In the middle ages, life was rapt with troubles. There were serfs and nobles, and the caste system was so strong that no one seemed to be able to break it. Families starved, working away all day only to be given the bare minimum that they needed to survive by their lord, and hope was all but crushed out. In an effort to change their own fortunes, and the fortuned of all those around them, to usurp the power and overthrow the caste system a group of men around the world began experimenting, making vast efforts to find some source of ‘everlasting life.’
It is from this ‘source’ that many of today’s ‘monsters’ were created.
After weeks upon weeks of the torture that was supposed to elongate his life, one man who had volunteered to undergo this treatment went mad. What all had been fed to him, injected into him, and otherwise been done to him has long been lost and remains unknown, but it’s effects would shatter the course of life for the rest of eternity, granting him, if only in the form of legend, the everlasting life he so desired.
This same, hot, musky evening three young friends were exiting a noisy bar, ready to head back to their own houses. Their clothes were elegant, befitting the heirs to extensive family fortunes, and they had an heir of drunken carelessness about them as they turned down a side alley on their way to their respective residences, their voices hushed but excited whispers, as even now they had to maintain their manners. From even their physical closeness as they leaned against each other, laughing as they propped themselves together to keep their feet, it was obvious that three closer friends would have been hard to find, but they weren’t all that special, and didn’t ever expect to be.
All three were tall, statuesque, and were considered Adonis’ of sorts. Mattias Belvieu took the right hand side, his blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight, and his face alight with amusement as he stopped to rest against the wall, looking at his two friends and laughing at some secret joke. The next man’s features were strikingly both Italian and aristocratic at the same time, his skin a light color, and his dark hair almost blending in to the night. A rare smile graced Mikhail DiVannero’s lips as he leaned against the third, more wispy of their party. Viktor Yaslev was obviously the least intoxicated of the three, but he was far from sober. His cheeks were equally as ruddy as his hair, and the smell of alcohol reeked from the group, permeating the entire street around them.
It was down this same street that the madman escaped, happening upon the three the instant he crawled through the tiny and let himself down on the ground, his knees crumpling beneath him before he stood and looked at the three friends, who regarded him as well, unsure of what to think of the new comer to their revelry.
They didn’t have long to think at all though. In a snap of psychosis, and a flash of metal, the three young men, in what should have been the prime of their life lie dying, blood oozing from them to fill the alley way.
The murderer stared down at the scene, watching them for a moment, before a wave of intense regret washed over him, his emotions no longer following any sort of stable ground. In another action as quick and as thoughtless as the first had been, the knife that had been used on the three others was turned upon himself, and he fell beside them, blood squirting from the severance in his jugular, spraying over the three men, before he finally collapsed along side them.
It was a sight they reviled the next morning, when the three of them awoke, their clothes ripped and bloodied, and still badly injured for the most part, but all alive. Or as alive as they would ever be.
From this history sprang the story of the vampire, enlivened through “Dracula,” a story that was based loosely on encounters with a member of the Yaslev clan.
The ingredients that had become a part of the mysterious man’s blood were enough to drive him insane, but when transferred to three, young, strong adolescents, it became something else entirely. True to the story, they needed blood to thrive, and of the many myths that exist, most are true in some fashion or another.
Each of the men developed different traits associated with legend : Mikhail DiVannero, along with everyone he transformed and his offspring or the offspring of his clan became what are known loosely as “daywalkers,” able to survive the sunlight easily, as well as being essentially simply physically advanced humans; Mattias Belvieu and the members of his clan were now able to fly, and to read the minds of those they were around; Viktor Yaslev and his clan became the shape shifters, able to take the form of any animal they so desired, and able to heal themselves instantly by shifting into an uninjured shape.
They live among humans today, able to exist for the most part, peacefully if they want, and unknown, happy to rely on the beliefs that humans themselves have made to keep themselves hidden.
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