Dew from the ground under my hands was nothing like it had ever felt before, slimy and cold seemed to almost seep in, the tingling burned my palms, through to the bone, I quickly put them as close to my face as I could but the excruciating sun penetrated my eyes yielding me from examining them.

My attentions were quickly diverted to the aroma of morning, a magnificent bouquet in my senses for I didn’t just smell, I could taste the moisture swirling about me, feel the tiny droplets of condensation gather in my hand. My ears so pristine I could hear the deer and hares racing through the forest and I could see more than a mile before me; but the lust for blood was the most powerful sense of all.

“Keane……..Finn………FALLON!!!!” I scream, my throat parched yet burned as my own voice a terrible drum rattling my head. But they are gone.

“Maggie” I whisper, before sulking to the damp forest floor.

I stagger to my feet feeling as if I had engaged in the game of drink the night before. Taking in the exquisiteness of my surroundings I noticed on the moss covered tree stump, beside a large bundle of herbs, a stone bowl with a shallow black liquid sitting on top of a piece of parchment. The note read:

Each drink from the bowl.
A pinch before sunset.
Your sister is safe.
Leave now.

The note signed with an elaborate “G”.
With nowhere to go, my sister opted to stay with the priestess. Since she had not invoked the evil as my brethren and I, she was safe. I was advised by the priestess to sever contact with my sister, knowing what I am could place Maggie in grave danger. I follow the parchment’s directions and left the area with the herbs from the priestess, still no sign of my brothers. The herb, if eaten before sunset would prevent me from burning come sunrise. It grew among the Liverwort, Primrose and Hard Ferns, vast in the forests and glens of Dalry and to continue my human routine I used the plant relentlessly; one of a many regrets I have of this immortal life.

With it I am a stealth creature during the day and night, a luxury I wish I had today, for without it I am subjected to day-stasis. Even now I don’t recall the name of our saving grace herb but I will never forget what it looked like. A muted aquamarine, in color, hints of orange and purple, a lush little bundle of saving grace. The genus became extinct in the late 1800’s plunging us into the life of night and almost a hundred years later; we lost touch with each other.
I make the trek back to the outskirts of my village home, stopping at the makeshift camp; I duck to enter the primitively erected shelter when I hear the distant snap of twigs and familiar scents, I turn, crouched for attack when the familiar smells reveal themselves, the faces of my brothers, Keane, Finn and Fallon greeted me. They look like my brothers, but don’t. Their skin is cold as well is my own, their eyes are more vibrant than I have ever seen and the small cracks and wrinkles in their skin had filled. I, like them, longed to gaze upon our enhanced appearance. Quietly we celebrated the unprecedented force we now possessed, before methodically exacting our revenge.

My name is Cian, pronounced (KANE).

Vampire (vam’pir) n. 1. In folk tales, a dead body that moves about at night, sucking the blood of sleeping persons. Rest assured, you don’t have to be asleep to sustain a vampire attack, it fact we prefer live prey, the hunt is a primal, exotic force within us. 2. A person who gets things from others in a wicked or evil way. I have to agree with this one, but we aren’t “people”. We haven’t been people in a VERY long time.

I myself have been so since the fall of the Roman Empire. I am of course fast, and strong beyond human comprehension, a firm handshake from me and forget about ever using that hand again.

As vampires we are, at first, extremely attractive to humans, their downfall considering what attracts them turns out to be a malicious, calculating bastard of a monster set out to torture, rape and kill. Although our initial beauty is not our only means of coercion, we also possess the ability to “control” humans though hypnotism with the inflection of the color of our eyes; seen to humans as dark at first slowly becoming lighter drawing the prey in, some vampires are able to use touch. We are also blessed with individual “gifts”, abilities all our own that are dynamically enhanced. For some it’s a skill possessed in life that crosses over to immortality for others it’s a newly acquired ability.
Immortality is a loaded word. We can survive gunshots, stab wounds, explosions and disease; however we cannot endure decapitation, fire or sun light. Ultra-violet light can injure and prolong us, but it will not kill us. Our blood quickly heals mortal wounds and if preformed correctly can make another of our kind, among many other abilities and details. However, because of the way I was created; I am unable to make another. What you learn from movies and books isn’t all Hollywood glitz and glamour, besides the ridiculous; no reflection, fear of crucifixes, holy water. I have often thought that one of our kind was influencing Tinsel town.

My human life at the time of my birth was a typical one. In a small hut on the vast rolling green hills of what would become Edinburgh, Scotland I am born to a proud, masculine Votadini warrior who was also chief of our small Brythonic tribe. My father a stalwart oak tree of a man who commanded attention where ever he roam, proved to be a firm but fair ruler. My mother was a soothsayer and what is considered today a doctor. She was kind, compassionate and warm, a quiet demonstrative woman. Well respected in our community, she had been the village mid-wife prior to my father taking her as his wife, upon the marriage her status among the people was a welcome one. I also had a younger sister by eleven years, Maggie. A sweet, innocent girl, just making her way in her life, at fifteen a girl of our village would soon marry and I would be kidding myself if I didn’t admit to wanting to slit the throat of every male youth that came courting. My kin were considered the most ancient civilization to settle the land or so I would later research and learn.

The expectation of my mortal life was to be a great warrior, succeeding my father as head elder. Rule, marry, make children, and then die. Trained from the time I was six years old, my father taught me to wield a sword protecting our land and the people of our village from Roman invasion. My father taught me to care for the pain of others, to never forget that being a warrior meant rising above yourself to protect those who are not able to protect themselves, what’s the line from “Spiderman”, “With great power comes great responsibility”? Basic principles for a future leader.

I lived my life as a proud son and soldier going to battle at a moment’s notice. My father was considered a king among our civilization, revered for his length of time in power, by some. No other chief or king had survived as long as my father and to others among the village it was a frustrating factor.
I was sixteen when I began to hear the rumblings from up and coming males, how my father had selfishly preserved the title for himself and his lineage. Seemed to me, even at that time it wasn’t a title he wished to preserve, but his own life. By the time I was twenty six my father was hideously mutinied upon, ownership of the title extinguished along with his and my mother’s lives. I, along with my younger sister and three of my brothers in arms, Keane, Fallon and Finn, escaped the fray; making camp just outside the lines of village territory.
Keane was not a man of great stature or status, in our village his father was a well known drunk. Once a great man; Keane’s father had fallen on hard times and he wasn’t the only one to suffer the effects. His mother eventually left our village, taking his younger brother and sister. Keane stood around 5 foot 11 and of stout build, he had had knotted sandy blonde hair, dreadlocks as they are called today and they hung past his shoulders baring certain trinkets he collected from his victims in battle. Keane’s eyes were steel gray blue and if you stood next to him by the sea, there wasn’t much difference between the two shades of blue.

The brothers; Finn and Fallon were identical twins, tall and lanky, 6 foot 7 at least, with long bone-straight brown hair, each man’s head displayed sporadic braids littering its mass. The twins had dark green eyes with yellow barbs around the pupils, which even in mortal life were fierce to behold, but they had baby faces, giving them a unique appearance. We all dressed very similarly and simplistically, lightweight clothes under hide armor and various straps fastening our weapons to our bodies. We may have looked the same, but we were far from it. While the twins were bloodthirsty, even in life, Keane and I shared a desire for peace. The twin’s father, prior to his own death, chief of defenses in our village taught his sons to revel in the kill, my father and theirs had many a conflict but mutual respect for one another. Fallon’s instrument of death was a Morning Star; a club with a spiked ball on the top. He notched the instrument after each kill. Fallon’s Morning Star was overly full by the time the turn of the century rolled around, instead of notches the man had X’s up and down the shaft, the numbers doubling and tripling over the years.

Finn specialized in hand to hand combat, never using a weapon. In battles, before we were cast out, Finn would be mocked for his lack of arsenal on the battlefield, soon proving his worth. Finn’s kill marks began at his shoulders. Saying his own body was his weapon, he privately notched his skin after battle, calling it a meditation of sorts.

The morning after the mutiny, we left our makeshift camp in heading on foot across the countryside to what is now called Dalry, North Ayrshire in the Garnock Valley of Scotland. The journey was hard and not having the luxury of at least one horse was difficult for my sister, not being trained as we were to trek long ranges. She slowed us and by the time we reached the tiny hut in the forest; Maggie was being carried by Keane. Keane always had a fondness for Maggie as his own sister who was around her age had been taken from this life too young. The hut belonged to a well known and feared priestess.

I along with my brothers and sister were accepted into the home of the priestess a little more than seventy miles from our home. She heard quite quickly of the upheaval and grave condition we came to her in. After taking in all she had heard, it was apparent that we were no longer welcome in our own village. The priestess gave us shelter and food but I could sense she had a strange air about her. She was a beautiful young woman, looking no older than twenty one. Her ice blue eyes peeked through ash-blonde hair that waved around her face as she moved. Her tattered clothes hung off her young body and this caught the attention of the twins. She was barefoot and remained so, even when out in the forest. With disapproving glances from me and Keane the brothers ceased their stares of the young woman.

Over a hot meal the woman listened to our plight and offered a solution. Her dialect was thicker than ours but we had little difficulty understanding her proposal. After we were fed my sister and I went for a walk to discuss our delicate situation. I explained to her the priestess’s solution and after hurtful words were exchanged we finally agreed. Once my sister fell asleep, the woman explained the process of what we were to undergo, including that our appearance would remain for eternity should we wish it. I cut my hair and shaved to resemble the Romans. Keane agreed and did his best to remove the dreadlocks, cutting his hair to shoulder length and being that he barely shaved, kept his scruff. The twins; arrogant as they were, remained as they were.
The young woman carried a stone bowl as she led us out of the hut and into the woods, bending ever so often to pick a flower or dig up a root. About a hundred and fifty feet from her hut we came upon a secluded area; in the shape of a perfect circle the ground and forest floor had been cleared and a large tree stump sat directly center. The woman positioned us in a five point star inside the circle, placed the bowl carefully on the tree stump and dumped her forest finds inside. She reached under her dress, presented a vial of dark liquid, whispering something indiscernible into it and poured it on top of the greenery. She waved one of her delicate hands over the bowl as four separate smoke trails began to rise from it. She reached under her dress a final time revealing an ornate dagger; the smoke hovered over each of our heads as the woman took each of our hands and drew blood.

As the dagger collected the blood the smoke lingering overhead violently entered our bodies. The woman placed herself as the top point of the star pattern, which was just off center, raised her hands to the sky and began chanting it again. Her eyes became cloudy at first then fierce as the ice blue encased a red center. A great wind blew through and her hair was shoved backward to reveal a demonic face with a mouth full of sharp glittering teeth. The volume of her chanting increased momentarily and the four of us dropped to our knees, suddenly her chanting stopped. What followed was more excruciating than any battle wound. My bones felt as if they were breaking, my insides seized and my head pounded; blackness consumed me. We woke in the morning; our senses more acute than ever before. It was time.

Revelations of Cian