So, without further delay, let's begin!
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Among The Dead (Part 1)
Sleep.
Darkness and shadows enveloped him, swaddling him in
their quiet bliss. The cold earth
beneath him was solid, a comforting reminder of stability. The air about him smelled of it, and carried
the chill of the ground so deep beneath the surface. He liked being so far removed from the world
above, far enough to find solace in the quiet.
That separation was a severing of the ties that kept him alive in a
world that kept him from knowing peace.
So he had gone underground, to the ancient crypt buried beneath miles of
dirt and stone. Here, among the dead, he
had slept the sleep of the ancients.
But while the world above could no longer disturb
him, the memories of his past found their way into his dreams. It was a subtle intrusion at first…memories
of his mortal life, of his time as a hunter, of learning the craft with his
father and wooing the woman that would become his wife. For the briefest of moments, he was back
there, five hundred years in the past, with the woman he loved and a family of
hunters as strong as there had ever been.
The dream turned darker, then, as his memories played
out once more, like a macabre performance by traveling gypsy thespians. The vampires had come, the Coven Syn, their
number intent on destroying the threat to their dark ways. In his dreams, the cries of his family filled
his ears as they fell, one by one, to the monstrous onslaught of so many
undead. He fought valiantly, and desperately,
to protect himself and his kin, but in the end, he knew how it would end. He had seen the way it would end, and
reliving it now would change nothing.
In his nightmare, he watched his father fall to the
hunger of the vampires. He heard his
wife scream, and he felt his heart beating as he ran through the long hallway
toward their room. But his legs could
not carry him fast enough. Even as he
burst through the door, it was too late.
She was gone. The curtains still
billowed from the open window, and the balcony still held him there, trapped
and helpless, as he watched his wife and the vampire carrying her fade off into
the darkness.
In his slumber, the vampire stirred.
The cry that passed from his lips was full of anguish
and pain and was echoed by the crumbling walls of the manor around him. The fiends had set fire to his ancestral
home, seeking to burn out the remaining hunters that they might finish their
grisly task. His rage fueling him, he
had gone to meet them, his father’s longsword in hand. The vampire hunters of his family were
stronger and faster than mortal men, but even they were weak compared to the
most timid of the undead. Against one, a
group of hunters prospered and came away victorious. Against a pair, their task was more
difficult. As the number of undead
increased, the number of hunters had to multiply as well, as one hunter against
an undead horde could only mean certain death.
But the vampires didn’t want him dead. They toyed with him, letting his rage and
adrenalin play out. Exhaustion and
fatigue began to creep into his arms, and his strikes were less fluid and
powerful. But he pressed on, eager for
vengeance, knowing that if he faltered, even for a moment, the vampires would
kill him. But despite his determination,
he did falter, and one of the undead moved towards him so fast that he seemed a
blur. The creature struck him, the blow
solid as stone, and sent him reeling.
The world had gone dark, and the young noble knew that death was coming.
He knew what was coming next. In his dream, he knew what was going to
happen. A low growl slipped past his
lips, rumbling throughout the old crypt.
How many times had that horrible night played out in his thoughts? How many times would he be forced to relive
it, to watch as everything he knew crumbled around him? He wanted nothing more than to wake at that
moment, to return to the world above and avoid the tragedy of his past. But the sleep of the dead was powerful, and
would only release him when it was time.
For now, he was its captive, a slave to the sleep of the ancients and
the nightmares that came with it.
He had awoken in a cell, deep beneath the earth. There was no light but the faint glow of
torches along walls outside of his prison.
There was no warmth but that coming from his body, and even that had
been stolen by the cold ground he had awakened upon. Forcing himself to rise, he realized that his
armor had been stripped from his body, and that his father’s longsword was
gone, nowhere in sight. He wore only the
tunic and breeches he had worn beneath his armor, and they were cold and
wet. His long dark hair was matted with
mud, and not even the burning rage in his heart could warm him.
He sat in silence for a long while before they came
for him. They had said nothing, these
vampires with their monstrous glowing eyes.
They had descended upon him, biting him, holding him down as they
feasted on his blood. He gasped, and
cried out, but their hands were cruel and strong and held him fast. He had felt himself growing weaker and
weaker, and once the fiends were done with him, she came into the cell.
She was unearthly beauty and grace, her skin pale as
cream and her raven hair long and satiny.
He knew what she was, her glowing eyes and glistening fangs making her
vampirism obvious, but even knowing that, he was still drawn to her. She beckoned to him, a siren in the night,
and as the others released him, he found himself struggling to go to her, even
though his mind had screamed at him not to.
He was under her spell, and wanted nothing more than to feel her caress
before he died.
But she didn’t kill him. This one, she had more in store for him than
he could ever imagine. The vein of
cruelty that ran through her was so deep that not even he could begin to
understand her plan. She cut her wrist,
and fed him from her, and as her dark blood had touched his lips, he was
suddenly possessed of a new vigor and vitality.
He drank, deeply and greedily, and once he had taken enough, she
released him, to die and to be born anew.
The pain had been indescribable. Even in his slumber, as the dream agony
overcame him, his body spasmed and shook.
It had felt like a hundred daggers were tearing him apart, cutting into
him slowly and deliberately. It felt
like the Devil himself was devouring him from within, and nothing in all the
world could stop the pain from coursing through him.
As suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped. His body died, and he drew new breath once
more. His eyes opened, piercing the
darkness, and he had slowly sat up.
Where he had fallen as a man, he now rose as a vampire. The feeling of being born again was the best
way to describe it. His senses had
sharpened, his body was filled with renewed vigor. His muscles were strong, and his mind was
clear. He was no longer alive, and he
knew that everything he had been in life was gone. The vampire hunter had become a vampire.
“Welcome to the darkness, noble son…” a voice had
said, and he turned to see the woman that had turned him. She stood with those who had feasted on him,
and their quiet, mocking laughter made him bear his newly formed fangs
threateningly. “Be at ease. The curse you fought so valiantly against is
now your own to bear. The hunger will
come soon, and when it does, we will return.”
He had demanded they release him, beating on the
walls with his fists and pulling on the bars of his cell with all his newfound
might, all to no avail. Soon enough, he
was alone again, his body full of newfound power but helpless to use it to
escape. And what had become of Delaley,
his wife? Was she still alive? The matron of the clan hadn’t mentioned her. Had she been turned as well? Or had these fiends drained her dry as they
had done with him?
In his slumber, he knew the answer, but the dream
would not let him move ahead. It all had
to unfold in his mind, piece by piece, like some great theater drama. It was one that he had been forced to watch
many times before, as if the laws of spiritual judgment wanted to punish him
for being the creature he was.
The hunger had overtaken him soon thereafter. It had started slowly but had grown
increasingly demanding over the next few hours.
It wasn’t long before he was growling like a savage beast, the monster
within demanding to be fed. At first he
had tried to keep his wits about him, to resist the need, but not even that had
helped him remain in control. So it was
that when his captors returned, a bound woman in their company, that he had
leapt at the bars of his cage, ready to tear them asunder.
The door opened, and the woman was pushed into his
cell. The door of his cage slammed shut,
echoing throughout the underground dungeon.
At the bars, the others watched as he leapt upon the helpless woman and
sank his fangs hungrily into her flesh.
She had screamed and begged for mercy, but in his bloodlust, the newly
formed vampire hadn’t heard a word of it.
In his slumber, the vampire’s heart sank.
For it was only when his bloodlust was sated and his
mind had returned that he had realized the horror of his actions. The crumpled and lifeless body on the floor
of his cell was none other than his beloved wife, his Delaley. Her lifeless eyes stared up at him in horror,
her mouth open in a silent scream. He
cried out in rage and grief, and collapsed at her side, his trembling hands moving
slowly to take her into his arms. Dark
tears of blood fell down his cheeks, and the anguished, mournful cry that
passed from his lips was not human.
From the front of his cell, the same mocking laughter
came from the vampires that had watched his greatest moment of weakness. He had stared at them with murderous, hate-filled
eyes, and had vowed a vengeance on them so terrible as to make the Gods
weep. At the time, the vampires had
simply laughed all the more and left him to wallow in his misery and guilt, to
cradle the lifeless body of the wife that had died by his own hands.
In his slumber, the vampire stirred.
