They stalk the streets, blood thirsty and crazed out of their minds, looking for who they can devour…or drain. Their pulses aren’t like the normal ones. They give off a thundering pulse that echoed in the ears of their victims, as they take their last breath. Their eyes are wide, searching for the next awaiting man or woman, or sometimes a child. Their hunger is like no other, it’s driven my anger, regret, disappointment, and rejection. Jagged fangs await patiently as their venomous saliva drips down their blood crusted lips. Some call them Sons and Daughters of Lucifer, but aren’t we all? Rabid, vicious dogs they are. And if desperate, they feed among each other.
From one perspective of my window, which gives me a view of the mighty Mississippi, I find them, in my time, we called them Nachzehrer (G), some stories, legends, whatever you would like to call them, say they become these things from suicide, accidental death. I once had a German companion, who is now dead, he told me that one does not simply become a Nachzehrer by being bitten or scratched, no…it may happen after death or sickness and disease. I remember the plagues. Such putrid air, tainted blood, and the mutilated bodies. Boils, bruises, and the blood…the blood. In my city, they stalk. In my city, they kill.
If I turn in another direction, as far as my delicate eyes can see, there is another. Hiding in the Cities of the Dead. The infamous Nosferatu. They shy away from the world, starving themselves to a point of no return. They are different, hurt, and damaged. They are deformed. Their transformation took a turn for the worst. Vampirism can be a blessing to some, who desire this life, an inheritance, if you are lucky, and a curse, if you want death. What we are, some may call us parasites, leeches, abominations, or a virus. Hell, maybe all of the above. Once one is bitten by any vampire that I know of, the virus within us, the genetic code to our being is rejected from their human bodies…thus, the turn is not so beautiful. No turn is beautiful. They once were beautiful humans, creatures made to live and thrive…they now become twisted, disfigured vampires. Their appearance is what keeps them in the shadows. They reside in St. Louis Cemetery # 1 and St. Louis Cemetery #2.
Here I stand, the Neutral Ground, of it all. This is my city. I hold this marvelous, bloodthirsty city in the palm of my hand. This city, full of voodoo, hoodoo, and slavery belongs to me. After the disappearance of the legendary Jacques Saint-Germain, Comet de Saint-Germain, I took over. I am careful in my feedings. One look in my eyes and every pain, every desire…becomes mine.
My name is Roman Larsson, or Roman, son of Lars. My family originated from a small town in Sweden, my bloodline is full of blood thirsty warriors. My age, I have put out of my head. My name is well known, my character, my accolades are everlasting. But I am reaching that point in my life where I need my eternal. I have three progenies, but nothing can fill the spot of a blood heir. I need a son to carry on my name, this bloodline. And in order for that to happen, there must be a destined, powerful conception between myself and my eternal. So, until then…I remain as I am. I am the ledare (Sw) of this city. I watch. I protect. I defend. Because there is a war coming and I have seen it. A war of the segregated kind. A Blood war.