There are many things to fear in the night. Losing one’s footing. Bandit in the shadows. Howls in the night. Blood red eyes that track your every move. The dead that still move. As a member of the Argent Moon, we are the last stand between the forces of darkness, and the innocent mortals they hunt. When it comes to the Argent Moon, we are the hunters, hunting the most dangerous prey. I wonder if it would surprise the general population to know that that there are several “species”, for lack of a better word, of vampire. For example, my current quarry is a rare type of vampire, known as ……………
I am Nogg. Just Nogg, although my associates know me better as Tuck. I didn’t give myself the nickname, I became famous, or infamous as a result of my habit of speaking to my targets. Sometimes I tell a joke, sometimes I tell a story. My voice is the last thing they ever hear. “Tuck” them into bed, or the afterlife as it were.
I was born Nogg, just a simple goblin, to a small tribe of goblins that served as the advanced guard for a necromancer name Tael. “Advance guard”, as in first to die, cannon fodder. None of the orcs or ogres were in the advance guard. Come to think of it, neither were any of Tael’s animated minions. Ah well, everything’s clearer in hindsight as they say. At any rate, apparently he ticked off the wrong people, because next thing I know a band of adventurers come ripping through our home. I didn’t even have time to appreciate the skill of the dwarf barbarian, or the elven ranger. I could barely comprehend the flames that erupted from the human floating in the back. I was too busy trying to catch my breath, as my lungs were filling with blood after being stabbed in the back. Before I fell to the ground, three other goblins near me collapse from similar attacks. The world soon faded to black.
When I awoke, it was to darkness. Not from the time of day, but rather from the destruction of the necromancer’s tower, our home. Beams of sunlight broke through places, to provide some illumination but I was trapped. Figuratively and literally. I was buried from the waste down by rocks and timber. I had apparently been here for several days, because the rat-kabobs I carried in my vest had started to turn. I could also smell the unmistakable stench of death nearby. For a while, I thought it was me.
For the next few days, I ate my rotten rat sticks, and dug at the rocks. On occasion a rat or snake would come close enough to meet death at my hands. Fresh meat was infinitely better than rotten rat. In time I grew strong enough to break free from my initial prison. Not that it helped much. Tael’s tower lay all around and above me. Only a few cracked arches had kept it from crushing me completely. Only thing that remained, was me, the room I was left for dead in, and the rotting bodies of my kin, Taels bodyguards and at least one of those damned adventurers.
Survival is a funny thing. Your mind tends to split when the question of survival comes up. There is what you will do to survive, and what you must do. What you will do is subject to thought and consideration. For example, concerning the rotting corpses of my tribesfolk. I knew what I could do. I spent my time moving the rocks and rubble, slowly digging my way out. In time however, I grew hungry. Not just hungry. Starving. The gaps in the collapsed ceiling allowed me to make a fire without risk of choking. And I developed a taste for meat. To be honest, I started with the adventurer. Dwarves are tough, but not bad with a little cooking. It was ironic, this dwarf carried an assortment of spices with his gear.
I actually didn’t have to eat goblin until I was nearly free. As I dug my way out, I’d come across the bodies of other guards, or adventurers. I’d stack the meat off to the side, to cook at night. Cooked meat keeps better. Well, that’s where I went wrong, or right, depending on perspective. One of the bodies I ate was evidently not completely normal. I mean, not elf, not dwarf, not human. Not sure if it was undead, tainted, or straight from the Abyss. In either case, I must not have ate enough to hurt me initially, as I was still rationing. The third day though, was agony. My guts felt like they were on fire. My fingers and toes too. I screamed for hours or days. Not really sure. I figure at some point I just passed out.
When I awoke, I felt different. I felt stronger, healthier than I’d been in days. The rags I wore barely fit. My senses were sharper as well. Most importantly, my mind was. I was never what one would consider a scholar, even among goblinoids. However, even I was embarrassed at how much I lacked intellectually before. Things suddenly began to make more sense. My memory was sharper. It was how I knew it was my last meal that…changed me.
With my newfound strength, I worked all through the night, and never tired. As dawn peeked through the clouds, my senses picked up an intoxicating scent. There was a human, asleep at a small camp. All alone. He told me he saw the ruins, and figured it was a safe place to make camp. I told him my story. I’d been without company for a couple weeks by that point, and talking to oneself can make one a little off. Then I ate him. Yes all of him. I drained him of blood first. My hunger I realized, was more of a thirst. After he was empty, I cut him into portable pieces, and cooked them. After wrapping them up in his bag, I began the long trek into civilization.
I tried to do some research once I got into a town large enough to boast a library. I couldn’t find anything other than what I suspected. I was a vampire. Not a true one, that much was true as sunlight, while annoying, did not harm me. Also, I was taller, broader and stronger than an average goblin. I was quite stealthy as well. A talent that served me well in the local assassin’s guild. Eventually I became their top killer. I guess that’s when I became the object of someone’s curiosity. There is apparently an organization dedicated to killing all sorts of monsters, but have a special hatred for vampires. They call themselves Argent Moon.
I find it ironic that now, thanks to a bit of luck, and unpreparedness on the hunter’s part, that I now count the guise of an Argent Moon agent among my repertoire of identities. It allows me to study the nature of vampirism from behind enemy lines. It also has other perks. The assassin Tuck, long suspected of being one of the undead, is proving to be quite elusive.
I learn more about my abilities as a Dhampir. For example, as ridiculous as it sounds, only by poring over some tomes did I discover, that I no longer needed to breathe. I had been doing so as reflex, not requiring conscious thought. I wonder what other gifts I have acquired. Not every Dhampir are created the same. Typically the powers are based on what changed them. It would explain my preference for fresh meat.
I am currently researching my particular strain of Dhampirism. I hope to be able to enhance my abilities. As an aside, I’ve come across a few rumors where a Dhampir had become a full fledged vampire. Immortality intrigues me. As best as I can tell, and have no reason to push the subject, I age slower, but I’m still vulnerable to a beheading, or lucky stab in the chest as any other mortal. That the sun would be deadly to me, is a mere inconvenience to be able to have eternity.
Ah well, I have been dispatched to investigate a possible undead threat at the local carnival. At the worst, I shall have a new entry for my annals. Perhaps a revenant this time. At the best, well the concept of becoming a vampire lord is very intriguing.
A Darkness Rising 