Chapter One

A Chapter by Rowen Cameron

Recalling the first taste and how life was changed forever. [W.I.P]

Many of the Kindred do not remember their first taste. They have known no other. They would not know a Sanguine plant from a common rose. From being babes in their mothers’ arms, their thirst was quenched with blood, be it human or beast. And each feed would fill their minds with an insatiable need for more. Like the most potent opiate. Truly captive Kindred.
      But I remember. I remember it as if it occurred only moments ago. Every time I catch the scent of it, for a fleeting second I am there again, centuries into the past, a mere child. It was the final day of The Reaping, when Solenheim finally fell. A surprise attack of Human and Wraith infantry broke through the south wall. The handful of guards stood no chance; they fell like stones beneath the enemy blades. They flooded through the city, a black sea seeping into every street leaving fire and death in its wake.
      I awoke to the sound of shattering glass and my mother’s harrowing screams. I ran downstairs as fast as my legs would carry me and there I saw them, my mother and sister lying upon the floor, their heads separate from their bodies and the human in ebony mail standing over them, his sword shimmering with wraith venom.
      They had fought hard; shards of onyx lay strewn about the room, one protruded from the human’s shoulder and their hands still had the faint glow of conjuration upon them even after death.
      I felt my whole body clench, as if I were being crushed by iron hands. I wanted to wail and howl with utter despair, but I couldn’t make a sound. Terror stole my voice. Then his cold, unforgiving eyes met mine.
      Time suddenly slowed to a crawl. My vision became blurred and sounds became a murmur, as if underwater. My eyes flickered over him and found the exposed skin between his helmet and the rings of mail. He started to advance on me.
      Stone. A large mass of rock appeared in my hands and I threw it with all my might towards him. He raised his shield to deflect it, but the sheer force sent him staggering backwards and his sword fell from his hand. He scrabbled frantically to retrieve it.
      Shards. Onyx needles flew from my fingers and towards the human, making him retreat from his sword and into the corner. Then I jumped. Like a rabid lioness, I pounced on him and, wrenching the helmet and mail apart, sank my teeth into the pink flesh of his neck. The thick liquid poured into my throat and my senses were assaulted by the sour and putrid metallic aura it carried.
      The human’s gurgling cry rang in my ears and he flailed desperately beneath me. Still, I drank. My mind was detached from body, I was wild and feral. My stomach lurched as I drank more, but somehow I could not stop. It was as if the blood itself chained me to the spot and compelled me to drink.
      Suddenly I was flung with the might of a trebuchet towards the far wall, blood still trailing from my lips. The force sent my stomach reeling and I felt the blood and bile rising, causing me to retch violently. Despite the tears collecting in my eyes, I saw the scene clearly; the human drowning in his own blood, that same blood staining the skin about my face.
      None of it had seemed real; it could have been a nightmare, a trick of the mind. But it was real. I, a fledgling Kindred, a child, had killed this human. And I had feasted on his blood, not out of desperate hunger, but out of pure, feral, murderous rage. My body became numb and the tears rolled down my blood-stained cheeks.
     “Are you alright?”
The voice caught me off-guard and I started in fear. At first, I couldn’t tell where the voice had come from, then I saw the dark figure in the doorway, standing tall above me.
     “Can you stand, Isolda?”
I still couldn’t distinguish the figure, but I nodded trembling and slowly rose to my feet. The figure turned towards the open doorway and a shaft of firelight illuminated his face. It was Raum of House Velgarden, guard of the Harbour Garrison and my late father’s second in command.
      “R…Raum?” My words were barely whispers. “I…I…”
      “You did what you had to.” He said earnestly, looking into my eyes. “And his will not be the last blood you taste. Now, hurry, we must leave now!” He grabbed my hand and held it firmly. A cloud of smoke burst around us and almost instantly we were past the ruined armoury, then beyond the wall, my childhood home far behind us. No Wisp-Kindred alive could match the skill of Raum; each smoky burst was silent and carried us further from the city, from Solenheim, towards the Ocean of Ishar.
For many years after, even after I reached my peak, I wished we had escaped that night. I wished we had traversed the woods safely and sailed away on the midnight waves of Ishar to the very edges of Enrith itself, away from the miasma of death and destruction it had become. I wished this to the point of surging pain. But we did not. Escape itself escaped us. A Wraith scouting party fell upon us from all sides; venom-tipped crossbow bolts sank into our limbs, crippling us, and whips lashed at our flesh. But the blow of death never came. Even the sweet embrace of death evaded us that night and we were led in chains back to the city. Why?! I thought, why kill so many but leave us alive? You flay us like meat, but you let us live. WHY?!
The answer, I soon found, was exceedingly simple. What is the purpose of conquering all before you if all that is left to rule is a world of corpses?