Prologue
We were thought to never exists, we were a legend, a figment of nightmares. And oh we were a nightmare, people were smart to fear us, we were superior to even the elves-stronger, faster, smarter-but we were cursed, ever thirsty and never filled. What are we you may ask, we are the vampires. We were created in the first age, Melkor's first demon creation, and his best. Though very few records mention us, only a handful of the oldest beings on Middle Earth know of our existence.
We were created by Melkor from the fires of the earth, damnation, but we failed to thrive. It was not until the elves came along that the first of the vampires or blood elf, black bloods-whichever name you prefer to call us was born and lived. Though it did not quite go as planned quickly it was learned that only a very few number of us turned out to fit Melkor's purpose-death, destruction, pain, fear, and control, many were able to fight the vampiric urges. Once the Valar created the race of men, Melkor took hundreds upon hundreds, realizing they easily succumbed, and so he created his army.
I was the first of his damn creations the first of the elves and men, the oldest and strongest. I was the leader of the rebellion of elfin vampires, the bloods elves, against him and his army of vampires. I was Túrante, bringer of victory, or so Melkor thought. The transformation into a vampire was horrendous, but I do not remember any details or much of my life before except I had a brother, who was also turned.
I yearned for blood, my throat was on fire with the thirst, but I still held onto enough of my elfin nature to control the hunger, I never touched a human or elf. To Melkor I was the biggest let down-weak and caring. I would never lead his vampire army, but he had to keep me, he would not risk news of his creation to be let out, and have his plans destroyed by the Valar.
When his army was up to his standards he forgot about the first vampires the blood elves, most of us never drank the blood we craved, never harmed human or elf, we couldn't, but that did not mean we hadn't changed much because we did. Our skin was a pale and held a slight glow and we were gorgeous, flawless to the eye. Our strength, speed, and senses were ten times that of the most skilled elf. And we had two sets of fangs, the longest of course being the canines and the set behind those-luckily they are retractable. About the only good thing were the wings, our retractable wings were large, spanning close to twenty five feet in length and black as night.
We wanted nothing more than to escape, create a life of our own, in peace and away from the madness and evil that surrounded us. The battle was a long and hard one, many died, but the true vampires were killed- every last one-we made sure of it to Melkor's horror. But wars cannot go unheard and unseen the Valar knew and came to destroy us, but because we turned on our own we were spared, but with limitations. We could never touch the blood of a human or elf, if such were to happen our vampiric nature could no longer be control. To Manwë himself we had to vow to destroy any who followed that path, and know we would always be watched.
And so our kind did as were promised, we have lived out our immortal lives in secret and solitude. As the last war, the war of the ring raged on we did as always and kept to ourselves, our numbers always dwindling. It was not until after the war that things changed, that our existence was truly confirmed, for only the oldest of beings on Middle Earth knew of us. I was the serious one, the oldest, the one itching for a change, but I was the leader, until I gave it up, threw it all away. I played my part in the war, helping but keeping out of site. Now this is Túrante's story, my story.
