LEGEND

I, Strigoi. Damnation Eternal.

Angelique walked down the turns of the many halls. She passed friends and fellow worshippers on her path to the grand altar where all worshiped the the immortal, Aerick. Her long flowing robes opened just slightly for all to catch a glimpse of her shimmering weapon, a most holy artifact that some said to have been given to
her directly from Aerick himself. She was a warrior who's strength was only matched by her beauty. She knelt before the grand altar and began her daily worship.

Lust was an insatiable sin, and Strigoi found it impossible to tear himself away from watching Angelique's graceful movements as she passed by him, he who was but one of the servants of the temple. He had spoken to her upon but a few occasions, though never holding any conversations worth remembering. Strigoi loved her from afar, but a return of that love was a hopeless thought. She was a beautiful and strong warrior born of nobility, and he was among the nameless faceless workers that served to scrub floors and detail statues that brandished armor and weaponry that Strigoi could not even hope to be able to carry. Ill and weak, Strigoi would continually cough blood, his eyes red and his face deathly pale, hardly the picture of perfection that Angelique was. But he dreamed a hopeless dream nonetheless.

Cleaning the shelves in the library, Strigoi, by chance and accident, clumsily knocked over a whole row of books. Cursing to himself, he gathered the books. While doing so, he would flip through a few pages of text in curiousity. One book, in particular, intrigued him more than the others. He flipped to a page with a drawing of this handsome being with dark piercing eyes. The writing below read:

"Lord Vlad Arothar, the ruthless and unrelenting leader of the Vampyres."

Strigoi read on learning more about Lord Vlad, learning of his greatness in battle, his command, his strength. And though this book clearly shown how demonic the evil vampyres were, it was clear to see that it's author held Lord Vlad in high regard, even though he was an enemy. All the books replaced, all save one, Strigoi retired to his quarters that night with much interest in the story of the vampyres, what had once been nothing more than a childrens tale. Many nights did Strigoi study that book, his thirst for knowledge regarding the vampyres growing stronger with each word he read. Perhaps it was the allure of their unnatural strength and immortality that intrigued the young servant, perhaps he believed that there was something more he could learn from these dark ones.

Such curiousity could not be satiated with books alone, Strigoi hungered for a deeper study. In the presence of a moonless night, Strigoi stole into one of the acloves that held a lesser altar. There, with material compo-nents that he borrowed, the servant began the dark ritual to commune with one of the vampyre lords of old. Within the text he had discovered that the apparent genocide of the vampyre race was not as complete as originally believed. Those dark fiends that survived were locked away in a prison of arcane magic, existing just beyond the light of the world of the living, yet not quite entering the realm of the dead. Strigoi believed that he could possibly gain some measure of favor from these dark immortals to grant him that which he desired the most, his beloved Angelique.

Strigoi succeeded and from shadowy mists did appear the form of a demon. Though resembling the vam-pyres drawn in the book, time had obviously twisted this one's form and corrupted it's material being. Nevertheless, it's mind still seemed intact as it spoke to Strigoi in an echoing tone, drowned by the anguished wailing of lost souls.

"Fool creature, to summon one such as I," it hissed, eyes burning of blue flame.

"Are you a vampyre?" Strigoi asked tentatively. A low rumble filled the room, laughter? Strigoi asked again, and before asking a third time, the demon responded.

"I am, that which you seek, fool creature." Still bound by the magical circle around the altar, the fiend stretched it's shadowy wings filling the room in a dark cloudy mist. "Free me from this prison, wretched beast, and I shall spare your sanity."

"I shall not free you, lest you grant me my wish, vampyre," Strigoi replied boldly. The fiend roared loudly and beat at the walls of his prison.

"I do not grant wishes to such a pathetic creature."

"Then we are at an impass, for I will not release you until you grant me my desire."

"I have waited for many millenia in this prison you foul beasts have conjured, I can wait for many more, but I wonder for how many eons can you wait for your desire?" The fiend, brought up an interesting point. It was immortal, and so seemingly was it's patience. Yet Strigoi did not have an eternity to wait for another opportunity. The scales had been re-weighted, and the demon held all the stones.

"Grant me strength and rid me of my mortal illness, and I shall release you," Strigoi offered. "Say you will grant me my desires, and I shall offer you the world." He knew that his offer meant nothing, but Strigoi still stood his ground.

"Perhaps your kind has evolved further since our last meeting, mortal," the fiend spoke. "I can feel the strength of your desire burning strong within you. You would do almost anything to attain this goal." Strigoi nodded in reply. "Then I shall grant you your desires. But first you must do something for me."

"I will not release you, if that is what you ask, grant me my wish first."

"Silence your cursed tongue, else I lose interest in you," the vampyre responed, "What I desire from you is a test of commitment. I require you to sacrifice to me the hearts of three youths. You need taste the sweetness of their lifeblood before me, and I shall grant you a life of an immortal, a taste of what it is to be a vampyre."

Strigoi found his task hard to swallow. And his conscience weighed heavily against him. But his mind focused on nothing but his beloved, Angelique. Thus he agreed to the deal. Just before dawn approached, Strigoi returned to the altar with three children from the nearby city of Arnath. There, before the dark fiend, he butchered them and cut out their still beating hearts. As instructed, Strigoi drank from their heart, the lifeblood that once flowed through their now dismembered bodies. With blood dripping down his chin and drenching his hands, Strigoi looked up to the demon with open arms awaiting his promised immortality. The
binding of the prison wavered and faded and soon the demon was free. It attempted to gorge at the bodies before it, but found himself unable to manipulate the material world.

"I have held up my end of the bargain, now yours," Strigoi said suddenly. The demon looked at Strigoi with eyes that saw beyond mortality, but into the soul of the man. In death, a part of the soul yet remains within the body, the fiend fused with this remaining essence, the po as it has been called. Within moments, the three once lifeless bodies arose and looked to Strigoi, teeth bared. Without warning, all three attacked Strigoi, biting and clawing at his flesh.

"Traitorous fiend!" Strigoi struggled, "You were to grant me eternal life, not death!"

"But death is the path to eternal life," the fiend's voice echoed about the room. Strigoi could feel his strength failing as his own lifeblood was being drained from him. In moments, his eyes darkened. In that darkness, however, he could still see the image of his love, Angelique, until that too faded into nothing.

Strigoi awoke to darkness. He was trapped with hardly any room to move. Crying out for help, he soon realized that his throat was far too dry to call out strongly. With instictive actions, he broke the wooden hold that trapped him. Dirt and gravel began to fill the small space and Strigoi began to claw and dig his way out. After much effort and frantic anxiety, his hand broke the surface and he could feel the cold chill of the air above. Eventually Strigoi dug his way out and took his first deep breath of the cool night air. A light mist covered the ground, dancing about him. Before him was a large stone and he used it for leverage to pull himself further out. In the low light of the wanning moon, Strigoi caught the words engraved on the rock, and it shocked him utterly. For it was his name written on that rock. Surveying his surroundings for the first time, he finally realized that he was in a graveyard, and in considering what he just endured, it seemed logical to assume that he had just dug his way out of his own grave. The thought appalled him, and Strigoi quickly rose to his feet, taking many steps back away from his tomb.

Strigoi's body seemed to burn with thirst, his mouth was so parched and dry. He stumbled upon a small puddle of water and quickly bent down to drink it. Though it hydrated his mouth, it did nothing to quench his thirst. A light shown up ahead, it appeared to be from a lantern. Following the light, Strigoi stumbled over crumbling headstones calling out for help. Approaching closer, he soon discovered that the light hung beside a gate. Opening the gate Strigoi soon realized that he was in Arnath, and after situating himself, he headed for the fountain in the center of town. Again he drank to quench his thirst, yet still he remained thristy. Perhaps he should return to his temple, so he took flight to the eastern gate. There he found three sentry guards watching the gate intently.

"Halt!" one of the guards yelled at Strigoi's approach. "What business do you have at the eastern gate?"

"I need to return to the temple, please let me through." The guards looked at each other then turned to regard Strigoi.

"Have you not heard? The temple's fallen." The blood drained from Strigoi's face as his mind flashed back to what had happened before this night, when he had agreed to a deal with a demon. "No one is allowed past this gate, it's for your own good, sir."

"Angelique," Strigoi muttered under his breath, "I must get back to the temple! Let me through!" Strigoi walked up to the gate. The three guards moved to block his path. With strength he never knew he had, Strigoi swatted aside the guards and broke through the door towards his temple. Perhaps it was his fear for Angelique's safety, but he ran faster than he ever thought possible, reaching the gates of the temple in nearly half the time it normally took. It had indeed fallen. The lifeless bodies of many worshippers were strewn about, small fires could be seen, walls were broken. Strigoi scanned the area for signs of his beloved, but found no trace of her anywhere. Then up ahead, he heard a familiar voice chanting prayers from one of the altars. It had to be Angelique. Approaching the altar, Strigoi calmed seeing Angelique's face. She rasied her mace as he approached.

"Angelique, I'm not here to hurt, you, it is I, Strigoi."

"Strigoi?" Angelique replied, "is that a joke? Strigoi died a week ago. I was at his burial. I warn you, fiend, stay back, lest you feel the wrath of Aerick." Strigoi was taken aback.

"No, Angelique, it is I, Strigoi, I live! I have come back to make sure you are safe." Angelique took a closer look at Strigoi.

"Perhaps you bear his form, but whatever part of him that lived has long since gone."

"But I am, Strigoi!"

"If you truly are not a fiend of darkness as you say, then step forth before the altar of Aerick." Strigoi walked toward the altar. Not long after, his skin burned with holy flames and his appearance changed to that of a demon. He jumped back out of the light of the altar and back into the hallway.

"Stay back beast of hell," Angelique demanded, "You shall not corrupt me as you did my bretheren."

Strigoi's form shifted back from the demon. "What has happened to me? I am no demon." It was at that moment that a shadowy mist formed about Strigoi, one that resembled the demon that he communed with
apparently one week earlier.

"You!" Strigoi pointed accusingly, "what have you done to me, fiend?"

"I have only granted you your wish, you, my young fledgling."

"I did not ask to be a demon."

"You are now an immortal, though not as pure as my race, but nevertheless, you are now a vampire. I have granted you the strength you seek and cured you of your mortal illness. As per our arrangement."

"What arrangement," Angelique asked.

"The ultimate power of being an undead vampire, for my freedom from the prison," the demon responded.

Angelique looked upon Strigoi with disgust. "I was wrong, Strigoi, you are far worse than the demon that I thought you have become. Far worse than the demons I have encountered here, for they were forced into this existence, while you chose your own damnation. You have cursed us all, and for that the world will bleed at your hands. No penance can be given to forgive such a crime."

Strigoi cursed loudly to the darkness and attacked the shadowy demon to no avail. A dark mist formed and the figure disappeared. Strigoi stood panting in tattered clothing, still thirsting.

"I did not mean for any of this to happen," Strigoi pleaded, "I did not want this."

"Why did you make a pact with such a demon?" Angelique asked.

"For you," Strigoi answered softly, "I wanted to be strong for you, so that you would love me."

"You did not do this for me, you did this for yourself," the priestess spat. "I never want to see you again. You are the cursed one, the one who damned us all. Perhaps your only recourse for your crime lies in your own destruction. I shall pray for your soul, though I doubt it will change your fate."

With that, Strigoi walked away from his beloved Angelique. He headed for his quarters where he lay in tears, utterly destroyed by the activity of the last few days. Perhaps Angelique was right, maybe he should end his life here and now. Taking a dagger from under his pillow, he stabbed himself through the chest and waited for his life to pass. The pain was excruciating, but still he lived. Removing the dagger, he sat back defeated. It appeared that he was cursed to this unliving existence. And with that thought he lay back and slept.

Strigoi awoke some time later. He arose to pain, a cramping in his stomach with a thirst in his throat. Groaning in agony, Strigoi stumbled down the halls toward the fountain in the temple. There he gorged himself on the stagnant water. Yet the hunger only grew worse. His flesh began to burn with pain, and soon the very veins on his skin burst and scarred his body. His hair began to fall out and his nails hardened until they cracked. He practically bathed in the fountain drinking every drop, yet he still thristed. Soon his skin began to disolve in the fountain. The pain was incomprehensible. Leaving the fountain, Strigoi lumbered about the darkness, wandering and screaming. He soon found himself at the gates of the temple where a band of three armed men were camped near a fire. Something else took over for Strigoi growled at men. One who readied a crossbow fired and shot him in the shoulder, the other readied his sword, while the last gathered his gear. Strigoi fought them with furious rage. The battle lasted but mere moments. All three men lay still in the light of the fire. Strigoi, drenched in blood, pounced on one of the men and gorged upon his still writhing corpse. He feasted upon their flesh for many minutes, their blood nurishing him like milk to a babe.

After drinking from the last, Strigoi jumped back and lay there panting, his mind flashing with images not of his own. He could feel the warmth of their blood flowing through him, and for the first time in nights, he did not thirst. Two of the men were brothers, the third was their friend. The brothers where from the northern village of Aden, poor farmers, enlisted to Arnath's militia not too long ago. The third was a widowed father, born in poverty and raised as a soldier. In mere moments, Strigoi felt as though he knew these men a lifetime.