ok i wen i tell u its a vampire story dont turn away thinking its exactly the same as the thousands of vampire stories people have been writing since twilight, cos its not. hopefully u enjoy it, please rate/comment wen ur finished. if u post links to any stories u hav ill read/rate/comment them. its only the first three chapters of the story, and its unedited. if u can think of a good name for it, and i use the name, ill giv u 3k. here it is, hope u like it.



Chapter One.
Blood. Blood was what started the whole thing. Blood was what would turn Nyrik's life upside-down. It stained his memories like a poison that's already too deep to eliminate. He couldn't forget that day no matter how much he tried. Hundreds of years and he still kept thinking about it. The day he made the unwilling, unprepared transformation from a simple boy trying to forget an already troubled past, to a vampire. No matter what he faced, the day was burned into the back of his memory. It had started like every day had started for the last two years. Two painful years of trying in vain not to be confused as to why his family had been butchered mysteriously by an unknown murderer.
Shouts from his boss sliced through his Nyrik's nightmare like an ice-cold blade. "Get up now worm or we'll never get those crates shifted and we shall go hungry! Do you want to go hungry?" barked Forldru.
"No, sir. I do not want to go hungry. But surely a second longer resting would allow us to work better later." suggested Nyrik, rolling from his cot.
"I'll not tolerate you criticizing how I run my business worm!"
"Not at all, sir."
Minutes later Nyrik was in the crate yard rubbing sleep from his eyes. Looking around he could not find his harsh-tongued boss. The man was so in love with his delivery business that he cared not for his disgruntled workers. Every man in the village knew that he was a hard man to please, but it was the best pay around.
The smell reached Nyrik within seconds of entering the crate yard. It was a strong, metallic stench that filled his nostrils. His curiosity aroused, he scanned the yard for anything out of the ordinary that would help him ascertain the source of the pungent scent. He noticed that which he sought on the side of a crate. Blood. Horror gripped him and rendered his legs useless. Try as he might, he could not wrench himself from where he stood staring at the huge blood splash. Who had suffered to create that much blood? Who had made them suffer? Questions ran through his mind like lightening, adding to the confusion. The sound of steel against steel near the yard entrance startled him and he spun around, coming eye to eye with his co-workers' killer. The man was at least a head taller than all the men in the village and his eyes were slanted upwards slightly. What was he?
Stepping forward, the man, or something else, stored the two thin, pale daggers he was holding in sheaths on his back. "You. You are the reason for all the blood-shed. I will end your reign of terror right now." the man spat at Nyrik, baring long, sharp canines.
If Nyrik was confused before, it was nothing to how he felt now. What was the man talking about? What blood-shed had he caused, at only seventeen? And what reign of terror was the man referring to? "I think you have the wrong person," Nyrik managed, "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Do not lie to me, boy. I do not like lies." stated the man threateningly.
"I'm not lying! I don't know who you are."
"You need not know my name. My name is unimportant. I am but a humble servant to a higher, much greater cause. One that will change everyone's lives." His voice was deep and gravelly, like lots of small stones rubbing together.
"Just leave me alone! Leave us all alone! You killed them didn't you! You killed my family!"
"Yes, but they were your victims. You caused their deaths."
"I was fifteen! How could it be my fault?"
"In ways you will never understand."
"Stop talking riddles." demanded Nyrik.
"No, we have tarried long enough. The sooner I complete my task, the sooner I am granted eternal glory." On saying this, he pounced; gliding through the air towards Nyrik so fast his target had no chance of escape. Bringing his knees up so as to knock Nyrik to the ground, the creature slammed into Nyrik's chest with his full force, sending him flying. Springing on top of him, he bared his fangs again in an attempt to terrify Nyrik so as to stun him, preventing any chance of him rolling away.
'He's a vampire! How will I escape now?' thought Nyrik, frantically looking for any way he could flee. He saw no such opportunity.
Suddenly, pulling Nyrik's neck up to meet his descending fangs, the vampire bit his victim with a precision he had achieved through hundreds of years of training. As the fangs sank into his neck, a burst of pain-induced adrenaline ran through Nyrik's entire body, causing him to jerk and giving him the strength and determination to throw off his attacker. Realising he had escaped, he decided he would end the vampires disturbing existence for good. He dashed for the axe lent against the shed Forldru had used for signing endless pieces of parchment. Hefting the weapon, he ran back to where the beast still lay in the dirt, having hit his head violently against a rock stuck in the ground. Swinging the axe down with all his force, Nyrik drove his arms forward using two years of pain and confusion and anger.
Black. Then lights popping in front of his eyes. Then outlines of buildings swaying above him. All the memories of Nyrik's encounter with the vampire came rushing back in bringing with them fear and panic. Where was his foe? Ignoring the blinding pain in his head, Nyrik pulled himself to his feet, looking down at his defeated opponent, the axe still stuck in the ground between the neck and the head.
He had done it. He had avenged the deaths of his family. So why was he still feeling empty? Something was missing. Something had been missing since he could remember, but it was only now he realized. Walking over to the water basin to wash away the dried blood on his face and hands, he looked at his reflection in the water. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes told him what his brain said was impossible. He had changed. He was taller than before, and his eyes slanted upwards slightly. Barely daring to see what he needed to know, Nyrik hesitantly opened his mouth. When he saw the long, sharp canines he fell backwards from the basin. What had he become? A voice he had never heard answered inside his own head. ‘You have become what you were destined to become. Finally our two existences have become one. You are a vampire.’

Chapter Two.
The surface of the small pool of water churned and whirled and the images that had been displayed there distorted and disappeared. The small man standing on the stepping stone in the middle of the pool shook his head in disbelief. His prophecy had come true. This caused him great distress, as the second part of the prophecy read ‘…and this man who has power enough to unite all forces for the good of our cause, will also have the power to be a deadly weapon used against us, he will have the power to destroy us all.’ This was the reason why he had sent his best man on a mission that would decide the fate of all mankind. But his great plan had back-fired, and in a way he should have foreseen. For his best warrior, Atdukt, was a vampire, although he had sworn all allegiances to Sa Demantu Savuns, The Demon Slayers, many years before.
He should have foreseen an error occurring the minute he asked his most loyal soldier to put an end to the prophecy he himself had created. But he had been blind due to panic. And in his blindness he had created the very potential threat he had sought to eliminate. He also should have predicted the other problem sending a vampire would cause. A similar prophecy had been made millennia ago by the wisest of all vampire priests, Sa Blurt Prast, the Blood Priest. This prophecy foretold a warrior stronger than all before him rising from humble upbringing and becoming the one that would be the end of all Demon-kind. This prophecy was drummed into all vampires as they went through their training.
Although Atdukt was a part of Sa Demantu Savuns, he had gone through this training, and thus he had learned the prophecy of Sa Blurt Prast. Instead of killing the target with a blade as would have been quicker and less problematic, Atdukt set out to kill his target in the way all vampires killed, with their fangs. But he had been thwarted, and losing his best assassin was now the least of the small man’s dilemmas.
His name was Mikurl, and he was one of the High Prophets for Sa Demantu Savuns. He had learned of his gift at nineteen years of age, when a charlatan fortune-teller passing through his village noticed the boy had more powers than himself. From that day on, Mikurl had studied the art of prophecy for many years in The Bone Mountains, reading scroll after scroll until he stumbled upon an archaic writing that told of an ancient brotherhood of soldiers and scholars alike that devoted their lives to defeating the evil demons that still roamed the land long after Sa Wiidk Okurn, The Time of Dark, when they were the dominant races of the land. He decided if he could help, he was willing to pledge his gift to their cause.
So for ten long years he sought out the brotherhood, travelling far and wide in hope of gleaning any possible information on their whereabouts, but to no avail. In the end it was only after he reached the age of thirty-seven that Sa Demantu Savuns found him. He was put through three more years of training and tests before he was allowed to help them, and it was only many years later when he was fifty-two that he learned of their greatest secret, Sa Puur Vesi.
The Pool of Sight was a mythical pond that treasure-hunters had sought for hundreds of years, but many said it was nought but a myth, the stuff of tales. The pond was said to be magical, a window to any part of the land the seer wished to observe. Kings of old were said to have used it to coordinate battles they could not be present at. It was a secret that The Demon Slayers did everything to protect. They had also discovered something that the stories did not mention. If used properly, the seeker could glimpse, if cloudy and distorted, images from the near future. But these reflections were not always as they seemed to be, so the elders of Sa Demantu Savuns never planned anything if the only proof they had was a reflection from Sa Puur Vesi, but they were helpful nonetheless.
It was while observing one of these reflections, showing a man with a sword bursting into Sa Demantu Savuns’ sacred chamber, that Mikurl had passed out, falling over and writhing in pain. When he awoke, he told his colleagues that he had heard a voice telling him ‘A saviour is coming. He who will have power to defeat all enemies that wish pain and suffering upon Sa Demantu Savuns. He who shall have power to unite all the forces of good. And this man who has power enough to unite all forces for the good of our cause, will also have the power to be a deadly weapon used against us, he will have the power to destroy us all.’ The prophecy was then carved onto a stone tablet along with Mikurl’s name and put in The Chamber of Prophecy among many other prophecies that had been made concerning Sa Demantu Savuns. From then onwards, Mikurl had used Sa Puur Vesi everyday trying to find such a warrior, but found none.
On one such occasion when Mikurl was gazing into the pool, the water suddenly started bubbling and splashing into spray against the black stone side of the pool. After minutes of thrashing the water abruptly stopped, showing a reflection of the very same young man that Mikurl had seen before, bursting into Sa Demantu Savuns’ sacred chamber, fighting with a vampire whose head was turned, but who wore a black tunic bearing Sa Demantu Savuns’ insignia, a horned skull with a cross impaled in its crown.
As he watched, the young man beheaded the vampire with an axe. Mikurl gasped, clutching his head in his hands, for the reflection showed him that a human was against Sa Demantu Savuns, at least enough to kill one of their warriors, had either joined the side of the demons or he would do some time in the future, when he would kill the vampire that Mikurl had just watched dying months in the past. The prophecy he had made was indeed to become true, and with consequences that could shatter everything that Mikurl believed in.
But, he thought; now I can find this man with Sa Puur Vesi and have him killed before this even happens. And so he set out, day and night, week after week, searching out his prey. It was by a stroke of luck that he finally found the man he sought. He had spoken the ancient words that took him to an old village near The Dry River, given its name due to the dry conditions it travelled through, namely the Rocky Desert, that he chanced upon a man walking through the streets, pulling a donkey that was reined to a cart covered with a grey blanket.
Shaking himself to make sure he was not imagining the man, Mikurl’s heart skipped a beat as he realised he had found the man who could eventually be the end of Sa Demantu Savuns. Immediately he had Sa Demantu Savuns’ most loyal warrior, Atdukt, search out and kill the man. Even though the prophecy said that the man might not be on the demons’ side, it was risk he would have to take, in order to ensure that didn’t happen at all. Three weeks later, word reached him that Atdukt had failed, that he had been killed by the target. It was only then that Mikurl remembered the reflection he had seen, in which the man had killed a vampire, and he knew that it was a death he could have averted, since Atdukt, he realised, was the vampire he had seen in this second reflection concerning the man. He had unleashed the very threat he had sought to extinguish.

Chapter Three.
The noises of the woods awoke Nyrik earlier than he would have liked. Grumbling to himself about his lack of sleep since entering Sa Skifskai Jiklorsu, the Dense Woods, he set about gathering his things. He had left his village almost as soon as he had come to the decision that he would find whoever had ordered the attack. He would have stayed a short while longer only people had started questioning him on his strangely altered appearance.
He had decided to go to the nearest town, Furinta Eswiiv, the Dust Town, in order to broaden his search. He had been travelling for two days and was close to the edge of the Rocky Desert, but the town was on the other side of the desert and would require another two days of walking, maybe more due to the heat. His legs ached, his back hurt and he had only eaten a small chunk of bread and some cheese since setting off. He wished to be in Furinta Eswiiv as soon as possible so as to get adequate sleep, a proper meal and also to find the out who was guilty of commanding the vampire to kill not only him, but also his family two years ago, as the vampire had insinuated that he worked for a higher, much greater cause.
After breakfasting on the last piece of bread he had left, Nyrik set off, pack on his back, northwards. He soon slipped into a dazed state, seeing only his feet, hearing only his breathing and the thud of his boots on the rich soil beneath them. He no longer noticed the constant noise of the animals that called the woods home. He quickly came out of this stance when a twig nearby snapped. Diving to the floor, he grasped his walking staff with both hands, ready to attack whoever meant him harm. No such person presented themselves.
Rising to a crouched position, he edged around the edge of a tree that seemed to have been the source of the sound. Relaxing, Nyrik lowered the staff as the terrified hare darted out of sight. When he realised how fast he had just reacted, he was not sure whether he wanted to like or dislike this as, although it might be useful, it showed just how much he had changed. He was loath to admit that he had changed for the better, as he knew that he could now never go back to the life he had, never fit in again.
It was evening before he arrived on the edge of the Rocky Desert, but he did not stop then. Walking on until the first gilded bands of sunlight burst over the distant horizon, he thought he could complete his journey in the next two days if he was able to keep up the pace until then. He had not anticipated, however, the intensity of the heat. By the time the sun was nearly at the zenith of its arc he was coated in sweat, and his confident mood had plummeted like a stone dropped over a ledge. He wished now that he had stayed in the woods, where the heat was not so severe, even if the uneven footing had caused him to slip and hurt his ankle many times. Every dune he traipsed over seemed to get him no further than he was before.
He cursed his impracticality as he realised he should have gone east when he reached the outer band of trees, so as to take him level with Furinta Eswiiv before crossing the desert. By the time darkness fell he felt he could walk no more, and so decided to camp there. Collapsing into the sand, he did not even roll out his blankets, something he regretted later in the night when he woke shivering. Fumbling with the ties on his pack, he moodily pulled out his blankets and curled up again, but found he could not sleep. Instead he resolved to try and walk through the night, so as to avoid the extreme conditions of the daytime. And so, huddled in his blankets and with his pack feeling lighter because of it, he set off into the dark dunes. When the sun arose it was to find a lone figure trekking across the sand, exhausted but unable to rest due to harsh temperatures. Shedding his blankets, Nyrik walked onwards all day, only stopping to drink from his water skin and relieve himself.
When the light was just leaving the sky, Nyrik was ready to give up and slump onto the sand and sleep for weeks, he saw a dark blot that looked close, just under three miles. This sight gave him new-found energy and he picked up his pace, determined to get to the town before the darkness fell completely, like a black,
star-strewn veil.
By the time he reached the gate however, the darkness was deep, the night was silent and the town gates were closed. Kicking a rock in frustration did nothing to help Nyrik’s bitter mood. Grasping his toe through his boot, Nyrik curled up in resentment at his situation.
Awaking to the first rays of light creeping up on the world in the east Nyrik rubbed the sleep from his eyes and groaned in pain as his toe throbbed particularly agonizingly. His temper cooled slightly at the thought that he would finally be able to get some rest and food. Arriving at the gate, he found that he wasn’t the only person entering Furinta Eswiiv. He also saw that two guards were asking everyone their business in the town. He waited his turn to be questioned anxiously, dreading what would happen if they didn’t believe the lie he had decided on; he was in town on his way to the Village of The Hot Lake, where he had cousins. He knew that if the guards somehow realised that he was lying, his journey would have been for nothing. Eventually, he drew level with the guards. “State your business.” said one of the guards, his voice monotonous from boredom.
“I’m just passing through,” began Nyrik, trying to keep his nervousness show. “I’m on my way north to the Village of The Hot Lake. I have cousins there.” The guards were obviously not interested in hearing about this man’s northern cousins, and waved Nyrik through.
Moving away from the gate, Nyrik looked about himself, entranced by his surroundings. The houses all around him were small and dirty. Doors on this first street were non-existent. The inhabitants that he could see in the hovels looked grubby, dressed in grey, patched rags. Dismal-looking beggars acknowledged his arrival by hobbling forwards, thrusting their hands towards the newcomer. Stepping away from the oncoming vagrants, Nyrik ducked down an alley. He was met by a sickly, sweet smell that drifted upwards from a puddle of dark, yellow liquid, simmering in the harsh heat. Covering his nose and mouth with a sleeve, Nyrik jumped over the puddle and walked out of the alley and into the street beyond. The story was the same wherever he looked, families living in squalor, old men and women forced to beg in order to eat, and even then insufficiently by the looks of most of them. As Nyrik left the pitiable accommodations behind, his indignation increased. All around him lavish homes had been built, and the environment was buzzing with activity. He saw not one beggar. Every house stood tall and they were all white. The boulevard was packed with people bustling from one place to another. The clothes the people wore were colourful and extravagant, shouting expense from yards away. Nyrik was appalled that people had allowed this to happen, that these people were allowed to live in such luxury when only streets away there was children living in poverty.
Carrying on through the streets, he came to a large inn that was almost empty. He stepped inside to request a room so he would have lodgings for the night. Once he had secured a place to stay while he was in the town, he moved back out into the street and wandered for a while, trying to figure out where his search should start.
After wandering for a while, he realised he still hadn’t eaten anything, and so decided he would find something to keep his hunger away. He found such a thing at a small stall selling different types of bread. He purchased a chunk of bread and thanked the small old woman who owned the stall. He was careful as he walked among the cheery shoppers to keep his head faced towards the floor, just in case whoever had sent the vampire to the Village of the Dry River had sent someone else to pursue him to Furinta Eswiiv.
After walking for almost an hour, he still had no idea where he should start searching. Instead he continued to wander through the streets aimlessly and wait for an idea to strike him. He soon began to get frustrated with himself for not planning what he would do when he finally arrived at the city. He knew that if he had no where to start, he would end up in Furinta Eswiiv a lot longer than he wanted to be.



ther u go, thats the first three chapters. thanks for reading!