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Chapter 1 - Ranloo

In the dark something burned. A hot circle of fire. Charring, hurting. Searing the skin on his chest. Ranloo jerked into wakefulness with a choked intake of breath. He sat up, frantically slapping at the hot sting in confusion. His fingers found the wooden medallion he wore, and with a powerful tug, tore it off and threw it across the dark room. Gasping, he stared at his chest. A hole had been burned through his white shirt and a scorch mark of a tree in a circle branded into his flesh. Gingerly, he touched the mark and winced. What in the name of the gods had just happened?

Clambering to his feet on a packed earthen floor, he looked towards the corner he’d thrown the medallion of Mizar, the nature goddess he worshipped. Why had it burned him? He glanced around, and confusion gave way to fear. A dark room with a low ceiling supported by heavy wooden beams. Rough stonewalls behind sturdy shelves. A short flight of wooden stairs led up to a cellar door, leaning at a sharp angle. Barrels and boxes stacked with goods stood in the corners. The place reeked of mould and foodstuffs.

He wrinkled his nose at the intrusive odours, even as his stomach throbbed with sudden tearing pain. He held his stomach, wondering if he was sick. Or hungry? A vague memory of being drunk flitted past. What had happened? How had he ended up in a cellar? And, now that he thought of it, how could he see anything in this dark place? He brushed an annoying strand of black hair from his face. A crack under the door allowed a faint light to enter. But it wasn’t enough to see this well by, was it?

Ranloo's attention returned to the pendant. Walking to the corner, he carefully lifted it by the leather cord and inspected it. The blackened medallion smelled of burnt wood.

‘Why?’ he asked aloud and poked the medallion with a fingertip. A hiss of burning flesh made him drop it with a yelp, staring in horror. Feeling betrayed and sucking his finger, Ranloo backed off. His stomach growled so loud it startled him.

Maybe he should eat something before leaving? Maybe that’d clear his muddled thoughts and relieve him of the pain? He had a feeling of something lost, something missing. Ignoring it, he grabbed the first thing he found, a wrinkled apple. It tasted strange. Too sweet and cloying. He considered throwing it but chewed on it anyway. He needed something in his belly. The taste grew in his mouth, choking, settling heavily in his belly. His stomach lurched and bile rose in his throat.

It must have been bad after all. He threw it to the floor. Gritting his teeth, he doubled over as his stomach constricted. Unable to stop it, he vomited on the floor. His throat burned and he grimaced at the bad taste in his mouth.

He must be sick. Spitting on the ground, he wiped his mouth on the hem of his coat. Very sick to end up in a cellar and not remember how he got there. What day was it, where was he, why? The questions were building up.

Now even hungrier, but less inclined to eat, he started for the door. He had to get out and get his bearings, get some fresh air, get away from the bad smells in the cellar and sort through his thoughts. And maybe find a healer or a doctor. He shuddered at the thought, having no real trust in doctors, but healers were so expensive.

Ranloo found the cellar door locked, and to his dismay he couldn’t pry it open. It must be barred from the outside, he thought with a twinge of panic. He had to get out. Balancing precariously on the short stairs, he steadied himself by pushing his hands against the low ceiling and kicked up at the door as hard as he could.

With a loud crack, the door flew open in a shower of splinters and dust. Surprised, Ranloo lost his balance and fell hard on his back, knocking the air from his lungs.

After a few moments on the floor to recover, he got back up, brushing dirt from his hair and shoulders. He stepped closer to the broken door and listened. He stood perfectly still for what felt like an eternity, barely breathing. Hearing no reactions to the racket, he crept up the stairs and peeked out, cringing at every small creak. The door must have been old and dry, he figured. Some luck in this mess at least.

Outside stretched a small cobbled yard, shrouded in darkness. Wooden buildings surrounded it, a few windows lit from within. He couldn’t see anyone through the drawn curtains. The mild night air brought a smell of horses to his nose. Singing voices and muffled conversations accompanied by snorts and rustling hay cut through the stillness.

An inn. With a stable. No wonder no one had reacted to the noise. He climbed out of the cellar.

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No one saw the dark-skinned elf as he padded across the yard, hesitated, then hurried into the dark streets of the city. Ranloo looked around with a growing sense of dread. Not knowing where he was or where to go, he picked a random direction. Anywhere was fine as long as it led away from the cellar.

He knew he was in Jaris, the capital of Terador. The intrusive smell and crowded buildings reminded him of that. It was much bigger than he had ever imagined. And now, he was lost in its maze of streets, squares, alleys, channels, and bridges. Bewildered, he tried to recall why he was here.

He had arrived with two friends as teachers, to aid a ranger school in Jaris. They spent a month there teaching, then they should have left and gone home. But where were Dylnan and Lindhinin? What had happened to him? He shook his head to clear the fogginess of his thoughts. So hungry. He had to find something to eat, and soon. His stomach ached and his throat was parched.

Dizzy, he continued down another unknown street when something thumped ahead. He froze in mid-step and listened, tense as a bowstring. Realizing what he was doing, he huffed and continued on his way. Why would he stop like that because he heard some noise? Sure, it was dangerous for an elf to walk alone in the streets of Jaris at night. But that hadn’t been fright but an intense expectation. Expectation of what exactly, he wondered, again thinking he might be sick. Something was clearly wrong with him.

He checked he still had his sword with him, something he should have done immediately upon waking. It still hung by his side. His bow, however, was lost, as lost as himself. Lost and detached from… something. He reached for his goddess’ symbol, as he used to when troubled. Found only the burnt hole in his shirt. He lowered his hand again, thinking he should have brought it with him.

Mizar, please don't be mad. A futile prayer. He was certain she was angry about something. But what? Had he done something wrong?

As Ranloo wandered, his thoughts returned to his hunger and he decided to stop at the first tavern he came by. But when he checked for his money pouch, he came up empty. Someone had taken it. Probably the same someone who had left him in the cellar, he thought sourly and continued aimlessly down the streets. He’d have to get food some other way. If he could find his way out of the city, he could hunt in the forest, provided he was somewhere close to the outer wall.

Hunting.

The thought sent a thrill of excitement through him and he lengthened his steps, for a while lost in the pleasant thought.

The thunk of a door closing from around an approaching corner shook Ranloo from his musings. Staring at the intersection, he tensed, skin prickling. Footsteps echoed between the buildings, thundering loud in his ears. Ranloo crouched and sneaked forward, eyes wide and every fibre in his body tingling. His nostrils flared as a faint whiff of sweat and firewood reached him.

A dark figure rounded the corner and stopped, then shirked sideways. A wonderful intense sound called out to his very soul. A quick thumping living song, filling him with joy. Ranloo's heart raced, beating in tune. A rich strong odour he hadn't smelled before made his mouth water. His vision narrowed into a tunnel, obscured by a red haze. He leapt forward.

Barrelling into the man, they fell. Eyes staring. A heavy thud. Tangible fear in the air. A soft crunch followed by a rich hot wonderful taste. It filled his mouth, slaking the burning thirst as he trembled with dark lust.

Ranloo stared at the corpse at his feet in horror. What had he done? The moment the man had rounded the corner, all coherent thought had fled his mind. He’d only known the insistent, overwhelming urge to jump and kill, to tear his throat out and taste his blood. The rest of the world hadn’t mattered.

Even now, after the deed, the mere thought made him shiver with delight. It had tasted so wonderful, better than anything he’d ever experienced. But it was so wrong, so sick.

He'd become a monster. He clenched his fists hard, and a cold shiver coursed through his body. Who was this man? Did he have a family? Friends? Maybe even children? Tears of desperation stung Ranloo's eyes and he quickly brushed them away, leaving smears of blood on his cheeks. The terrible hunger was stilled for now, but it would come again, he knew. Would he kill every night?

He looked at his hands, red with a stranger’s blood. At his chest, where the burn still showed through the hole in his shirt. Shaking, he touched a finger to his mouth, to the sharp, long canines there. How hadn't he noticed them earlier? They had to be retractable, but he didn’t know how. They throbbed with a dull pain.

Vampire.

The word screamed in his head, an accusing cry. A monster. He didn’t even believe in vampires! Until now.

‘Forgive me,’ he whispered brokenly, wringing his hands, hot tears burning his eyes. He turned to run. He didn’t know where to go, or how this had happened, but he’d find out. Somehow he’d find out who had done this. Somehow. With an anguished cry, he fled through the dark streets.

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