While the remaining soldiers hold back beyond the limits of the scorched earth, muttering and eying the twitching form, Baron Bellamie comes pushing through the gathering crowd. He is fully dressed and alert - he seems not to have slept - and as his eyes fall upon the vampire a cold and dangerous smile spreads his lips. "Oh, now... what have we here?" He steps unhesitatingly towards it, slowly circling it as he approaches. "How marvelous." From his belt pouch, he pulls a thin silver chain, fine and delicate and long, longer than the pouch would seem could have held. With a sudden, vicious jerk, he loops the chain around the vampire's arm, pulling it back, then the other, then its legs, finally securing the chain around the creature's neck while he whispers to it, his face a deadly mask. Surely such a weak binding could not hold such a creature - any man of the army could snap it in two! But pale wisps of smoke, barely visible, seem to slowly rise from the bindings, and the vampire, whatever its struggles, seems unable to free itself. "Patriarch Tanar... I am impressed," he adds, standing from his crouch beside its head. "Shall we bring your prize for our allies to admire?"