Chapter I: A glimpse of dark history

Slan sighed as he drove the cart in a dark narrow street.
"You are so innocent about the world you have decided to fight by my side," he whispered.
"I'm not a Hunter," she reminded him.
"True, but you would do a wonderful bait..."
He drove a moment in silence and then began his tale:
"Long ago were three brothers, very close to each other. They were called Cain, Abel and Seth. At the beginning, they were followers of Chyraz, god of creation. Then they met with Azrael, Angel of Death, and something happened to them, nobody knows exactly what - nor why; they may even not know it either. And so the first strigoïs walked on earth, haunted the nights and fed on humans. At first, driven quite mad by their new state, accepting with difficulty not being able anymore to walk under the sun, they unleashed their newly acquired powers and committed, well, atrocities. Countless strigoïs rose to join the ranks of those who called themselves the 'first born'. Those 'first born' were as thirsty as their three Sires and they created an army of strigoïs, the second generation. The second generation produced some famous strigoïs, for example, the well-known Triad, Damian, Vivian and Julian Domine."
"That's the same name you mentioned earlier!"
"I will explain it later. Anyway, the second-generation strigoïs, a bit wiser than their Sires, were not as bloodthirsty as them and so, bothered by the constant blood hunts, they exterminated most of the 'first born'. Some escaped and are thirsty for revenge. Fear the day they will come back under the moonlight. Then came other generations. The fifth generation already didn't believe anymore in Cain. The strigoï, along with his brothers, had recovered his usual wisdom and calm and had been horrified by his own crimes and by what he had started. Then Azrael came again to them and they followed him; you rarely see one without seeing the others. Now the strigoïs believe that someday, the 'first born' will come back to seek their revenge and that, by that time, Cain and his brothers will do their last reappearance before the end of the world, to protect them from the 'first born', who are mortally afraid of the three brothers."
"Let's hope they won't only protect the strigoïs," she whispered.
"Some strigoïs, generally calling themselves the 'nobles' kept the last name of 'Domine', indicating they were pure blood and direct descendants of Cain himself, not his brothers."
"Like the Baron Cainan?"
"Yes. His name is already based on Cain's name. He's very proud of his heritage; he claims to belong to the second generation, which I doubt very much."
"Why?"
"Because the Triad has the bad habit of slaying every strigoï of the second generation daring to take the name 'Domine'."
"Can strigoïs slay other strigoïs?"
"Yes, if a leader - or a Prince - calls for a blood hunt. Then the hunted strigoïs are on the red list and anybody is allowed to give them eternal rest at anytime if they cross their path. The brothers of the Triad are Princes, they can order a blood hunt whenever they want and the strigoïs with the name 'Domine' are on their red list. But, anyway, there're not many second-generation strigoïs left alive, though those still alive are tough to slay."
"And the sight?"
"The Sight, 'gift' to the strigoïs and their kin. Dhampyrs have the Sight too. It allows the strigoï to know whom he is facing: he sees people glowing and the colour of the glow tells them more about the people than they want him to know."
She nodded and, strangely, didn't ask which colour she was glowing, contrary to what everybody else usually did.
"What are we going to do?" she asked instead.
"We are in the land of the Baron Cainan; I don't know how long it will take him to discover our presence, but I simply hope that someone else will ask us to get them rid of their lord before."
"Why do you hate him so?" she wondered aloud, not having him heard before being so willing to destroy a strigoï.
He didn't answer and she understood the time for questions was over.

He hadn't stopped to drive the cart and she was lost in the maze of streets. How could people living here manage to find their way? Quite strangely, she had the impression he knew perfectly where he was going; that could make some sense, since he already knew so much about the landlord, but could he know the town too?
"Where are we going?" she finally asked, thinking that, after all, the worse that she could get was no answer at all.
"Where we can sleep," he replied absent-mindedly.
She nodded, as if she was telling herself that her question was stupid.
"So you won't have to watch out the whole day for people who would gladly kill your strange companion," he added.
"I didn't complain," she objected, half-hurt.
"I know," he said. "But there isn't anybody who would like to do such a task."
"Sometimes, when people accept to be vulnerable in presence of others, it's a proof of trust. Now if you think I do not deserve your trust, I can accept it. After all, you hardly know me and I could be someone willing to kill you, who knows? Since my 'family' was obviously composed of strigoïs..."
"No. Your family was human, you are a human with no trace of strigoï blood. I don't understand why they kept you alive, why they waited so long."
She didn't answer. She didn't want to think of them, to think that the man she had considered like her father for so long was a strigoï and that he had tried to kill her. If Slan couldn't understand, she couldn't even less: she still remembered the cold evenings when he held her on his knees, singing old songs to her near the small fire, she could remember his pride each time she had overcome a difficulty... But all those memories had been plunged into nightmares as she remembered that fateful evening when she had met Slan...
She closed her eyes, trying to force the memories away. Next to her Slan was silent, maybe respecting her thoughts, most probably because he had run out of things to say. His usual way of living was very lonely, she could say by his uneasiness when he was with her and each time he was going to sleep under care. And his surprise when she was going to sleep, as if he wasn't really expecting her to trust him. All those hints - that he probably didn't think she had noticed - were enough for her to say that he was a lonesome wolf, used to fight, used to be called for help, but never thanked, but never trusted. Her trust in him was something new he had never experienced before and she hoped that if it changed him in any way, it wouldn't weaken him.
Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't notice that Slan had stopped the carriage in front of a small house, the last one of the dark narrow street, a bit separated from the others. A perfect house for outcasts like him - and her, now that she was with him. She jumped down the carriage and followed him as he led the horse in the small yard behind the house. Then he more or less forced the door, which wasn't locked, but sort of rusty, as if never used. Thinking of his apparent dislike - or was it spite? - for the land, it wasn't really surprising: why would he have come here often, if nothing called him?
And, she reasoned, he didn't like people knowing too much about him. She was an exception, she knew he was a dhampyr - which, if it wasn't seen with a very good eye, wasn't condemned - and, more importantly, she knew he was a nightwalker and that was punished by the only way that could affect them: eternal rest or, put more bluntly, swift death. She didn't know what exactly had motivated him to save her but she didn't know either why she wasn't tempted to denounce him and gratitude wasn't just enough. Her presence probably had avoided him troubles with Baron Cainan's 'dogs' and after that she could have jut left. He had half-expected her to do so and yet, here she was, standing next to him in the first room of this small house where they were going to live, both of them. The thought had something irremediable in it and she shivered slightly.
He caught her move from the corner of the eye.
"Having second thought?" he asked casually, looking around - but, carefully, not at her.
"No," she replied, unable - and unwilling - to explain to him the stream of her thoughts.
A silence.
"Thinking of what you said earlier. Why 'dogs'?"
It took Slan a moment to understand what she was talking about and then he slightly nodded.
"They have no strigoï blood in their veins. They are entirely human, but they choose to serve the strigoïs against their own kin. Some do so hoping to protect their family from the strigoïs, but most of them just serve them because it serves their interests."
"Such as?"
"They believe that no matter what, they will never be fed upon, which is probably true. They believe that at the end, they will receive the great blessing, they will be transformed into one of them for all eternity and this is a sweet dream that will never be realised. Strigoïs usually choose carefully whom they are going to sire and their dogs are hardly fitting the profile. Since they are already serving them without being transformed, why would they care to transform them?"
"How do you know?"
"Because I was given the same empty promises. They promised me eternity, but I already have it; they promised me acceptance, I said I didn't care. Then they almost convinced me..."
"What did they promise?"
"Someone to live with during my eternity. But the words she was saying were not hers, for I knew what she thought really of me. She had become one of them and she wanted me to suffer for all eternity. I refused their delusion."
"What did they do?"
He shrugged.
"They tried to kill me and she died in the fight that followed."
She understood that there maybe had been something between Slan and this particular woman. Had this happen before he knew that he had eternity for him and thus, was condemned to loneliness or endless pain?
"One last question, if I may," she risked.
He looked at her expectedly.
"You said I could be a bait... Why so?"
"Really innocent, I see. How do you think people like me exist? Strigoaïcas rarely can bear children. Strigoïs still desire what they had while alive and they obviously prefer to 'play' with good-looking nice girls like you. I bet Cainan would be interested in you."
He stopped when seeing her cheeks flaming red.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot you are not used to the reality of the dark world."
"But why would they do that? That would be giving birth to more dhampyrs like you! And, if I judge by your example, you are not very kind to them!"
"No. They are not keeping you human. They make you one of them before you give birth to the child. Strigoïs willing to leave their integrity to their mate are rare."
She wanted to ask about his family, since both his father and grandfather on the mother side had had that noble attitude, but she knew she wouldn't get any answer. Then an idea struck her.
"Then... you are going to use me as bait to trap the Baron Cainan?"
"No," he shrugged. "I couldn't get you out soon enough for you to be safe."
"How can this happen?" she wondered aloud. "How did strigoïs like Baron Cainan manage to become the head of a town, when everybody knows who - what - he is? How can humans accept to serve them willingly?"
"Those were strigoï lands a long time ago. Humans took them over as the belief in strigoïs existence disappeared. But the land knows how to recognise its first - and true - master. As for those serving them, I told you, they are dogs. They need to have a master, so they choose the most powerful one to be sure to be in the winning camp."
The house chosen by Slan hadn't many rooms and the only bedroom available was so deteriorated that it was impossible to use it. They had to share the two couches of the living room until Slan had everything needed to fix the bedroom. Dawn was near and Slan checked all the shutters were closed before lying on his couch. She was exhausted, not having seen the night passing by, and she imitated him. Silence fell on the dark room and then she asked:
"Do you believe Cain will ever come back?"
"Yes."
"Is it good or bad?"
"He is nothing more than a strigoï," replied Slan and it was definitive.

Text © Azrael 2002.
Set Gothiquesque, from Moyra/Mystic PC 1998.