Von Richters Journal
For nearly two decades now, I have undertaken to investigate and expose creatures of darkness to the purifying light of truth and knowledge. "Hero" I am named in some circles; "sage"and "cold killer" I am called in others. That I have survived countless supernatural assaults is seen as a marvel among my peers; my name is spoken with fear and loathing among my foes.
In truth, this "virtuous" calling began as an obsessive effort to destroy a vampire that murdered my child, and it has become for me a tedious and bleak career. Even as my life of hunting monsters began, I felt the weight of time on my weary shoulders. I expect that those who think me a hero will change their minds when they know the whole truth about my life as a hunter of the unnatural. Nevertheless, I must reveal, here and now, the truth of my fate—and the fates of those I have loved.
I have related the tragic story of how my only child Erasmus was taken by Vistani and sold to a vampire. I explained how Erasmus was made a minion of the night stalker, and how it was my miserable part to free him from that fate at the point of a stake. What I have neglected to illuminate before, however, is how I returned to track Erasmus's kidnappers once more across the land—and the terrible choice that I made when I found them.
In fact, the Vistani took Erasmus with my own, unwitting permission. They had brought an ill member of their tribe to me one evening and insisted that I treat him—but I was unable to save the young man's life due to my struggle with my own deamon in the bottle. In fear of their retribution, I begged the Vistani to take anything of mine if only they would withhold their terrifying powers, of which I knew nothing. To my lasting astonishment, they chose to surreptitiously take my son in exchange for their loss! By the time I woke up from my drunken blaze, I realized what had occurred, they were already an hour gone.
Incensed beyond reason, I strapped the body of the dead young man to my horse and doggedly followed the Vistani caravan through the woods, naively allowing the sun to set before me without seeking shelter from the night. But when I found them and demanded my son, they replied that he had been sold to the vampire, Baron Metus.
A short time later, I found my dear Erasmus made into a vampire. He begged me to end his curse, which I did with a heavy heart. The darkness had torn him from my loving arms forever, and I foolishly believed that the curse had exacted its deadly toll. Now he still haunts me till this day, as a punishment of my weakness. I wept and drank until an insatiate desire for vengeance filled the bottomless rift in my heart. I set off into the twilight, in search of the Vistani caravan once more.
When I found that they had gone, I found the grave of the man who had died and carried his corpse with me, in search of his family or one who could tear the secrets from his dead lips. I searched for many months, alone and haunted by my son's spirit. I was driven to alcohol once more to be damned.
As I traveled, I was beset by undead. Day by day I had to fight to survive. I traded my skills with a Lich, he placed a magic ward against undead on me, then animated the dead Vistana and bade it tell me where I could find its people.
Unfortunately (I say in hindsight), the plan worked. I found the child-stealers, and my unwelcome entourage included agrowing horde of voracious undead that could not touch me,thanks to the lich's ward. When I finally found the caravan,something inside me snapped. I released the zombies, and the entire tribe was eaten alive.
Yet the story had not yet ended. Before she died, the leader cursed me, saying, "Live you always among monsters, and see everyone you love die beneath their claws!" Even now, somany years later, I can hear her words with painful clarity, haunting me still. I turned away from the bottle and tried to use my skills for good from now on.
After nearly two decades of bloodshed and agony and loss,it slowly dawned on me that the Vistana’s curse had nevern slaked its thirst for revenge—and that all the true and stalwart friends I had come to know and lost were victims, not ofourtageous fortune, but of my own actions. True to the wordsof the dying Vistana, my life had been shielded from fate again and again, while those I esteemed above any treasure had taken my place!
When the horrifying enormity of my revelation swept overme, I railed bitterly at the cruel irony of my life. I contemplated deliberately ending my wretched existence in the most violent of ways—but, cowardness, stayed my hand and i started drinking again. Drained of all spirit, I cast myself into bed, wept and drank, I drank as I had not done since before.
But fate had not finished with me yet. It brought me a man whose name invoked terror in me above all else: Arturi Radanavich, a sole survivor of the massacre I had perpetrated. Yet he came not to destroy me, but to heal me—and himself.
I learned that, in commanding the death of his family, I had cast a deadly curse of my own: “Undead take you, as you have taken my son!” As my hands had been stained with the blood of my friends, so, too, had Arturi been pursued those many years by the walking dead, leaving him an exile in the eyes ofhis people.
For one year, I traveled with him—learning the ways of the Vistani that I had come to hate, so that I could learn their ways and comprehend life through their eyes. When the year had ended, joy and despair filled my breath—joy at the realization that those I had dreaded as my longtime enemies had nevertruly been enemies at all, and despair for all the wasted years of bitter anger and resentment.
I offered my life to Arturi as forfeit for my crimes against hisfamily, insisting that he must consider my curse on his tribe null and void, for there was little left to forgive. He broke all my bottles of liquer and held the shard of the last broken bottle to my body—but instead of delivering judgment, pulled the shard of glass across our palms, opening them, then clasped our hands together until our blood mingled as brothers.
There was but one task left to complete. Together, we journeyed to the wreckage of the Radanavich caravan, where we both had left it so many years ago. We burned it, defending its blazing husk as undead fell upon us—and when dawn shone over the ashes, there was nothing left there, for them or for us.
In truth, this "virtuous" calling began as an obsessive effort to destroy a vampire that murdered my child, and it has become for me a tedious and bleak career. Even as my life of hunting monsters began, I felt the weight of time on my weary shoulders. I expect that those who think me a hero will change their minds when they know the whole truth about my life as a hunter of the unnatural. Nevertheless, I must reveal, here and now, the truth of my fate—and the fates of those I have loved.
I have related the tragic story of how my only child Erasmus was taken by Vistani and sold to a vampire. I explained how Erasmus was made a minion of the night stalker, and how it was my miserable part to free him from that fate at the point of a stake. What I have neglected to illuminate before, however, is how I returned to track Erasmus's kidnappers once more across the land—and the terrible choice that I made when I found them.
In fact, the Vistani took Erasmus with my own, unwitting permission. They had brought an ill member of their tribe to me one evening and insisted that I treat him—but I was unable to save the young man's life due to my struggle with my own deamon in the bottle. In fear of their retribution, I begged the Vistani to take anything of mine if only they would withhold their terrifying powers, of which I knew nothing. To my lasting astonishment, they chose to surreptitiously take my son in exchange for their loss! By the time I woke up from my drunken blaze, I realized what had occurred, they were already an hour gone.
Incensed beyond reason, I strapped the body of the dead young man to my horse and doggedly followed the Vistani caravan through the woods, naively allowing the sun to set before me without seeking shelter from the night. But when I found them and demanded my son, they replied that he had been sold to the vampire, Baron Metus.
A short time later, I found my dear Erasmus made into a vampire. He begged me to end his curse, which I did with a heavy heart. The darkness had torn him from my loving arms forever, and I foolishly believed that the curse had exacted its deadly toll. Now he still haunts me till this day, as a punishment of my weakness. I wept and drank until an insatiate desire for vengeance filled the bottomless rift in my heart. I set off into the twilight, in search of the Vistani caravan once more.
When I found that they had gone, I found the grave of the man who had died and carried his corpse with me, in search of his family or one who could tear the secrets from his dead lips. I searched for many months, alone and haunted by my son's spirit. I was driven to alcohol once more to be damned.
As I traveled, I was beset by undead. Day by day I had to fight to survive. I traded my skills with a Lich, he placed a magic ward against undead on me, then animated the dead Vistana and bade it tell me where I could find its people.
Unfortunately (I say in hindsight), the plan worked. I found the child-stealers, and my unwelcome entourage included agrowing horde of voracious undead that could not touch me,thanks to the lich's ward. When I finally found the caravan,something inside me snapped. I released the zombies, and the entire tribe was eaten alive.
Yet the story had not yet ended. Before she died, the leader cursed me, saying, "Live you always among monsters, and see everyone you love die beneath their claws!" Even now, somany years later, I can hear her words with painful clarity, haunting me still. I turned away from the bottle and tried to use my skills for good from now on.
After nearly two decades of bloodshed and agony and loss,it slowly dawned on me that the Vistana’s curse had nevern slaked its thirst for revenge—and that all the true and stalwart friends I had come to know and lost were victims, not ofourtageous fortune, but of my own actions. True to the wordsof the dying Vistana, my life had been shielded from fate again and again, while those I esteemed above any treasure had taken my place!
When the horrifying enormity of my revelation swept overme, I railed bitterly at the cruel irony of my life. I contemplated deliberately ending my wretched existence in the most violent of ways—but, cowardness, stayed my hand and i started drinking again. Drained of all spirit, I cast myself into bed, wept and drank, I drank as I had not done since before.
But fate had not finished with me yet. It brought me a man whose name invoked terror in me above all else: Arturi Radanavich, a sole survivor of the massacre I had perpetrated. Yet he came not to destroy me, but to heal me—and himself.
I learned that, in commanding the death of his family, I had cast a deadly curse of my own: “Undead take you, as you have taken my son!” As my hands had been stained with the blood of my friends, so, too, had Arturi been pursued those many years by the walking dead, leaving him an exile in the eyes ofhis people.
For one year, I traveled with him—learning the ways of the Vistani that I had come to hate, so that I could learn their ways and comprehend life through their eyes. When the year had ended, joy and despair filled my breath—joy at the realization that those I had dreaded as my longtime enemies had nevertruly been enemies at all, and despair for all the wasted years of bitter anger and resentment.
I offered my life to Arturi as forfeit for my crimes against hisfamily, insisting that he must consider my curse on his tribe null and void, for there was little left to forgive. He broke all my bottles of liquer and held the shard of the last broken bottle to my body—but instead of delivering judgment, pulled the shard of glass across our palms, opening them, then clasped our hands together until our blood mingled as brothers.
There was but one task left to complete. Together, we journeyed to the wreckage of the Radanavich caravan, where we both had left it so many years ago. We burned it, defending its blazing husk as undead fell upon us—and when dawn shone over the ashes, there was nothing left there, for them or for us.
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