| PROLOGUE
Nepal, 1300 A.D. My new friends, I am writing this account of the life of Walter Volknor at your request. I came to this monastery only a few short months ago to escape the pain of my loss. You have all taught me great things about inner peace and how to deal with the sorrow in my soul. With all the terrible things now going on in my homeland of Dacia, it is not safe to be what I am any longer, nor, to announce that you are what you are. Hysteria has gripped my country and where there once was peace and harmony, is suspicion and treachery. You, my new found brothers, took me in when I had nowhere else to go. I thank you for that. Your generosity has been astounding. I will forever be in your debt. Which brings me to the matter at hand. You have requested to become one of my people in exchange for the hospitality you have given. It is at your request that I write these words, so that you may know what you are getting yourselves into, and the example that Walter Volknor set for all of my people. It was by his example that we tried to aspire to. He was a great man who accomplished many things, and fought the foulest of demons, the greatest of evils. He and his wife, Knight Mary were the most powerful warriors of my kind that ever lived. Most of my people are now gone, exterminated by hate and hysteria. If any survive, I do not know of where they could possibly be. Someday, I hope to return to my beloved homeland when it is safe. My friends torn from me, I fear I may never recover from this painful chapter in my life. For Walter and Mary, Bordak, and Golarin were more than just my friends. They were my family. Walter and Mary�s names held both honor and power. Just the mention of their names sent a shiver of fear through any evil being, human . . . . or otherwise. The story of Walter�s life began in Dacia in 800 A.D. when he was only twenty and one years old. This is where I will began the tale . . . . |
| Chapter One Dacia, 800 A.D. The moonlight caressed the land with it�s gentle touch as the dark figure crouched quietly in the minuscule covering the foliage provided. The large muscles rippled under the thick shaggy fur, anxious to spring. The werewolf calmed himself and remembered why he was here. To kill a group of vampires that were wreaking havoc on a local village. Though they outnumbered him, the creature was confident he could destroy them all. Walter Volknor was a werewolf. A thing of beauty, of power, of deep emotion. A thing of gentle, tender kindness towards the innocent, a thing of raw, bone crushing anger and bitter hatred toward his enemies. His power, a gift to everyone else, a curse to himself. His parents had always taught him to use his curse to help others. His parents . . . Looking up at the stone castle that stood black against the moonlit sky, he found it to be silent and still, as it had been for the last two hours. Not a bit of movement from within it�s windows. The demons must be out feeding. Not a comforting thought, considering what they preyed upon. Walter felt his hatred of the undead rise up inside him again, making the beast that was part of him eager to kill. He always became eager when he thought of what they had done to his family. What they had taken from him. For Walter, it was personal. So, he made certain that every bloodsucker suffered at his hands. His goal was simple: to eradicate them until there were none. Master vampires were his favorite prey. His family had been slaughtered by one named Avatar and his minions. Walter had never stopped looking for him. He wanted revenge. He had sworn that he would make him pay for his atrocity, and Walter was a man of his word. Someday, he knew their paths would cross again, and on that day, the master vampire would lose his immortal life. Someday. . . He had become a vampire killer for hire, although many times he had done it for free. All across the land of Dacia, his services were sought to end the vampires� reign of terror. So far, he had no luck in finding the master, Avatar, but he had vowed even if it took centuries, the werewolf would shed his blood. For over a year now, he had annihilated the members of the undead, answering every call for help that came his way. His thoughts once again returned to his family, and he let the memory come, allowing it to consume him, lest he forget. Walter let the memory burn itself into his brain, feeling the pain of his loss nearly overwhelm him. He remembered the night it all happened, when his world had come crashing down around him, and turned an innocent farm boy into a killing machine, and a man of the world. One Year Earlier Walter stood beside the fence, watching his father and brothers planting seeds on their small farm. His responsibility was to feed the animals, but today his thoughts were not on his chores, but on adventures in some far away land. A bird passed overhead, chirping it�s melodic love call, and he lifted his gaze to watch it soar over the open field to the north of their farm. He had been feeding the animals for most of the day, and now suppertime was quickly approaching. His thoughts now turned from adventure to food, his stomach voicing it�s agreement to eat. They were simple people, though they were werewolves, who grew their own crops, raised their own meats. His father�s voice brought him out of his daydream. �Walter, the goats aren�t going to feed themselves,� his father scolded gently, �finish your chores, would you?� �Aye, father,� he replied obediently. He sat about his task of feeding the goats, the last animals of the day to be fed. When he was finished, he headed back to the small, two-roomed hut-like thatch roofed farmhouse. There were five of them living in the small house, though his father had begun building a much larger one with rooms beside the old one. His mother and father, although they were eight hundred and twenty-two, still looked like the youthful twenty-three years olds they had been when they had first met. The werewolf curse offered immortality, without the cost of your soul or humanity like vampirism did. However, sometimes there were exceptions. Those who chose to use their �gift� for selfish purposes, or ate of human flesh became |
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