He opened his eyes. He was weakened and being pulled by two human sheep. They laughed and sneered at him as they dragged him up a few wooden stairs. Then he saw his death. The blade dropped.
         Vorador’s eyes snapped open.  ‘A dream, just a dream’ he told himself, though deep down he knew that it was far more, for such a dream of impending death could do no good.  He heard a noise and glanced across to the entrance of the dungeon cell he was in, having been moved from the tent several days ago.  The great barred door opened, and one of the defector’s foot soldiers stepped through,
         “You are to come with me.” He stated flatly,
         “Heh, then you’ll have to drag me, I have little chance of walking anywhere unaided… Your superiors took great pleasure in crippling a knight of the great cross…”
         “Walk weakling!”  The foot soldier demanded, and Vorador was quite taken aback with the audacity that the man seemed to have, did he realize that he was nothing? Just a fool of low birth, a traitor as well…  
         “Very well, though speak to me like that again and I will break your back, regardless of my own condition!” Vorador was sure he saw a glint of satisfaction in the man’s eye…

         The man led the stumbling Vorador out of the prison cell and up a flight of stairs, to the main keep.  What surprised Vorador was that there were no other guards to be seen.
         “Where are your brethren?”  Vorador asked, most interested in the answer. Perhaps his own side had stormed the keep and demanded his release, doubtful yes, but possible.
         The man stopped, “If you are referring to the guards and the lord of this keep then they are dead…” He walked to the end of the corridor and gestured to the floor.  Vorador followed and saw a mountain of corpses piled on high…  bloodless corpses…
         “The Vampire!?”  Vorador half stated and asked,
         “Yes, it was…  He butchered them all…”
         “And yet you still live?”  
         The man smiled, “I wouldn’t say that…”
         Vorador watched as the man grew in size, changing shape and form until the vampire lord stood in front of him. A terrifying experience…
         “Stay back from me creature… I’ll not have my soul condemned!” He screamed at the beast…
         “Oh Vorador, your soul IS condemned, if not now then in a hundred, or even a thousand years. Though I’d have never guessed you were once the same as the cattle…” The vampire sadly stated,
         Vorador attempted to run but fell to the ground, breaking more bones in the process.  The vampire grabbed him by the throat, holding him on high… tightly his claws began to squeeze his straining neck and blood began to trickle down from the gaping wounds being created…
         “Now child… you will know the truth, you will go towards your destiny and you shall give rise to a great people…”  
         The vampire lowered his fangs to Vorador’s neck and bit deep…  Vorador screamed in outrage, not only was he to die… but he was to be made into one of the creatures himself…
         He felt his awareness fade, and then the taste for the first time…  The taste of blood.                                                      

         He awoke with a scream… it pierced the silence of the presence of death in the graveyard, and alerted the vampire to his childe’s birth.
         “Greetings my son, I must say you took longer than I expected… Not as long as my first children, but that’s to be expected.”
         Vorador was not capable of effective communication and just groaned,
         “Yes, it is hard at first.  But you will get used to it, and then you shall ascend to greatness and power.”
         The vampire ignored the further moaning of Vorador and continued, “I am your master now, you owe allegiance to no-one but me.”  No reply, the vampire continued, “You are from this day forth an agent to my bidding, and my bidding is for you to wait.  Wait and learn to accept your gift.  In time you will see it as a blessing, not a curse.  Mortal dreams are prayers to us, begging us to take sustenance from them… we are gods, dark gods.  It is our duty to thin the herd, never feel beholden to a human Vorador. Never.”  Vorador saw what seemed to be sadness in the eyes of his ‘master’, “I shall return in 7 years to ‘check up’ on you.  By that time you should have accepted who and what you are.  Farewell, fledgling.”
         Vorador saw the vampire fade away into some sort of mist or translucency and watched it leave the now silent graveyard.
         He thought and reflected on what he had lost, his life, his place in heaven- everything, he was now and forever a beast of the night.
         “NO!” Vorador screamed in defiance, he would not be reduced to one of the damned; he would learn to use his condition, his curse to aid Nosgoth.
         He stood up, and was slightly taken aback; his wounds had totally healed, but his skin…
         His skin was now the colour of death- grey and he moved his hands to feel his teeth.
         Two upper fangs were present, as well as two smaller lower fangs… he suddenly came to realize that he was hungry.

         Scanning the area with his enhanced vision he spotted a man hiding from him behind a gravestone, obviously he had witnessed the event of his ‘rebirth’.
         Vorador broke out into a sprint and leapt at the petrified individual, grabbing the scraps of cloth that were draped around his form and pulling him into his embrace, however, he first had to ask a question;
         “Defector or Loyalist? Speak the truth!”
         The terrified man could do nothing but, “L-Loyalist sir…”
         Vorador threw the man to the ground and screamed, he would not harm those who remained loyal.
         The man cowered on the floor, his head hung, awaiting his death.  A minute passed, and he finally had the courage to look up at his killer… nothing.  The graveyard was empty of vampires once more.

         Vorador continued to run, pressed on by his hunger and his disgust.  His sire, whoever he was, had told him not to feel beholden to a human, now he knew why.  Yet was he not just beholden to a cause?  Despite his new nature Vorador still had sworn fealty to the Kingdom of the Dragon, true it had been to King Galahad but…
         Vorador stopped, the sun was rising, he knew what that would mean… a vampires strength flees him, leaving him less than a human when the sun rose, and in his weakened state Vorador knew that the rays of the sun could even destroy him.
         “Let it come.” He said, he was not afraid; a second, final death would be welcome.
         Had that young child not come into his view Nosgoth’s history would have been changed almost irrevocably, but the child did.
         Vorador felt the hunger burn inside him and then he was on the defenceless boy, no questions asked this time, he quickly tore out his throat and drew the blood pouring out of the wound into his mouth, feeling it replenishing him enough to survive for another day- providing he did not get attacked.  He had drunk blood once before, that of his infernal ‘sire’s’ but the feeling of the first blood drunk to strengthen him, the first feed the first vampiric kill, was amazing, the greatest pleasure he had ever experienced, he savoured every drip that trickled down his throat, trying to keep the feeling longer… just a second longer.  Then the horror sunk in.
         He had lost part of his humanity, he had lost his honour, that child was no defector OR threat, just a boy.
         He looked at the shrunken corpse and tried hard to restrain a smile, he failed and quietly admitted to his disgust, 
         “A delicious boy.”