's lieutenants, faced off against a young witch whose name Kol hadn't learned yet. Something about boundary violations and disrespect and the usual territorial nonsense that punctuated New Orleans' supernatural politics.
"If they spent half as much energy cooperating as they do fighting," Josh muttered, appearing at Kol's shoulder, "we'd have solved every problem in the city by now."
An idea struck Kol with the force of revelation.
"Josh, how do you feel about tabletop gaming?"
"Uh, what?"
"Dungeons and Dragons. Pathfinder. Any RPG, really." Kol turned to face the younger vampire, excitement building. "Did you play when you were human?"
"I mean, yeah, but—" Josh's confusion was evident. "Why are you asking about D&D?"
"Because I just figured out how to create peace in New Orleans." Kol stood, mind already racing through the logistics. "And I'm going to need your help to sell Marcel on the world's most ridiculous diplomatic strategy."
Twenty minutes later, Kol stood in Marcel's office with hand-drawn charts that would have made his corporate colleagues weep.
"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Marcel said slowly, studying the diagrams with the expression of a man questioning every life choice that had led to this moment. "You want to gather vampires, witches, and werewolves in one room and have them play a game where they pretend to be adventurers fighting dragons."
"Yes, but you're missing the nuance." Kol tapped his most elaborate chart—a Venn diagram showing overlapping circles labeled 'Conflict Resolution,' 'Team Building,' and 'Shared Investment.' "We'll leverage collaborative storytelling to synergize faction engagement, creating stakeholder buy-in through shared narrative investment. The immersive experience will facilitate organic relationship development across traditional power structures."
Marcel stared at him. "Did you just have a stroke?"
Josh, standing by the door, was visibly trying not to laugh.
"I'm proposing a strategic team-building exercise," Kol clarified, though he couldn't resist adding, "designed to optimize interpersonal bandwidth and create sustainable frameworks for cross-faction cooperation."
"You want vampires to play pretend," Marcel repeated flatly.
"It's called collaborative narrative construction!"
"It's called playing pretend."
"It's called team bonding, and it works," Kol insisted. "Shared challenges create shared investment. Give them a common enemy—fictional dragons instead of each other—and watch what happens."
Marcel looked at Josh. "Is he serious?"
"Completely," Josh said, grin breaking through. "And honestly? It might work. I played in high school. Best friendships I ever made happened around a gaming table."
"You're both insane," Marcel declared. But Kol caught the calculation in his eyes—the same look Marcel got when weighing risks against potential rewards. "Fine. One session. You get one chance to prove this ridiculous idea has merit. If it devolves into actual violence, we're done."
"Deal," Kol said immediately, before Marcel could reconsider.
Three nights later, the compound's main room had been transformed into something between a war room and a community center.
Kol had spent two days preparing—creating character sheets, drawing maps, writing a campaign that would challenge without overwhelming newcomers. The grimoire helped, providing historical references for fantasy worldbuilding and, oddly, seeming genuinely interested in the creative process.
"This is a sophisticated psychological manipulation disguised as entertainment," the book had written. "I approve."
Now, watching the attendees file in with expressions ranging from curious to deeply skeptical, Kol wondered if he'd made a terrible mistake.
Diego arrived with three vampire companions, all radiating hostility. Two young witches from Davina's coven came next, magic crackling defensively around them. Thierry showed up looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Even a werewolf—Oliver, from the Crescent pack—ducked through the door, drawn by curiosity about whatever "diplomatic initiative" Marcel had pitched.
Davina settled beside Kol at the head of the table, eyes bright with anticipation. She'd helped with preparation, finding the whole concept delightfully absurd.
"Everyone sit," Marcel commanded, and supernatural beings accustomed to following his orders arranged themselves around the table. "Kol's going to explain the rules. Try not to kill each other before he's finished talking."
"Right." Kol stood, suddenly aware of a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on him with varying levels of suspicion. "Welcome to Dungeons and Dragons. Tonight, you're not vampires or witches or werewolves. You're adventurers in a fantasy world, and your goal is to work together to defeat challenges I'll present."
"What kind of challenges?" Diego asked suspiciously.
"Dragons, mostly. Also bandits, corrupt nobility, the occasional demon." Kol distributed character sheets. "First, we need to create your characters. Pick a class—the role you'll play in the party."
The predictability was almost painful.
Every vampire immediately gravitated toward Fighter. "We're already combat optimized," Diego explained when Kol raised an eyebrow. "Why play anything else?"
The witches both chose Cleric. "Someone needs healing," one said primly. "And support magic."
Oliver stared at his sheet for approximately three seconds before announcing, "Barbarian. Obviously."
"Obviously," Kol agreed, managing not to laugh.
Davina, contrarian to her core, created a Bard. "Someone should have social skills," she said pointedly, eyeing the table full of combat-focused characters. "Besides, I like the idea of magic through music."
"We're going to die," Josh predicted cheerfully, rolling up a Rogue. "This party composition is terrible."
"That's half the fun," Kol assured him.
The actual character creation process took an hour and devolved into exactly the kind of arguments Kol had hoped for—heated debates about optimal stat distribution, passionate defenses of controversial character choices, and Diego nearly coming to blows with one of the witches over who got to use the cool dice.
But they were arguments about dice, not territory. About fictional characters, not real grudges.
Marcel watched from his position leaning against the wall, expression cycling between bewilderment and reluctant fascination.
"Okay," Kol said finally, once everyone had completed characters. "You're all traveling to the city of Waterdeep when you hear screams from the forest. Roll initiative."
Three hours later, the table had transformed into something Kol hadn't dared hope for.
Diego's Fighter, a grizzled mercenary named Ironjaw, stood back-to-back with the witch's Cleric, defending against imaginary goblins while Davina's Bard provided magical support through song. Oliver's Barbarian charged into battle with joyful abandon, Josh's Rogue picked locks and defused traps, and somehow, impossibly, they were cooperating.
"I cast Sacred Flame on the goblin leader," the witch announced.
"I'll follow up with a sword strike," Diego added immediately. "Try to take advantage of it being distracted."
They high-fived when the combined attack succeeded.
Kol met Marcel's eyes across the room and saw shock mirrored there. "It's actually working," Marcel's expression said. "How is it actually working?"
The session culminated in a dragon fight—young red dragon, CR appropriate for first-level characters—that required every party member's contribution. Thierry, who'd been quiet most of the night, made a critical attack roll that saved the party from a TPK. Everyone erupted in cheers.
Josh's character died anyway, heroically holding off the dragon's final assault while others escaped.
The table went silent. Then Oliver raised his tankard—water, since they were staying in character. "To Shadowblade. He died so we could live."
Everyone drank. Even the vampires who didn't need to eat or drink participated in the solemn toast.
Kol felt something shift in his chest. These people—former enemies, current rivals, supernatural beings divided by centuries of prejudice and violence—were genuinely mourning a fictional character. Bonding over shared loss in a made-up world.
The grimoire, resting on the table beside his DM notes, flipped open to a new page. Words appeared in flowing script: Spell Collected: Unity Ritual.
Kol blinked. The book hadn't absorbed spell knowledge from witnessing casting—this was something else. The grimoire recognizing that what had happened tonight was, in its own way, a kind of magic.
"Same time next week?" Davina asked as people began packing up.
The agreement was universal and immediate. Even Diego, who'd arrived radiating hostility, nodded enthusiastically. "I want revenge on that dragon."
"The dragon's dead," Kol pointed out.
"Then its parent. Dragons have parents, right?"
"Usually, yes."
"Perfect. We're killing its parent."
As the group dispersed into the night, chattering about character development and strategy for next session, Marcel approached Kol with an expression that might have been respect.
"I don't understand what just happened," Marcel admitted. "But whatever it was, it worked."
"Shared narrative investment," Kol said, unable to resist. "Stakeholder engagement through collaborative—"
"Stop. Please stop talking like a corporate manual." Marcel's lips twitched toward a smile. "But... good work. Whatever this is, keep doing it."
Kol walked Davina home through the Quarter's lamplit streets, both still energized from the session's success.
"Your ridiculous plan actually worked," Davina said, bumping his shoulder with hers.
"You sound surprised."
"I am surprised. You brought vampires and witches together by having them fight imaginary monsters. It's absurd." She grinned up at him. "It's brilliant, but it's absurd."
"The best plans usually are." Kol felt lighter than he had since resurrection, the constant tension that came with maintaining his deception temporarily forgotten. For a few hours, he'd just been a DM running a game for friends, and it had been good.
They stopped at the entrance to Davina's building. She turned to face him, magic crackling faintly around her hands—an unconscious tell Kol had learned meant she was nervous about something.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For tonight. For the Ancestral Firewall. For helping with the Harvest investigation. For..." She trailed off, searching for words. "For being here. I know you're still figuring yourself out, but you've been a good friend."
"Davina—" Kol started, not sure what he intended to say.
She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, quick and impulsive. They both froze, her eyes wide, his heart hammering in a way that had nothing to do with vampire biology.
"Good night, Kol," Davina said, then fled into her building before he could respond.
Kol stood on the empty street, one hand rising unconsciously to touch where her lips had pressed. "What was that? What am I supposed to do with that?"
The grimoire manifested, pages turning themselves to display a simple message: You're developing feelings. This will complicate everything.
"Helpful," Kol muttered. "Very helpful."
But walking back to the compound, he couldn't stop smiling.
Above the Quarter, in a window overlooking the street where Kol and Davina had stood, Celeste Dubois watched through Sabine Laurent's eyes.
"Interesting," she murmured. "The Mikaelson who couldn't love is falling for the Harvest girl. How... unexpected."
Her mind churned with possibilities, recalculating plans that suddenly had new variables to account for. Love was a weakness. Attachment was a vulnerability. And Kol—changed as he was, powerful as he'd become—had just revealed exactly where to strike if she needed leverage.
"Peace won't last," Celeste said to the empty room. "But let them have tonight. Let them think they're building something beautiful."
She smiled, cold and calculating.
"It'll make the collapse so much more satisfying."
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