My mind is like any other vampire’s. I don’t remember my mortal past, but I do know it. My name is Aleron Alcott. I was born from a whore in the seedy underbelly of Meridian, Nosgoth, and then raised by a peasant thief who found me, helpless and innocent, in a wicker basket on the doorstep of an old abandoned convent. When I was five he taught me how to stealthily pick the pockets of the rich by snaking into dense crowds during market day in the slums. Then by eight I was a master with a combat knife, and by eleven I was wielding a light rapier. We were good companions, he and I (though I never knew his name), but he could never give me the maternal comfort that every infant needs. He used to take me to the brothel sometimes, and while he was with one of the whores in a private room, I was being adored by the other young women in the lounge area. In fact, it was one of the whores who gave me my name at four years of age. One of the regular pimps there had taken a liking to me for some reason. He was a poet from Coorhagen, dying from the Plague (or Black Death), and took the opportunity to “make something of this little scoundrel.” I didn’t go to any school and therefor had no education but the rules of survival that every peasant knows. He taught me how to read and write; shortly after his death, I took it upon myself to start a journal to leave my name known to whomever might find it lest I be taken along with everyone else into an inevitable shallow grave. I often wondered if we might bump into my mother in a whorehouse one day. It was always a possibility, and for all I knew, she could have been one of the many women my master was with.

    One day, however, my master was caught stealing a carriage full of silver, and was hanged the next morning. That left me all alone at twelve, having to fend for myself and remember everything he ever taught me on how to survive. It was hard, and lonely, but I managed to live day by day as a common thief. When I was fifteen I began the more dangerous work that my old master used to do. I would steal barrels of rum from pubs to sell to others, and crates of seafood from ships to sell onto market stools. And often I would mug people down the back alleys at night, threatening them wildly with my sword. It was sloppier than picking pockets, but I was never caught; and besides, by this age I was far too tall not to be noticed, unlike the small boy I once was.

    Two years later I embarked on a fateful mission for a Spanish pirate, involving the removal of five crates full of gold bullion. I was to travel to the picturesque village of Wasserbunde, where a cart awaited me outside the local tavern. When I arrived I found some elderly merchant snooping around by it, but he was frightened away immediately. I was surprised to see so many villagers about that night, what with the old vampire gossip spreading around Nosgoth. A few cautious eyes watched as my horse and cart of gold trotted out along the bridge that overlooks the Lake of Tears. So far things went smoothly, like they always had. I didn’t expect anything to go wrong at all.

    But on the way back through the gates of Meridian something long and hard struck me off the cart and onto the cold, wet road. By the time I had got to my feet and cleared my vision, I realised I was completely and utterly surrounded by guards. I was taken straight away to the garrison and locked in a dank dungeon without trial. The gold they discovered was obviously stolen, but I didn’t expect it to belong to Lord Carraway, a distinguished war hero whom everyone in Nosgoth knew of. What a turn of events! How could I have anticipated something like this?

    Forty years in jail was to be my punishment, but I knew I’d never last that long. Escape or suicide, that was the choice. I chose escape, although suicide was probably the easier option. It took a lot to gather my strength down there in the dark dungeons where no light penetrated whatsoever. But after constant effort and as much as I could get of the slops they served, I managed to put up a decent fight with the guard that sat outside the cells. I feigned death and managed to get the big guy into my cell, and from there kicked his feet from under him. With a mighty swing, I then battered his skull fatally using the metal toilet bucket. We swapped clothes (his heavy armour and padded vest for my filthy old rags) and that was all I needed to get out. No one noticed the change and by the time the guard’s corpse was discovered, I was long gone. Strangely enough, they all forgot who it was that occupied the cell and thus forgot about me altogether. This was five years later.

    It was only once I was safely in the room of an inn, lying low from the law, that I realised I had actually taken a human life. I was now officially a killer. The knights were out on full force that evening, in search of a young murderer and convicted thief. But they did not find him, obviously. Soon I came out of hiding once convinced things had calmed down. The huge bush of hair that festooned my face was cut and shaven, and a forgotten face emerged. I hadn’t seen that face in five years!

    It seemed all the whores I used to know at the old brothel were now gone, and the ones that remained were complete strangers to me. In fact, I did not recognise one person in Meridian. Just like before, I had to go back to my old ways of mugging and thievery to gain money enough for survival. What had I come back to? Poverty and loneliness! I might as well have stayed in the dungeons! Every chance possible I drowned myself with ale, until sleep took me and I awoke covered in garbage in an alleyway. This was my life, the freedom I had yearned for so long to return.
 
 

    Then one night, drunk and foolish, I ventured out along Mordan Street. I was lonely and depressed, and angry at society. Especially the Sarafan. They were the worst. One couldn’t escape their watchful eye, those fascist hunters. I loathed their ways, how they stalked the vampires by night and sought out their havens by day. Certainly I feared the vampires, but they killed because they were cursed with the thirst for blood; it was in their nature to be predators. The Sarafan killed them like they killed the Jewish, because they feared one day the vampire race would overtake the humans. And I took the rage and frustration from all my hard life’s endurance out on them that night. Mordan Street was a dangerous place to be after dark; notorious for its un-dead inhabitants, the street was near the docks of Meridian.

    An ocean of thick mist swarmed through the area like the Plague. Two Sarafan Knights stood posted by a locked castle gate. As I neared them, my presence was immediately known, and their beady eyes pierced like daggers at me.

“Go inside, friend,” ordered one of them. “It’s unsafe to be out here at night.”
“Go to hell, Sarafan butcher!” I shouted back in drunken rage. “I roam wherever I choose!”
“Mind your tongue, or I’ll cut it out.”
“Ha! You wouldn’t have a chance. I’d lop off your head before you even touched that hilt!”
“You make me laugh with your childish stupidity. Run along, boy. We can’t afford distraction.”

    Calling me “boy” flared an intense anger which superseded the previous. No more chances for them.

“Don’t call me boy,” I said. “I’m twice the warrior you’ll ever be!”
“Look,” said the other knight, “unless you’d like to become food for the vampires, you’ll get inside right this instant.”
“I wish I were a vampire. Then perhaps you might put that ego of yours to the test.”
“I’m warning you, boy,” he said, contorting his face with growing irritation, “leave us at once or else we shall be forced to detain you for your own well-being. And in future, don’t ever make such a joke about the vampires of Nosgoth again – someone might just kill you in mere suspicion.”
“Damn you!” I roared. “I hope those blood-suckers drain you to a pulp!”

    Suddenly, infuriated over the limit, the first Sarafan Knight unleashed his stout broadsword and swung at me. Even in my drunkenness I was able to dodge rapidly from instincts and reflexes years in the honing, and quickly lashed out my rapier. With one swift movement the blade swung out of its scabbard and sliced effortlessly across the Sarafan Knight’s throat. He fell to the ground instantly and without a sound. As I turned on the next Knight, I was greeted by the headlong stab of a blade in my shoulder. It had been directed at my heart, but I managed with an instinctive duck to move it three inches left. The Knight had made one powerful thrust forward and now had his blade caught. It was jammed painfully in my collarbone, which was, without a doubt, snapped in half. This gave me all the time I needed. As he was struggling to regain his weapon, I took the opportunity to slash his wrist with the very tip of my sword. He let go of the broadsword and grasped at his wound. Under the circumstances, this may have been impossibility for most, considering I was drunk out of my head, tired from lack of rest, and had a broadsword protruding from my very shoulder. But I somehow managed to muster all my strength, rage and pain in one burst of energy and swung my blade in a powerful arc. The 180-degree pirouette sent me toppling to the ground, catching a single glimpse of the Sarafan Knight’s head flying off into the road and rolling away downhill.

    As I lay on my back staring up into the star-studded sky, I felt the pain of my broken collarbone increase sharply as it was quite abruptly wrenched out. Then I realised that I had pulled it out, without realising it, like someone had possessed me. My palms began to bleed also then, from the grip I had on that blade. I tried to rise, but couldn’t. Soon I was able to crawl away from the area, down the hill and to a stable with three horses inside. Curled up in the hay, my vision started to dim and I my body to numb. Then, very shortly, something else happened. Hands on me, cold hands pulling on me, tugging at me, willing me to get up. They slipped under and lifted me off the ground. It sent pain searing in the wound for me to be moved about like this. Who could it be? Another Sarafan Knight patrolling Mordan Street? Then I realised that these hands, these firm, cold, strong hands, were clawed. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human. I raised my head slowly and peered into the yellow, preternatural snake-like eyes of a lean face. They were sunken and monstrous, evil. And the skin was stark white, smooth and without a single pore, like it was completely empty of life. Was this a statue I beheld, a moving statue – with burning eyes? No! A Vampire! But not a single remnant of fear was left in my soul now. Let him kill me, then, after I’d slain two Sarafan Knights out of respect for his race. I didn’t care anymore; why should I miss this life anyway?

    His lips peeled back and two long fangs appeared, like a wild Sabretooth growling fiercely. Suddenly I felt them sink into my throat, piercing the flesh. And then my blood ran out of me and into him through the vital jugular vein. Weak, getting weak, so weak. Can’t feel anything anymore. Dying. Cold, so cold. Everything getting darker. Blacking out. Fading, fading, fading away into death.

“Not yet, my warrior friend,” said the vampire. “You are so very brave, young one. Indeed worthy of the Dark Gift. You shall not die just yet.”

    I was lowered down to the hay again, and saw him slit his own wrist with one of those grotesque claws. The blood flowed freely down upon my face, splattering all over my cheeks and eyes.

“Drink from me, young warrior, and you shall live again,” he said. “You
shall live a life unimaginable.”

    Vaguely aware of anything else anymore, I opened my lips and let the vampire’s hot blood pour into my mouth as it jetted straight from his veins. This was lovely, this magical blood. It was better than any wine, ale or spirit I’d ever tasted. It seemed to course all through my body, filling every empty blood vessel until the wound in the vampire’s wrist miraculously closed up.

“Sleep now, young warrior,” he said, “and let death take you.”
 
 

    When I awoke I was covered in darkness. I lay on something cold and hard, inhaling stale air in a hollow, confined place. Confined I was! In a concrete sarcophagus! I called for help, but no one responded. Then, in shear desperation, I struck my fists feebly against the lid a few inches from my nose. To my utter surprise, it flew off and clattered against the ground. Freedom! Out of this ghastly sarcophagus I came, rising lightly onto my feet. I was in a dank mausoleum with no source of illumination whatsoever. Yet I could see everything clear as day! Why was I here, in this god forsaken place anyway? My mind was blurred; I was so confused it hurt. I remembered nothing before now, save my name: Aleron Alcott. Of course, it wasn’t hard to know that – it was inscribed upon the sarcophagus in which I’d slept, along with my date of birth and death. Death? I’m dead! This wasn’t possible. Why, I was standing here wasn’t I? I’m not a ghost, for if I were then a body would still remain. I had to leave this place, get out into the open air!

    Dashing up the steps with unnatural ease, I found my way to the entrance. The stone door looked heavy – extremely heavy – but I swung it open as if it were a mere curtain. And then a blast of cold air blew in from the howling wind, lashing my hair back and invigorating my skin. I realised then that my skin was white like chalk and my fingers skeletal; but I couldn’t even recall how my face appeared, so this didn’t come as any surprise to me. It seemed perfectly natural. The wound in my shoulder had completely healed, but I hadn’t noticed because I didn’t remember a wound to begin with. But the first extraordinary feature I noticed, more than anything else, was the sharp sensation in my gums. With my tongue I felt two long fangs protruding down ahead of all the other teeth, as sharp as daggers. What was I? I was … I was…

“A vampire is what you are,” said a voice nearby. “And you shall be for all eternity.”

I turned immediately and saw the creature sitting on a tombstone to the left. Did I know him? Like I, his skin was unnaturally white and clear, and as his mouth contorted into an evil smile, I caught a glimpse of his two fangs showing proudly behind his lips. His hair was long, wavy and jet-black; he wore an all-encompassing suit of armour with a fine Bastard Sword dangling at one side. He was barely noticeable in the darkness of night.

“Glad to see you are finally awake,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if you would get up.”

“Who are you?” I demanded at once.

“Dear friend, you don’t remember me? Why, it was only last night that we spoke. Ah, but forgive me; I forgot. You recently suffered an injury to your skull; as a consequence your memory has disappeared. Luckily, your vampiric body was able to mend the wound together in a very short time. Allow me to lay out the essential details: my name is Raul, and we have both served our powerful lord Kain for many years in his dark army. We fight against the Sarafan, the century-old enemy of every vampire alive. For now, that is all you need know. When your mind has had time to consume the important knowledge – how to survive on your own – then I shall tell you more. Firstly, every vampire is blessed with magical powers that humans can only dream of. But not every of our kind possesses the same powers. I am sixty years old, very young in comparison to other ancient vampires alive. We never grow old, and as long as we aren’t killed by force, then we shall never die. But sunlight will kill us no matter what. That is why we only roam during the night; by day we sleep. What every vampire has to begin with is the ability to return to the place where it sleeps, wherever and whenever it chooses. This ability is called Sanctuary. If you are far from your crypt when the sun is rising, you can quickly teleport back here in a flash. All you have to do is will it.” He told me other things, that I was far stronger and faster than mortal men, that I could overpower any of them easily. He told me the only way I could be killed was by fire, sunlight, water or dismemberment.

    We walked on through the foggy graveyard, Raul explaining that my strength would increase through time, while I tried to grow accustomed to my new, suddenly acute, senses. I could smell the dead beneath us more strongly than ever; and my vision was perfect even in the darkness, like someone had wiped the grit out from my eyes finally. And I could hear people talking as though they were nearby, when in fact no one was around for miles. Well, except for the first human we encountered along our way.

    Raul noticed him first, when he suddenly halted and stopped me with a quick gesture. Then I heard him also: the sound of a shovel sinking into earth and then tossing mud away with a soft pat. We silently came nearer, until I could see him clearly, an old man with thinning grey hair and brown rags. He was a gravedigger, searching for treasures left on the dead.

“Perfect,” Raul remarked with a slight grin and that flash of his fangs. Then suddenly he disappeared before my eyes. I realised he had not disappeared, but actually turned himself into a cloud of mist and blended in with all the fog around us. It was hovering over to the gravedigger, this mist, and eventually came up behind him. The mist reformed into the shape of Raul again as he snatched hold of the human and held his neck bare for me. “Take him, Aleron! Quick!” At first I was stunned. What did he mean by “take him”? But of course! Our fangs; we were vampires; and I was to kill this man and drink his blood. How could I do that, though? It just didn’t seem right. “Forgot your conscience, Aleron! Ignore it and follow your vampire instincts! You want him, I know you do! Take him!” And he was absolutely right. I thirsted as though I had been wandering through the Sahara Desert for weeks, and the hunger for blood was unbearable. Well, I am a vampire. I suppose it is perfectly natural for me. So I came quickly to the gravedigger, this horrible old man that wanted to steal from a dead person. He deserved to die, anyway! As Raul held him absolutely steady in that iron grip of his, though the man’s eyes showed immense fear, I bent down and bit into his throat where the jugular vein was. Blood jetted into my mouth and I drank sumptuously for a seeming eternity, letting it all course through my body and heat it up, until I eventually felt a burning sensation spread across my chest, which made me
withdraw in fear. I was on fire! What on earth! But then the flame on my body disappeared miraculously.

“What in God’s name was that?” I asked in shock.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you about that,” said Raul with an expression of amusement. “Your vampiric body has an energy inside it which grows the more you drink blood. It is called lore. After so much energy is added to your lore, you will feel this sudden pain and fire on you. But the fire doesn’t bring any harm to us. It just means you’re getting new strength. It is a good thing.” 

    He taught me to discover other powers and abilities that night which I would never have realised I had. For instance, I could jump across from rooftop to rooftop with incredible ease and grace. I could let myself fall from a tall building and float softly to the ground. We found another human that night, and by pure chance he attacked us. A mugger in the docks of Meridian. He came at me with a dagger and slashed away, but I was able to dodge his attacks so easily! It seemed to me that he was moving in an extremely slow motion. And I realised I was playing with him, waiting for the right moment to kill him unlike with the gravedigger. Soon Raul got bored of this and ended it abruptly, taking my prey because he hadn’t fed tonight. “There will be other nights for this,” he said, leading me back to my crypt – or “sanctuary”, as he called it. “This is just the beginning of your adventure.” He left to go to wherever it was that he slept, and I reluctantly closed myself back into the stone sarcophagus half an hour before sunup. Sleep came almost the very moment the lid closed.
 
 

    When I awoke the following night Raul was there, perched on the same tombstone as before. He took me to a seedy tavern where, using amazing charm and charisma, he seduced an overly voluptuous young tart and rendered her so drunk on wine she never noticed how inhuman we actually were. Outside in the back alley he snapped her neck and drank the blood from her breast. I had thought he was going to save me some, but instead he told me to find my own victim. So off I went on my own, prowling the cold wet streets in search of blood. It seemed my hunger had grown along with my strength from the lore energy, and that had been my first and only kill so far. The next was far more interesting. I was standing on a bridge overlooking the wharf, watching the ripples in the oily water form with a strange fascination, like I’d never seen this before, when all of a sudden I heard footsteps. The human was very far away, but I could hear and see him clearly from where I stood. It was a gypsy pirate with long black hair in a ponytail and a brown bandanna, and a cutlass in his hand. Staring very deeply at him with extreme concentration, I received an alien image in my mind of this gypsy sneaking up on a helpless old woman. He had slit her throat and stolen her money. How could I have known this? Raul never mentioned telepathic powers to me. But he did say the Dark Gift bestowed different magic to us all. I wanted this man to die – not just to satisfy my thirst, but because I wanted the vermin of his kind off the streets once and for all. With him dead, no one else would have to worry about him. Yes, this was a vicious one. But he was so far away. I wonder if he’ll head this way. Please come this way; come to me, gypsy. I only want to kill you. Come to me. Strangely enough, he turned his direction and began walking towards the bridge on which I stood. Then it became clear to me. I was controlling this man! I was mentally manipulating him to come this way! Soon he was standing directly in front of me, lost in an eerie daze. He was  him and drank every last drop of his selfish, evil blood until he was nothing but a white corpse. That was how I usually looked, like a walking corpse. But now that his fluids were in me I had colour in this dead skin and looked human. To my relief the lore energy I received didn’t burn inside this time. His body I tossed casually down into the wharf and then wandered away. I had fed on another two thieves like him that night until I heard Raul speaking clearly to me. Only, I didn’t hear his words spoken allowed – they were privately spoken in my mind. At first I thought I was imaging this, but no, this was happening. Being a vampire was just full of surprises.

“Aleron,” he said, “meet me in front of the town’s clock tower now.” I arrived within minutes. “I see by your colour you have fed.”

“Yes,” I said, “but I discovered something. I read the victim’s thoughts. And then I hypnotised him to come to me.” He acknowledged this without surprise. He explained patiently that I, like him, was blessed with telepathy from the Dark Gift. There were many immortals that would have done anything for such power. “How do we acquire new powers?” I asked. Raul said there were two ways in order for this to occur: to consume the blood of a powerful vampire would allow you to inherit that vampire’s abilities; or the other way was for age to present new powers as time goes by. The blood in our bodies apparently increases in its potency, and thus it develops further endowments.

    The next few nights were a series of lessons on manoeuvring through the city and hunting with skill and stealth, unnoticed by passing mortals and the Sarafan Knights. I inquired as to who the Sarafan were, and why vampires feared them, and Raul told me all about these militant sorcerers who insisted upon protecting the public from us. Their one goal was to hunt down every vampire alive. They had the day on their side, and as a result managed to slaughter many of our kind by unleashing the sunlight onto their sleeping bodies. I also asked Raul how long we had known each other, and he responded with a monosyllabic, “Not long.” After many nights of blood drinking my lore energy finally built up to the limit and a second increase of strength occurred, this time not so frightening because I knew not to fear it.
    That was when Raul told me were to leave Meridian momentarily and head out the southeastern part of Nosgoth, where a supposed Spirit Forge lived. In this place, one could apparently trade in a sample of one’s blood for new magic. I had barely grown accustomed to my current abilities, and now I was to gain more. Raul said to be cautious of these Spirit Forges, since they weren’t entirely true to their word. I had a feeling that he might have had a bad experience with these people in the past. We arrived at the gloomy cave set up in a district of mountains and entered warily. Lit torches were hung upon the walls all throughout the cave. We found our way to the centre and I was overwhelmed by its sheer peculiarity. 

“Shed your blood for me,” said the husky voice, emanating from nowhere, “and this artefact will be yours. Imagine the power you could wield with this.” Raul waited as I stepped up to the shrine and bowed respectfully. “So, you come to the Spirit Forge for help, do you? Trade you secrets for the blood of the dead, I will.” Above the altar on the wall was a misty blue pattern. I saw the basin and understood what I had to do. After the blood sacrifice was made, leaving me rather weak, I felt the energy in return suck itself into my body and leave a tingling feeling all over.“You are now bestowed with the mist form. When you assume this form, you are able to blend into nearby mist and thus become invisible, and nothing will touch you.” We left, Raul catching a local from a nearby village to sustain me until we arrived back in Meridian hours later. This new power frightened me when first I experimented with it, but eventually, after weeks of further training, I mastered it. I was able to roam all over the city unnoticed in the fog, and could even drifted under gaps and keyholes in doors. Yes, I derived great pleasure from this ability. Both of us would assume the form and together spy on people as they made love or gossiped about what was new in Meridian and the Sarafan.

    I asked Raul where it was that he slept during the day, but he simply said it was a coffin in some old building. Soon we made another journey out of the city to another cave near Coorhagen. Within this dark place was a large fount overflowing with beautiful bright red blood. From the walls came a sharp whisper: “The blood of all ages flows so sweet. Come, drink from us, vampire.” Raul gestured for me alone to go ahead, even though I could tell he was tempted. I walked slowly to it and stared into the gorgeous pool. A brief twinge of hesitation flickered in my mind, but soon passed. I bent over and began lapping it up like a cat. Indeed, it was more beautiful than life itself, its burning heat melting away all the coldness from our travel. After drinking for a few minutes the blood began to turn darker, until it was completely coal-black. I knew now that I’d taken quite enough. Then the voice returned: “The blood of ages improves. The falling rain no longer burns your vampiric body.” On our way back along the road to Meridian, I could feel the ancient blood coursing through my veins. It had made me quite powerful. I could leap far higher and further than before; my strength had been increased by twice what it was; and my telepathic power was so effective now that I could hear men’s thoughts by accident, and manipulate them without that deep concentration that had previously been needed. Raul asked me one day why I only ever killed evil men, why I never sustained myself on sweet innocent blood. I told him the innocent never satisfied my thirst, that the evildoers were much more sumptuous. I had only killed one, and that was because I was almost dead after leaving the Spirit Forge. But even he wasn’t entirely innocent; I had perceived from my telepathy that he had conned many people and destroyed their lives. But he didn’t deserve to die, and that played constantly on my mind. 

    Eventually Raul told me the training was now complete and it was time I came into the clan. The clan? I asked what he was talking about, and he explained one step at a time: there was a vampire clan existing in Meridian, on the verge of overtaking the Sarafan and ruling Nosgoth. The leader of this clan was Kain, a powerful warrior vampire who had been the keeper of the pillar of balance. Somewhere in the dark recesses of my blurred mind I recalled the name. Raul said he was a soldier of theirs, and that I was to be one also if I were to survive against the Sarafan. “Most of the rogue vampires that turned away from the clan have perished at the hands of the Sarafan. Before you lost your memory you agreed to join us. The choice is now given to you again. What will you do?” Well, I felt lost without Raul, and wasn’t sure if I had what it took to survive on my own – especially with the Sarafan about – and besides, if I agreed before, I might as well agree now. So I accepted and followed my companion to an immense kingdom on the outskirts of the city, rising above mountains like a giant tree. We entered with a foreign password and Raul led me up a seemingly endless staircase. I felt extremely nervous, having never met another of our kind other than Raul. We entered a large chamber that they called the throne room. In a towering chair that looked fit for a king sat a pale vampire with long white hair and cold eyes. Clasped in his clawed hand was a sword with a spirally blade. He stared at me with distrust and I bravely returned the expression. Raul spoke for me: “This is Aleron, the fledgling we had planned to instruct. He is passed all training and knows all that is needed. He has drank the blood of ages and has powers including telepathy, mist and charm. He is as ready and powerful as I was when I first joined. Is he to be one of us, Sire?”

    The vampire leader looked around the faces of each creature that stood in the circle surrounding him. Then he gave a single nod. “He is worthy,” he said. “You shall be one of us, Aleron. But one more vital thing is missing in you.” He bared his wrist to me and gestured for me to come close. “Drink from me and you will gain more magic, thus you shall be powerful enough.” At once I took his wrist with both hands and sank my fangs in on the pulsing vein. His blood tasted different to any other I’d drank, but it was beautiful nonetheless. I became lost in a daze from the ecstasy of it, until this leader, Kain, pulled me gently away. “That is enough now. Welcome to the clan, Aleron.” The two puncture wounds I’d made closed instantly. Like the blood of ages, I could feel his improving me slowly. The sanctuary I had slept in every day was left behind in exchange for a private chamber here in this kingdom. I didn’t expect much at first, but I was to embark on many adventures with this vampire clan, including the greatest battle of my life, and of Nosgoth.