Nine. There were nine of them and that perhaps is where the trouble started. The vampires took control of half of the mystical isle. The other inhabitants, both old and new, maintained a shaky hold on the other half. There were intense negotiations regarding the Rules of Warfare and in the heat of the battle, the honorable warriors followed them all.
Then the vampires called for a council, and all nine attended. Before they could begin negotiations, the bloodshed started. It was a slaughter. All the vampires were destroyed within minutes. “We tore right through them,” a weary victor said, “It was kind of scary.”
Ace showed the Red Knight a very nice seat made by elves in a tree. All looked peaceful, but it was deceiving for the defeat of the vampires was not the end of the danger, for the vampires had allies. Allies who mounted an attack against the island’s defenders. Again there were nine. Again the defenders defeated their foes.
But those foes had allies of their own and again the defenders faced danger in battle. Each side had a champion with a dauntingly large sword. The champions began to duel. The ferocity of their attacks was terrifying, but the battle lasted less a minute and then both champions lay dead. Soon all the warriors on both sides were utterly destroyed. Of the nine, not one remained standing on the battlefield.
All sense of cohesion, of group loyalty, of friendship evaporated. It was of a war of all against all. Everyone was attacking everyone, even themselves. A brave warrior shot himself with his own weapon and then lay dead upon the field. His friends wailed and mourned but battled on.
Soon all was lost, all was hopeless, there was no remaining option but to go home and tend to one’s own wounds.