On Vampires, by Isodar Hasselmann

Vampires are dismissed by many as myths and stories told to children by their mothers to scare them from trusting strangers. Others believe vampires once existed but were all destroyed in the great purge. I can assure you vampires are very much real. I first encountered vampires as a young man. I still remember the pale skin and thin lips of the thing that called itself "Count Nicu Strix". I remember the confusion in my mother's voice as she asked why the count was visiting a commoners home and I remember the sickening wry smile across its face and the amusement on its voice as it replied "It is a special occasion, and I am here to feast with you". Worst off all I remember her scream a cry of terror that turned into a dry gurgle and then silence and I remember running into the night - terrified and ashamed.

Years later I joined the order of the flame. For readers who are unaware the order of the flame is a branch of the temple of Lammela - said to provide warmth, comfort and protection against the creatures of the night. Servants of the flame are charged with bringing it's purifying light against all those unnatural terrors that prowl the night and threaten humanity. I'm sure - dear reader - that it would come as no surprise to you that my specialism within the order was the threat of vampires. My desire for revenge led me to the flame as I believed the order would give me the tools and the knowledge required to hunt down the thing that took my mother and extinguish it's blasphemous unlife. I was, to an extent, right - the order gave me basic training with weapons and armour and in time my devotion to the flame gave me the ability to manifest it's cleansing power. The order also held records and treatise on vampires dating back to Ulrik's rebellion and the purge.

Armed with knowledge and purpose I set out into the world to hunt the undead scourge. I spent years wandering between small towns, following Tavern gossip and whispers to dead ends. Promising stories of blood drinkers or mysterious deaths ended up being the work of deranged humans, lycanthropes or other mindless beasts.

That all changed with Sasberg.

I had come there chasing a lead on a series of kidnappings in the local area, I assumed at first that maybe it was some thugs seeking ransom until I learned the culprits left a calling card - a crescent moon painted in blood. I came to Sasberg on the night of a thunderstorm, rain pounded the ground deafeningly and the inky black night only gave way to some light with the intermittent strikes of lightning. I asked in the town if anyone had seen anything suspicious and I was told of strangers skulking by a local crypt that had been long since abandoned. The locals advised me to leave it alone with a subtle dread in their voice as they spake of it. I ignored their warnings - at the time I thought that a servant of the flame had no need to heed peasant superstitions but now I recognize my foolishness for what it is. I made my way through the dark and misty forests surrounding Sasberg and up towards the crypt. By the time I arrived, soaked through with the oppressive rain, I expected to find Ghouls or some other danger waiting for me.

What I found instead was worse. Silence. A deafening silence pierced the place as if no creature was within a mile of the place and even the trees remained still for fear of making any sound. Walking on further I saw the first sign of my quarry: Blood. First droplets on the gravestones then a slick trail winding it's way towards the centre of the crypt.

I almost fired my crossbow at the first corpse I saw, it's glassy eyes seemed to stay there as it lay slumped with its Jaw open and the contents of its stomach painting the gravel with a sickly spectrum of greens, yellows and crimson, on its forehead it bore a scar, the outline of a crescent moon that looked as if it had been carved in with some sort of knife. And as soon as I found the first corpse the others seemed to appear all at once - all of them cleaved and dismembered so cleanly and with a look of fear sculpted onto their stiff faces unlike any I had ever seen. The last one was still moving. It choked and gargled, grasping at its neck in a fruitless attempt to stop its life pouring out from the distinct two holes on its pale throat, the dying man saw me and reached up his hand - he spoke no words to me but I understood his request entirely and complied producing a dagger from my boot and stabbing it into the man's skull. The trail of blood left by the corpses snaked down towards the shadowy entrance to the crypt proper, like the carpet at a ball - inviting me to it's black oblivion.

I did not hesitate before heading in, I knew what was in there and I burned with hatred and a desire to kill it. I did not look back as I descended the bloody steps into a dimly lit chamber. In the far corner stood a figure in a long coat, his slick hair swept back across his shoulders. "So kind of you to join us for dinner Cleric" the thing mused, rage overtook me I bellowed at a volume I didn't think I could produce and charged with my mace in hand. As I did the figure turned around - revealing its face, it was the very same Nicu Strix I had encountered that night over twenty years ago and he had not aged a single day. The sight of his foul smirk with blood in the corners of his mouth only amplified my rage. I swung at him, anticipating the feeling of my mace crunching through his bone and rending his rotten flesh, but I swung at nothing. The vampire dissipated into a puff of red mist and my mace only swung through stale crypt air. "Now, now" the thing tutted "Have manners really stooped so low in Bofen in the last few centuries, this is not how one treats one's host". "DIE" I screamed swinging my mace at him again, and again my mace only passed through the same smokey mist. I didn't stop, everytime the abomination snarked I swung again and my rage only grew until it stopped and sighed. The sarcasm on its face vanished as it uttered "Cease, I grow tired of this", before I could react its hand shot out and I saw the room fly and then felt searing pain.

What happened next is unclear, my vision became fuzzy and I faded in and out of consciousness. But I remember the shadow looming over me and talking. "You're wondering why I haven't killed you" it said. "The answer is disappointingly simple it said, I like to play with my food. Those fools out there were fun enough, their reverence turning to fear as I tore out their throats one by one. But you, you are something altogether more special. You have purpose, and rage - it will taste all the sweeter when your failure dawns on you before the end." I remember it chuckling before it continued "Oh? you haven't figured it out have you? it's not the blood, well it is but not really. We don't really need food your human breads and cheeses turn to choking powder as soon as they pass our lips but emotions, oh to taste them again. To feel every drop of pain, despair and grief pass through a mortal as the life drains from them is a delicacy like no other, and you are going to be delicious."

When I awoke I was somewhere I did not recognize, naked locked in an iron cage with other terrified faces. The cage stood in the centre of a large dark hall, it's grey stonework covered in gargoyles and depictions of fanged faces. Overlooking what I increasingly realized appeared to be some sort of arena. Suddenly a discordant note from what sounded almost like a harpsichord pierced the silence and a raspy voice said "To announce the beginning of tonight's feast, it is my pleasure to present to the court the council of three - welcome lords Pain, Grief and Terror" At this three figures stepped onto the balcony. They were difficult to see in the light but their pale grey skin, taught frames and strange bat like features were unmistakable. The one stood in the centre almost looked right at me for a moment before looking back up and spreading it's arms before declaring "Feast". Suddenly the cage door flew open and all hell broke lose, Faster than I could see shapes flew at us and the grey stone of the arena was painted a vibrant red as screams pierced the night. I only caught a glimpse of them for a moment - hundreds of vampires, faces lit up with monstrous glee descending on my fellow captives. I looked around at the scenes of carnage, the vampires only distracted from me by sick pleasure in the blood of the others and their fellow kin, knowing I had moments. Then I had an idea, remembering the dying man in the graveyard I took my dagger and put it too my neck. The pain was horrible and the feeling of my own warm blood pouring over me was sickening. I felt my strength draining rapidly and at first I was ready to accept that I would at least die on my own terms rather than as a snack for some horror. But I steeled my resolve and prayed to the flame, and while my strength left me I did not die. Slowly I inched my way towards a grate in the centre of the arena and managed to open it and climb down without attracting attention.

I was met with a dark tunnel filled with a stench unlike any I have known before. Old bodies, drained and rotten filled what I now realised to be a sewer. I vomited but then I pressed on, arduously crawling my way through the tunnel and over the bodies. It must have been days before I saw light. But there I emerged, at a small spring somewhere in the mountains. I have been in the wilderness for some days now, and I am doubtful I will survive, my journal survived my ordeal and so I have decided to record my experience in the less bloodstained pages, in the hopes that if anyone finds me - at least the knowledge of what I have seen can be passed on.