You always had a choice. You know that, as well as you know anything, any more. Not to live, of course. Your life was over the moment you confronted the old Count and failed, your will breaking under the ancient leech’s hypnotic gaze. He opened your throat with those cruel fangs, and drank your life’s blood as it gushed out of the wound. In that moment, the human being the world called ${character.name} died.

But you still had a choice. You could have let yourself slip away, go on to whatever reward awaits an uncorrupted soul beyond the veil of death. But you didn’t. When you felt Count Grey’s foul essence flow into your dying body, you clutched onto it, desperate for continued existence. And so, you made a choice. To cling between life and death, as a twisted mockery of both. As a bloodsucker. As a Vampire.

It isn’t like the stories. Oh, you’re strong, and inhumanly beautiful. You can turn into mist, and fly, and command the weak-minded with a word and a glance. But you’d need the spark of humanity to enjoy those things, and you lost that a long time ago.

The Thirst drives you, now. It’s all you care about. Sucking the warm, vital blood from those who still have what you’ve lost. You almost hate them, as much as you can feel anything, in your dead way. And when you slake your thirst, when you drain the life from one more victim, you can offer them the same, terrible choice. To die, or to become a monster like you.

The Count moved on, a long time ago. You’re alone now, wandering the night, preying on the lost and the weak. Tonight, you’ve come to the outskirts of a town called