When in mist form, I am invulnerable
to physical weapons, blade and claw! I can seep through locked doors
and cracks and move swiftly, like a shadow fleeing light.
The black forest reigned here, its kingdom
rarely invaded by those that live in the light. But it was called
home by this mysterious Vorador. Legend told of a time when Vorador
defeated Malek of the Sarafan.
If such a man did exist, then he
could perhaps be the key to defeating the Ward.
The sword ravages flesh with teeth
of metal and flame, leaving only scorched remains.
This spell allows me to enslave
my enemies, giving me control of their bodies. When I release my
grip, their bodies will shrivel and die, as I displace their souls, and
replace them with my own.
This spell allows me to use blood
from my own body as a weapon. When struck, my enemiesí blood would
flow from their bodies to fill me with life. ĎTis a risk, yet the
rewards are a temptation.
Your strength has increased, for
our blood enhances.
Strange that Vorador would choose
a dwelling so perilous to him. The swamp could only offer a vampire
hazard and pain.
As he approaches
the great mansion:
Voradorís keep was hidden deep within
the Termagent forest, nestled amongst vines and creepers that clung desperately
to its dark weathered stone.
The luxury with which this Vorador
surrounded himself was impressive. His wealth would shame the haughty
nobles of my former court.
That this vulgar display of fortune
remained undisturbed was a testament of fearís dominion over greed.
Their charms were almost visible
through the gauze of their clothing. Yet beauty such as theirs delivered
only death. For these were Voradorís pets, nothing more than beasts,
slave to his will and the easy prey he provided. Vampires, all of
them, held in thrall by one stronger still.
The darkness was soothing and in
the distance, sharp and sweet, came the scent of spilt blood.
Voradorís pantry! A vampireís
feast! Like cattle awaiting slaughter, men and women dangled from
the rusted hooks upon the dungeon walls, blood and viscera frosted the
dirt and stone. The abundance nearly overwhelmed me. For blood
is the life . . .
My enemies are quite vicious and
the Chaos armor extracts from them a heavy price for their bloodlust.
The blows are meant for me, but it is their bodies that carry the wounds.
Oh, to bathe in the blood of others!
This spell is especially useful in the face of multiple combatants.
Beware those with tainted blood.
The room I had entered had but one
purpose - the torture and execution of human beings for the sadistic pleasure
of its engineer. Blood was splattered on every surface.
The dread and agony of victims past
still echoed through the lethal walls. A symphony of terror and agony
filled the air. Then, from amidst the cacophony of screaming souls
came the perverse laughter of the Vampire himself . . .
And upon the wall, scrawled in blood,
were the words: Manus Celer Dei.
the swift hand of God)
Amongst Voradorís possessions, I
found an ancient chronicle . . . Long ago, vampires grew in such number
as to capture the attention of the Circle. The Order of the Sarafan,
or the ďAngels of LightĒ as they were called, was instated to counter the
menace. Thus, the ďVampire PurgeĒ began.
series of macabre paintings on the wall:
The tapestries wove a tale of chaos
ignited, an orgy of fire and pain. Undead beings, with rotted skins
caked with sulfur and ash, beckoned at me through a burning abyss.
Their tortured stares were a testemonial to the price of weakness.
Their fate would not find me.
Yet blood calls to blood.
The dining room is dimly lit by candles. Across the length of a long, polished table sits the vampire Vorador, holding two finely crafted goblets.
In the bowels of that black forest
I found something worse than Hell. A vision of what I was becoming
. . .
Itís not often I see one of our
own, especially one as young and foolish as yourself. Nonetheless,
drink. Drink deep and indulge your gift.
Kain reluctantly accepts the goblet. We see subtle evidence as to where the blood came from; a dripping human corpse is suspended upside down above a basin on the table.
Gift? Pah! Vorador
thought my curse a blessing. That we were gods and that mortals offered
their blood as sacrifice so that we could enjoy our supernatural powers.
And somewhere deep inside my new self I knew he was right. That mortal
dreams were prayers. Prayers to us - begging for our power.
I pondered this as the decadent old
fool prattled on about his past; a boorish account of how he defeated Malek
of the Sarafan and took his vengeance upon the Circle of Nine for supporting
the Sarafanís holy war to exterminate us . . .
After slaughtering six of the sheep
I defeated their pathetic little shepherd - Malek. Since then our
kind has not bothered with the cattle, except to feed. And I suggest
you do the same.
Meddling with the affairs of man
can do us no good. Sarafan witchhunts are much too tedious to concern
ourselves with. Am I understood Kain?
only very slightly.
Good. Take this ring.
If you ever need assistance it will summon me. Despite your youthful
arrogance, you amuse me, Kain - it would be such a pity to lose you to
Now be gone!
Vorador turns his back on Kain.
My visit with Vorador only strengthened
my resolve. His power uncontested by mortals, he had fallen to another
enemy. Decadence has claimed itself many a great warrior.
Turning the ring over in my hands,
I realized that it was crafted from some strange alloy formed from broken
teeth - ground down and soaked in blood.
And so I left that place, with clear
knowledge of what sort of monster
I would become if I let my curse
consume me, and with an ally for the future.