Thomas “Grey-Muzzle” Walden.

Thomas “Grey-Muzzle” Walden.

A study of a role-playing Character

My birth was uneventful. The midwife, a skilled Sorceress could mediate almost any birth. She expressed some concern at my natal divination. Trouble would be my gift, but was this trouble for me? or for the village? she could not say.

My parents were uneventful. Our heritage is special enough. Me ma was the great-great-granddaughter of Queen Boadicea herself. Our Iceni Celt women had more guts than any Roman soldier, ever. Sure, it’s something to boast about, when the crops are in the ground, the children have enough to eat, and the Romans are no where in sight.

My hamlet was uneventful. Our people were forced to move here by the Provencal governors. Taken from Briton to the south-east of Gaul were our ancestors knew no one, not even their language. I have reflected on why that was done, and think it was to break us somehow. The soil was not so good, but the Romans built an aqueduct so we had plenty of water, and with our talents we made the best of it. And it was largely out of the way of Rome.

The other thing that happened was the slaughter of my village.

My hamlet was uneventful … until Attila the Hun went in search of his bride in Rome. No, Attila didn’t even notice the Hamlet until a Roman Centurio passed through on their way to the hunt. that month two things happened. One soldier was an awakened Vampire. He found me, a youth of maybe thirteen years, and woke me up.

The Contubernio who woke me had taken me “Fishing.” Being Greek, the others members of the Centurio thought they knew what that meant. He simply taught me what I am. I always saw and smelled and heard things my friends could not. They thought I was daydreaming. The old man showed me how to use those senses, showed me I had a sort of, pertinatural sense for things. He lent me a short sword and taught me some maneuvers, I found this quite to my liking. That night, he showed me something else. I had a physical and mental strength I had only heard of in legend. We went hunting for an elk, and young buck not more than four years. He taught me to use my mind to overwhelm the beast’s instinct to run. Then encouraged me to break the animal’s neck. It wasn’t easy, but I did it.

That is when the old sergeant showed me what I am.

“Open your mouth, boy.”

“What?”

“Let me see your teeth.” I showed him. They had just erupted this last winter, my canines, and they were still growing. They were sharper than any of my friends, but I had not thought anything about it. The soldier told be to bite into the elk’s neck, just where the vein was close to the surface. I reeled at the thought at first.

“Hurry, or he’ll be dead and the blood will die with him!” So, I did. My teeth tore into the hide with some effort, then the blood. Ecstasy! Life! Death! Glory! I drank until I could drink no more.

“You, my boy, are a Vampire. Don’t get me wrong, there are two sorts, Human and Daimonic. We are related in a way, like sun and shadow. Yet they are jealous of us, because we can walk in the sunlight, we can eat solid food, we can even enjoy the cold. You will live long just so long as you get some blood every so often.”

“Human blood?”

“Blood is blood; The rest is taste, and personally, I find humans to be bitter. I think it is their mindless existence.”

Cries. Faint, I thought I was experiencing some new facet of my newly discovered powers. The soldier then grabbed me by the arms, and latched onto my neck with his mouth. No, he didn’t bite, but I felt something leave me, like life flowing from my body into his. Just as I swooned, it all came rushing back into me. He had shredded me open, ripped me apart, cleaned my bones and dried my innards. Then he put them all back again, leaving some things out, and adding some things in. I was reborn in that moment, or was it the world that was born. Screaming rose with the smell of fresh blood. Was that mother?

The sergeant slumped on the ground next to me, tired, spent like a pentathlete after a stephanic game. The yells and the smell of smoke mingled with the blood. I was still in ecstasy when they came toward us. The Centurio running after the villagers, swords drawn, lances at ready.

Rage. I had never felt such rage in my life. I grabbed the roman short sword my mentor had given me. Thirteen years old, I should not have done what came next. The first soldier fell at my hand without effort. The next spilled his guts for me. They started to notice my handy work and turned their attentions to me.

“Soldier, what the Hades is going on?” my mentor demanded of the Centurio.

“Just a little sport, kill the boy and join us!”

“No, we are not here for this! The Huns must be engaged tomorrow or march on Rome they will!” The centurio readied his lance and hurtled it at the soldier. He was still week from the earlier effort, but he knocked the lance out of the air as if it were made of straw.

Together we fought the Romans. Down they went like flies. No, this centurion will not be engaging the Huns in this life time.

We saved most of them, but they feared their savior. I kissed my mother and sister fare well, and wandered the greater world. None will ever know the name of that hamlet, after three hundred some-odd years I have to dig to remember it. And Damned be the Pope who has blessed such slaughters for his benefit!

I wander now. The Greek went his way after showing me most of what I needed to know. I ran into an old Magan wizard who taught me a thing to two. I wander as much to stay anonymous as to keep myself interested. Sometimes I help another in their awakening; it’s only fair to pass on a gift received so freely. And yes, the Daimonic Vampires are jealous of us, but they, too, play fairly when the powers are equal.

I wander, but this year I am on the hunt. Rome has fallen, good riddance, and a new empire has risen. I have heard of a resistance in the North; they call themselves the Vikings. I would ride with them for a while.

So into a village I descend. I will take my time, learn the customs, gain their trust, hear their news. “Fortunes fall to them who aren’t afraid to be audacious,” they say. “All is open to the gracious who remain alert and quick to grasp.”