378 C.E. 03/03 Early Moon

 

A man in his early forties suggested that I begin to write my encounters down for any of my successors. I personally don’t believe I will have any, but at this moment in time, on this snowy peak in the dead of night, as we silently conceal ourselves from the environmental and territorial hazards, it has given me second thoughts. The howling blizzard conceals the sound of our whispers, and as for light, a dimly lit candle must suffice. We’re unable to use a campfire for warmth, so we had to pack plenty of layers. The team assembled is twelve strong. I suspect we will lose a little over half our posse during the infiltration of this manor atop Dread Peak once the sun rises. I pray I am not one of those casualties.

- Jade

 

Chapter One
404 C.E.

 

A deep chill filled the dark hall of wonders. Stone gargoyles peered below at the collection of armaments and literature that lined the gothic brick walls; shields, a few books and a crimson sword. A lavish, red carpet stitched with golden thread stretched across the floor, its intricate patterns smothered by dust. The solid stone door at the end of the hall scraped the ground beneath as it opened, unsettling it all as if the room had been untouched for years. The sconces that lined the walls fluttered to life one by one, illuminating the darkness.

“It’s time I show you the histories of our bloodline. Since you are so inclined to learn.” Said Visrynth in a low, dark voice as he looked down, holding the door for his son to pass underneath his muscular arm. “Ask away…”
Trassig’s red eyes filled with wonder and excitement as he stumbled from trinket to shield, shield to book. His father followed closely behind, ready to answer any question he dared to ask.

“I don't know where to begin…” 

Trassig’s footsteps puffed against the carpeting whilst the orange torchlight illuminated hundreds of sparkling dust particles that followed in Visrynth’s wake. As he looked around, Trassig heard a guttural whisper from further down the hall.

 .  .  .  Thirsty  .  .  . 

His eyes quickly batted over to his left.

 .  .  .  Your blood  .  .  .

 The wider they grew, the louder the voice became.

 .  .  .  Is mine!  .  .  . 

In his mind, a fevered vision of a jet-black figure with a maw full of long fangs rushed towards him. He stumbled backwards and fell. The decrepit voice let out a howling screech that rang like bells in his head. The pressure built to immensity, he closed his eyes in agony, his teeth gritting . . . losing control . . . his body walked blindly, controlled by a precise, foreign guidance. The overpressured blood flow subsided when his body ceased movement. 

Trassig opened his eyes and found himself standing in front of a crimson sword encased in glass. Feeling a sense of belonging and strange desire for the carmine object, he wiped the dust off, revealing its true beauty. Its deep, crimson blade stood as tall as Trassig, swerving downwards like a river. The pommel, fitted with a single large ruby, swelled with a dormant sea of blood in its center. Trassig looked up at his father with frightened curiosity.
“Who wielded this sword, father?”
“Your grandfather did. He was given the name Nobellum by his master. During his journeys, he forged this Flamberge from his own blood and a Great Sacrifice. In doing so he gave it special power. He cleaved into the legions of humans for a hundred years during the purging of vampire-kind. Nobellum was bred for the war that raged during that time. Mankind called it The Purging of Evil. It lasted for generations of their pitiful lives. They were like ants on the battlefield, able to be felled without a second thought. Your grandfather was able to destroy cities by himself.”

 Visrynth looked over his shoulder at a book bound in red leather, embossed writing that read “The Purging of Man-kind, for Araxis.”  

“Nobellum bequeathed this book to me, and eventually, I to you.” 

He put a hand onto the book, delicately brushing the dust off. With grace, Visrynth flipped through the pages, revealing massive walls of text and illustrations as they flew by. Trassig’s bleak figure grew evermore engulfed by his father’s shadow as he neared, his thirsty eyes peeking past for just a taste. Visrynth closed the book with authority right before Trassig could get a glimpse of the contents.

 “We feasted on the armies of humans for the majority of the war. When their populations dwindled, the impoverished quivered in the streets, watching their sewers fill with blood. Our ancestors almost accomplished their vision, to enslave and feed off of mankind. Then they discovered a language that could bind us.” 

Visrynth’s voice grew in volume and his nose began to huff. A twitch was adopted in his left eye. 

“They taught it to very few because they believed it to be sacred, only the truly devout could know it. Those couple thousand men and women that did learn it however, became the biggest threat to us that we would ever know. That is how your grandfather, and the many vampires that stood with him, fell in battle.”

Visrynth placed his arm behind Trassig and led him to a tower shield hung on the bricked wall, adorned with delicately carved patterns that created tiny crosses plating the whole shield. A larger cross stood tall in the center of the shield, protruding about half an inch. A large gash interrupted the flow of the art adorning the shield, struck into the top of the shield scraping downwards. A radiating heat emitted from the shield, straining Trassig as he neared it. 

His father was unphased. As Trassig steadily approached the shield to gauge the pain, his father stood behind him, observing his every move. He lifted his hand to touch it. Waves of pain engulfed his palm as it neared, his mind and body screamed at him to pull away. It took all of his willpower to get within an inch of the silver shield. An intense, scorching heat enveloped the finger closest to the shining cross. He winced and recoiled at the pain and pulled away quickly. Visrynth frowned with crossed arms, his foot tapped on the stone beneath repeatedly.

“This was claimed from the arms of a paladin that Nobellum slayed on the battlefield. When they were taught Veshzian, they learned how to imbue objects with holy power. Similar to how my father created his blade.”

Visrynth pointed towards the left side of the shield, bringing to attention an unnoticed detail. A light, barely noticeable, gray handprint stained the edge of the shield. Only the palm was visible on the front. The fingers wrapped around, hidden away. With blinding speed, Visrynth grabbed Trassig’s hand and began pressing his palm onto the sterling cross. The searing hot metal boiled his flesh, the weight of a thousand boulders held his hand firmly in place. After a moment, his father let go and crossed his arms once more. 

“You’re young and weak, boy.”

Trassig looked down at his seared hand, he let out startled, hyperventilated breaths for a moment. Panic began to set in when the bubbling flesh didn’t heal straight away. His body quaked when his maleficent bright ruby eyes met his father’s. Visrynth’s glowing crimson eyes peered below at his son's feeble attempt to intimidate him 

.  .  .  make a move, entertain me in this dull estate of boredom  .  .  . He thought.

“His bloodlust and drive for victory drove him to adopt insane methods of combat during the final years of the purge. The pain Nobellum felt from prying swords and shields from their weak arms gave him a searing satisfaction.” Visrynth continued.

He laid a fingernail on the shield, melting as it caressed the sterling cross in its center. He pointed to Trassig with that same finger.

“You cannot be weak!”

The dissolved nail extended in length like a switchblade, its point hovering an inch away from Trassig’s eye. Visrynth pulled away.

“This shield was recovered where he was destroyed, a legendary battle between him and a kill squad of a dozen paladins. Most vampires would flee from such a sight and live to fight another day. He lured them to his location and engaged them directly. He was able to slay all but one paladin. A feat that no other second generation vampire could even come close to achieving. One by one he cleaved through their ranks, each paladin falling to his blade in seconds, to get to the speaker of the binding word. Though he was swift, he was not swift enough. I found his scorched bones and the bodies of the humans scattered around him, sprays of blood dried in the grass going in every direction.”

Visrynth’s head sank, his eyes… cold. A curtain of hair tunneled his vision to the carmine carpet. The skin on his hand tightened to make an imposing fist that no human would live to see twice. Bearing long, sharp fangs, he gritted his teeth and stared at the shield. He had so much to learn from Nobellum. The promise of growing stronger than his father shattered by Nobellum’s arrogance. His unimaginable lust for battle led him to his own demise. His fist loosened, his mouth closed.

“When you grow stronger, that sword will be yours. Use it to put an end to their miserable existence.”

He said viciously as he began walking away from his son. Trassig stood there, observing his father grow increasingly distant and looked towards the shield once more, the slam of the door was heard echoing throughout the hall. Trassig quickly turned away from the shield and zipped toward the book his father had pointed out earlier.

What did father not want me to see? Trassig wondered.

His hand loomed over the book and delicately opened it. He was greeted by an illustration of two hovering vampires, high in the sky. Below them, a pool of gore surrounded by trees and grassy fields, various body parts scattered throughout the scarlet sea. Trassig examined the drawing, his face looming inches over the page. A smile grew, ear to ear, when he recognized the long flowing, grizzled black hair, and the serious, dreadful red eyes. It was his father. Next to him, a shirtless, lean, older looking vampire with short white hair. He held the sword that was encased in glass behind Trassig. He continued to flip through the pages and read through the various passages. 

The Vampire Lord Dalia was a great enemy to my master, Araxis. His disdain stemmed from her incessant breeding, creating more and more impure bloodlines. She disagreed with Araxis’ idealism to use a minute selection of powerful vampires. She believed that hoards of weaker vampires would be more effective to annihilate the human population… 

Trassig moved on to a different passage. 

I found that after years of exposing myself to their imbued armaments, vampires can grow a resistance to their effects. The pain initially felt when first exposed to the sterling metals is extreme. This pain is what causes the weak bloodlines to stay weak. If you embrace this pain and conquer it, it will lead to an effective method to cull paladins by robbing their only defenses from them…

When he reached the end of the book, a defect caught his eye. The inside of the backing was peeled slightly in the bottom left corner, revealing that there was a hidden page. Trassig looked back to the door to check for his father. With haste, he fingered the lip open precisely and revealed the secret passage. As he read it, his eyes grew wide and his mouth ajar. His hand covered his lips as thoughts raced through his mind. His eyes slid down the slide of words with fascination and opportunity. He knew what to do next.

 

Flying through the open blue sky, a cardinal observed a gathering of people in front of a massive, colorful, glass studded building. Designs of themselves were depicted in the stained windows. She felt disturbed by the noise as she landed in her nest that carried her clutch of three precious matt-platinum eggs, speckled with brown dots, far above the racket. Situated closely below her, a giant bronze bell hung dormant. The bird did not mind the bell's noise because it meant her no harm. The man that came to the bell was stocky and unkept, yet gentle to the eye. He carried a small bowl of seeds along with him every time he would visit the bird’s home. Setting the bowl down near the nest, he reached for a low hanging rope.
“Sorry birdies, time for church. I left you a treat for when I'm gone.” 

The man pursed his lips as he tugged on the rope, causing the massive bronze bell to sway. The bird braced as her head and body rattled from the sound. After a moment, the rattling ceased and the man was gone. In a red flash the bird flew down to the bowl of seed and began her feast. 

 

The church pews were ridden with men, women and children alike. Some looked down in prayer and others looked at the depiction of their lord. Colorful light illuminated through the stained glass windows, shining down on every other row. Little children stared up in awe at the delicacy and beauty of the stories depicted through the art.

“Hannah, church is starting soon. Pay attention to the altar.” Simon said.

He looked down at his youngest daughter’s long, golden hair. He touched her small shoulder gently, since his voice was not enough to get her attention. At that moment she snapped out of her trance caused by the colorful dancing lights shone through the windows. She looked up at her father and nodded gently in acknowledgement. He then looked toward his two other children, seated on his opposite side, to see if they were paying attention. Leah, the oldest of the three, knew the consequences of which and peered towards the altar. She had energetic, hazel eyes that longed for the outside world. A fit body that rivaled the other girls her age and tied up brunette hair that was ruffled by her labor in the fields. Daniel, the middle child, was giving his father a sidelong glance.

I want to make dad proud. He thought.

Once Daniel noticed his father looking over, he snapped to the altar and focused his bronze eyes as hard as he could. Simon nodded in approval of their behavior and looked toward the altar himself as the choir began singing praise for their lord.

 

The long, dark hickory doors of the church were held ajar by clay bricks. People poured out of the exits in conversation, looking forward to their day of rest.

“So, what do you guys plan on doing for the rest of this sunday?” Simon said to his kids while he fastened his black pelt jacket, after which he crossed his arms with a stern look. Hannah looked down to the gravel on the walkway with tight hands wrapped behind her back, too shy to answer any questions asked by her father. Right as Daniel was about to speak, Leah stepped up.

“We wanted to play in the stable today. We’ll be back before dinner is ready so don't worry.”

“I suppose the horses could use some company.” He nods, shielding his eyes from the sun high in the sky. “Okay, if you’re not back before dinner...” 

Simon looked all three of his kids in the eyes before he shifted to walk in the other direction. Leah and Hannah knew that look was the implication of consequence. After a couple of minutes, he found himself staring at his poorly maintained front door. With a sad look on his face, he opened the cracked wooden entrance, revealing a mostly empty living room. He took off his coat and set it onto a chair tucked into their dining table, after which he walked towards his bedroom, floorboards creaking beneath his heavy steps. When he entered his room, he saw himself sitting with his wife on the bed. There was a little boy in his arms bearing an infectious smile. She gently pinched his cheek while a little girl sat on the ground playing with her toys.

“Honey?”

Simon shook his head briefly. The room emptied, filling with lonely shades of brown and gray. A framed painting on the wall titled “The Corvus Family” depicted him and his pregnant wife standing together. She held a baby boy, while a little girl stood by her side bearing a confused look. Simon mournfully smiled with quivering lips as he laid a finger onto the painting. He caressed it along his wife’s long, blonde hair while she stared back into his eyes with a blank expression. 

He sat on his dark green mattress, recalling pleasant moments that he missed dearly. Their first time meeting was… tense. When the kids asked about it he felt he should lie because his line of work was dangerous and secretive. Simon had retired once he learned that she wanted to start a family with him, finally finding an excuse to put it all behind him once and for all. Collapsing onto the mattress, he closed his eyes. Tears slid down the sides of his face into grizzled sideburns. Each wrinkle became deeply pronounced as he let out a whimpering sigh.

 

The gravel on the trail crunched beneath the sibling’s feet as they marched towards the stable where they kept their horses. 

“Keep in file, soldiers! Tallest to shortest!” Leah ordered with a cheeky grin.

She felt the natural desire to protect her siblings. Though only a mere two years apart from her younger brother and an additional year from Hannah, Leah felt like an adult. She recalled defending her younger brother.

“Give me the apple, little boy!” A menacing teenager shouted at Daniel.

“Don’t hurt me, please.” Daniel said. The apple soared through the air.

“That's what I thought.” He tossed the apple to the sky and reached to catch it. Before he could, a brown flash tackled him to the ground. The apple followed a second later.

Standing up to the other teenagers that were Daniel’s age was easy for her, but when Hannah would be yelled at by her father with scorn, she would feel conflicted, confused and frightened. An aching in her heart, a void that formed when Hannah was brought into this world, and her mother taken from it. Leah felt that she had to help bear the responsibilities of raising her younger siblings, but those thoughts were shattered when her father would lash out at Hannah. 

Instead, the urge to retaliate would nearly take her over, the fury she felt was almost uncontrollable, but she knew she had to stand down. Veins were visible on her forehead when Daniel would idly stand by his father as he yelled at the only women left in the house. His silence spoke volumes to his sisters of the subjects of his thoughts. Leah and Hannah both knew that all Daniel truly cared about in those moments was protecting his own skin.

“Leah, do you think Trace is going to be in the stable like he was last time?” Hannah said softly. “I want to play outside this time. The stable stinks.”

“I hope he is, he's a nice boy.” Leah blushed at the thought. “Though it is a little weird that he only wants to play in the stable.”

“I really don’t mind at all.” Daniel remarked. “I'm just glad that another guy wants to be my friend. There aren't many guys my age that want anything to do with me.”

As she looked up at the sizable stable doors, Leah rolled her eyes at Daniel’s early teenage depression. The odor of horse manure filled their nostrils as Leah fiddled with her keys, trying to find the correct one. Daniel and Hannah watched while the padlock Leah held fell to the ground. She grabbed the handle on the door and muscled it ajar, revealing a dimly lit stable. Daniel and Hannah followed Leah as she began towards the inner rows of the structure.

“Trace! Are you here?” Leah shouted. “Hannah wants to play outside today. She doesn’t like the horse's smell. Are you interested?”

“I don’t like the smell of horse poop!” Hannah corrected. “The horses smell nice.”

In the distance, a shadowy figure arose from the darkness into the torchlight. The orange glow illuminated his reddish, hazel eyes and creamy skin. He appeared to be the same age as Leah and wore ragged, torn clothes that didn't seem to fit him. He waved softly at his friends and walked towards them with a smile on his face. The horses were unsettled by Trace’s presence in the barn, stomping and backing away from the front of their pens. They were wide-eyed with fear and Leah took notice of their strange behavior. 

She walked up to a pen that contained a white horse with brown spots across its face and body. Looking into the mare’s frightened eyes, she laid her hand on its long nose and hushed the horse to calm down.

“I'm sorry I frightened the horse Leah.” Trace said as he looked outside from the darkness of the stable. “It's getting late… Don't you need to go back for dinner?”

“Yeah, soon.”

“We should have an hour to play tag or hide and seek.” Hannah rubbed her toes into the hay, her hips twisting in a rhythmic motion..

“Sounds like fun!” 

Trace smiled as his three friends scattered to find a hiding spot.

“One… Two… Three…”

 The darkness began to consume as time went by. When the lack of sun became apparent to the siblings, Leah began to worry.

“We’re going to be late for dinner! Come out!. We will say that Trace won the fifth round.” She rounded up her siblings and said her goodbye to Trace, but before they could reach the door he stopped them.

“Wait! Before you go I have to tell you something I've wanted to say for a long time. You might not like it and that's okay if you don't but…” 

Trace hesitated in fear of losing the relationship he had with his friends. If they didn't accept him for who he was then he would be lonely again. Anxious thoughts took over his mind, the emotion felt unfamiliar. Grasping control of his nerves, he looked them in the eyes. 

“I've been lying to you about where I come from. I don't live in a cabin a few miles away from this village, nor do I even walk here… this is really hard to say… I don't even expect you to believe me without proof. We’ve been friends for a few years now and I know that you don’t like how your dad treats you so I wanted to help you the only way I know.” 

Trace's features began to change. His ears elongated and halted to a point, his eyes became crimson. The skin on his body adopted a pale shade.

“I'm… not… human…” He had to pry the words out of his mouth as if they had an iron grip onto the inside of his throat. “My name isn’t really Trace, It’s… Trassig. Please don’t be scared, let me explain myself.”

As the last word came out of Trassig’s mouth, Daniel attempted to run, but his legs refused to move. He let out short, quick breaths.

“I… I…” 

His eyes widened and raced around the room and his lips quivered. Leah stepped in front of her siblings to protect them, knowing what Trassig was capable of. Tears began to run down Hannah’s face. 

“You were one of my only friends! How could you do this?”

“Please just let us go. We don’t want to die, please just…” Leah stammered

“I'm not going to hurt any of you. We’re friends, remember? I know this is going to be difficult for you to process…” Trassig raced to think of a way to calm them down. “I don’t want to kill any of you. You all mean so much to me. I wanted to ask if…”

Trassig mustered up his courage for a few seconds. His existence terrified the siblings, Daniel and Hannah were frozen and Leah was trying to be courageous but Trassig could tell she was the most terrified of all. He felt another unfamiliar emotion, remorse. He knew things would never be the same between the four of them ever again, but he wanted to give them a better future. A future with him.

“I can turn you three into vampires. It would be painless and you would live a longer life than a normal human would.” Trassig stammered nervously. “You’ll be able to come with me to the estate where my father and I reside.”

“What..?” 

Leah’s mind raced, tears flowed as her eyes began moving and blinking rapidly. She considered the possibilities, imagining life with and without her father. She was paralyzed by dread.

What should I do? Leah thought.

Hannah crept up behind Leah and tugged on her arm gently. She looked up at her horrified sister with tears in her gleaming sapphire eyes and gently whispered.

“I don’t want to be yelled at by daddy anymore.”

In that moment, something in Leah’s mind clicked. She parted Hannah’s hair, revealing a long scar, recalling its origin. 

.  .  .  The night it was acquired, her father was preparing dinner alongside Daniel. Leah was weaving a doll for her younger sister when the shattering of glass was heard in the other room. Everyone hurried over to see what happened, and they were greeted by Hannah, crouched, attempting to pick up the shards of a broken vase. Everyone rushed over to assist her, excluding her father. He loomed over, watching the three of them clean the glass.

“Your mother made that…” He said through his teeth.

In a fit of rage, he slid his arm across the countertop where they kept their glassware. Plates and cups crashed into the ground, shards going in every direction. The siblings screeched, shielding their eyes from the incoming flak. Simon stared at the chaos, realizing what he had just done, and bursted out of the house. Hannah held a hand to her forehead, blood dripping onto the floor through her pressure.  .  .  .

That look on this little girl’s face greatly swayed Leah. She remembered having to stay with Hannah all night because she was afraid her father would come and discipline her when he thought everyone else was asleep. Leah knew the mistreatment of her little sister stemmed from her mother’s death, caused by Hannah’s birth. Simon would never forgive Hannah.

“Leah..? Hannah..?”

Daniel uttered with a cracked voice. He reached his arm out towards them as they walked away, nearing Trassig, hand in hand. His vision blurred from swelling tears. Daniel collapsed to his knees.

“Don’t leave me, please! I need you!” Daniel begged

 Standing next to Trassig, Leah looked at Daniel with contempt, hoping that he didn’t approach. Nothing but the occasional huff of a horse’s breath could be heard in the stable. Trassig brandished his long, sharp nails and carved them into his wrist. Crimson-black fluid slid down his forearm to his elbow, dripping into a bucket that was readied prior. Daniel watched as Trassig lifted the bucket to their mouths, reminiscent of receiving the blood of Christ. After a moment, the sisters collapsed and Trassig turned, his bright ruby eyes focused on Daniel. In that instant Daniel leapt to his feet and bolted out the door. Right as he exited the stable he turned back and saw that Trassig tried to catch him but the setting sun stopped his reach. Trassig’s crimson eyes shone through the darkness, lit like a candle. Daniel ran as fast as he could, leaving behind his sisters to go to his father for help.

  .  .  .  Maybe dad can save them, I have to get help.  .  .  . Daniel hoped.

Simon stood up defensively when his son barged through the door unannounced, huffing for air. With a confused and concerned stare, he waited for Daniel to catch his breath.

“Dad, Leah… and Hannah… A vampire...”

The moment the word vampire left Daniel’s mouth, Simon sprinted to the master bedroom, curtains swaying in his draft. Screeching to a halt in front of his painting, The Corvus Family, he haphazardly took it off of the wall. Behind it was a large, dusty chest perched onto a platform built into the chipped and damaged wood. 

He grabbed the chest with haste and dropped it onto the ground next to the dresser. Simon fumbled with a few keys urgently while Daniel watched from the entrance of the bedroom. The chest popped open like a relic. Inside, various weapons lay disorganized along with a jade coat and a bag full of lime pebbles, bearing inscriptions. He sifted through the mess, pushing aside silver daggers and chains.

“Where is it… Ah.”

In his hands was a small notebook with an old bloodstain on its front cover. He slid his fingers across the pages of the book to make sure of its contents, nodded, then quickly pocketed it. After he fastened a few silver daggers to his belt, put on his coat and strapped the bag to his belt, Simon looked at Daniel the way a father would before going off to war. He put a hand on Daniel’s shoulder, held a silver blade in the other and got on one knee.

“Are you ready, son?” 

“I - I think so…” Daniel nervously sniffled.

“I need you to listen to me very closely. You follow my lead, stay behind me, and if I tell you to run, you run.”

Daniel concentrated on his father’s blurry figure through welled up tears. Simon put out his hand, in it was a shining silver kris.

“I used this kris to kill a vampire, now you will too.”.

“But - I thought we could save them, dad.” Daniel began sobbing.

“No… We can't.”  Simon’s voice shook, a tear rushed down his cheek.

He held his son close, thinking about the good times he had with his daughters. Simon regretted the way he treated them. Tears flowed down his face at the thought of having to destroy them, but he knew that it had to be done.

 

 

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