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Mortal Stories
Becoming
I was disoriented, confused, and half-starved for blood when I first met Xodus, leader of the vampires. On my neck were two raw, throbbing wounds that refused to heal. The ecstasy and the horror of that transition from youthful carefree mortality to dark thirsty undeath was still fresh, echoing again and again in my brain, haunting my sleep and crowding out essential daytime thoughts. Xodus woke me from a troubled and exhausted sleep - learning to quench my thirst for blood was no easy task -- and spoke to me about my name. When I left behind my mortality, I also left behind my mortal name, and took on Alunea, which better described the woman I was becoming. Our conversation was brief, but as he stalked away, another park visitor explained to me who he was. I already knew then that I would, one day, hunt with the Clan of Vampires.I was cocky and overconfident when I first met Seluctruh, the father of the vampires. The twin wounds on my neck were now pink scars, vivid against my dark skin. Though I had much to learn, I now knew my way around the realms, and was feeling ready to take on anything that presented itself. I compared myself to others who were learning their trades, and felt that I had something to be proud of. The appearance of the Dark Lord was unexpected, and his arrogance as he inspected his vampiric child was abrasive. I'm quite sure I snarled as he circled me like a wolf might circle his prey. Despite this unpromising introduction, the Dark Lord suited my dark nightstalking ways. In subsequent meetings, he earned my devotion, and soon every kill I made was performed in his name.
I was self-assured and confident when I first met Arcum, the new leader of the Vampires. The twin wounds on my neck had faded to pale spots, only visible under close inspection. I was now strong enough to pass through the mists, moving swiftly in the darkness from victim to victim. I knew that I was powerful and fast, a fine fighting vampire. Not as powerful a fighter as, say, a warrior, but destined to be formidable in battle, nonetheless. I sat defiantly in the temple of the God of Light, while penning my application to join the clan of the God of Dark. My new acquaintance, but already my friend, Arcum sat with me, for a time, watching my clumsy fingers, now more accustomed to holding a sword than a quill, trying to make my words make sense. He offered a comment, here and there, but mostly kept me company through the unduly arduous process.
The transition to being a working clan member was not easy. Ever since one I trusted ripped me from my comfortable desert existence and launched me on my path of stalking the nights, thirsting for blood, I had not given my trust to anyone. But as a clan member, I was expected to surrender not only my trust, but my loyalty and my allegiance as well. I seem to have made the transition satisfactorily, though, for as those who once led the clan are now moving on to new pursuits, the clan is taking on new leadership. As a part of that process, Arcum has made me his second. It is a position I accept humbly, for I have great respect for those who have held led before me, and with optimism, for I hope to add my name to the list of great clan members.
One of the jobs I have taken on is to keep a distant eye upon the new vampires in the realms, those that are still reeling after their transition, and those that are cocky and overconfident with their newfound mastery of the nights. I meet with them, sometimes, though I don't expect to be written into a future vampire's memoirs. Even so, I hope my meetings serve a purpose, and help these vampires upon their road towards being strong and confident vampires, worthy servants of our Dark Father, and valuable additions to our vampiric clan. For we, the vampires of Darkstone, we are strong, and always getting stronger!
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