Whilst returning to Cheydinhal, I hear a shriek from a secluded cave beneath a waterfall. Not the call of a bird or beast, but an unnatural howl, both sorrowful and anguished. Warily I enter the black cavern and in the distance spy a pair of crimson eyes piercing through the darkness at me. For a brief moment they shine like rubies in moonlit pools before vanishing as quickly as they appeared. Whisperings and faint wails lure me ever deeper into the caverns, till finally I discover the figure of a man hunched over another.

Closer still, and I discern the famished stare of one accursed by their own slavery to life’s warm-blood; a vampire. It’s blazing eyes and scarlet lips glimmer in the torch light, in stark contrast to its ghoulishly pale cheeks. It’s unhallowed claws tearing at the bloody shrouds of a still breathing priest of Arkay. The vampire is cursed to only ever know peace when the blood of another fills its heart. And contrary to the fanciful bard songs, vampires don’t tend to nibble upon the necks of their victims, they tear and render the flesh, suckling the blood and gore from each chunk.

S.K