"My fine clothes and jewels are only decorations to me. My crown and sword are all but memories to me."
Fifteen dark, hooded riders dashed through the night on beasts of war created to look like black stallions.
"My gorgeous red lips and pearly smile are only but a fraction of me. My eternal youth is only but a slight reflection of me."
The sound of their fluttering black cloaks and the thunderous hooves of their mounts hitting the ground disturbed the cold silence of the night.
"My divine beauty is only but a small part of me. My long hair is only but a small extension of me."
A Black luxurious carriage pulled by six stallions followed closely behind them.
"What you see is not all there is to me. What I am and what I have seen are what have made me. Look into my eyes and see me."
A smooth and beautiful voice finished its poem. "Stop the carriage."
Suddenly the carriage and its guards stopped. The knights did not look back nor did they dismount. They removed their hoods and revealed masked faces.
The masks were strapless as though they were somehow stuck to the faces of their wearers.
The right side of the mask was black while the left was a deep shade of crimson.
On the right side, where someone would expect the eyehole to be, was a single golden four point star whose lines cut across the mask.
All fifteen knights held out their right hand and fifteen little purple lights appeared.
When the lights disappeared, the knights each held a long grey bladed estoc sword.
The coachman hopped off from his position and quickly went to open the coach's door.
When the door was open, he quickly got out of the way and bent down on one knee.
A tall brown skinned, young man, barely sixteen, dressed in fine garments, black boots and silk gloves stepped out of the carriage first.
His face was too handsome for his age, too perfect, not a single scar or blemish dared appear on him.
He stood proud, an aura of refinement and nobility surrounded his body. His white, braided haired nearly reached his waist and gave the impression of divinity.
The two free strands that hung on the sides of his face were neatly and carefully tucked behind his pointy ears.
An intricate silver diadem rested peacefully and regally on his head.
Around his neck was a large platinum chain neckless with the head of a menacing looking bat biting down on a red diamond the size of a newborn baby's fist.
The design was so overly luxurious that even the gaps between the links in the chain had yellow and orange diamonds interchanging from one gap to the next.
"Your Dark Radiance." the coachman greeted his master. The young man did not reply or look at the coachman. Instead he looked ahead. Then made a sound of disappointment.
"This century smells putrid, Uriel." His voice held a slight accent that could not be determined and yet made him seem even more refined.
It held authority as though he knew that if he ordered it, his followers would find a way to turn oceans into deserts if that was what he wished.
He turned his gaze back into the carriage.
His golden, starry eyes, flecked with hints of purple and red found his travel companion and held out his gloved hand.
Without hesitation, a perfectly feminine and manicured porcelain hand reached out and took it.
A beautiful woman with blonde hair and green eyes walked out. She looked no older than eighteen.
"It is the mortals, my Lord. They must have made this world full of their foul scent and muck."
She hid her disdain for the mortals behind a flowery voice but her words made it quite clear how she truly felt.
The young man, partially nodded to her words and not completely sure it was just the human's filth.
He breathed in again then spoke. "Blood."
This one word seemed to shake the coachman and Uriel to the core.
"Forgive me, my Lord. I neglected the fact that you just woke and have not eaten. There is blood from the Sanctorium that should..."
"No." Uriel was cut off by the brisk and curt reply. "I smell blood."
He then pointed in a direction south of them then, as though nothing happened, he turned and gracefully returned to the carriage.
Uriel was stunned then quickly found her composure. They had received their orders.
She looked at the coachman and nodded before quickly rushing into the carriage as well.
The coachman shut the carriage door and immediately went to his seat and took the reins.
The knights put their swords back into their spatial storage and quickly began to travel south.
*****
Aldridge village in the kingdom of Saras was not particularly beautiful. The homes were made of wood and clay.
There roofs were straw and if it rained the paths would become a muddy hell.
But the people who lived there were honest and hard working farmers, blacksmith and tailors. However that changed.
A troop of a hundred cavaliers, dressed clad in suits of armour and and carrying swords suddenly came to the village.
A man in fine priestly robes came out of a gilded carriage and looked at the village in disgust.
He disdained poverty. He took out a silk handkerchief and lightly covered his nose and mouth.
"Gather the town's people before me. Kill anyone who resists." he ordered.
The captain nodded and the soldiers quickly rounded up the less than two hundred villagers.
Some had already died, most of the men who tried to protect their families from the abusive handling of the soldiers.
"I am Bishop Daniel Ferris, of the Greater Pantheon Church and a servant of the Greater god Mars."
He said these words with pride but he felt them wasted on the simpletons in front of him.
"I am here because I have heard reports of a vampire child living in this village. Is this true?"
"There are no vampires here! Leave us alone!" shouted a girl who had watched both her father and brother trying to protect them from the soldiers.
The priest's eyes shone briefly with anger. He removed the handkerchief then looked at the captain.
The captain pointed to one of his subordinates and the man moved to the girl, grabbed her hair and dragged her in front of the crowd.
She screamed out in pain as tears flowed down her cheeks. He drew his sword and roughly pushed her onto the ground. The soldier raised his sword.
"Stop, I am the one you want!" A twelve year old boy ran out of the crowd and took out a knife.
He cut his palm and his blood poured out.
The priest watched closely and the wound began to heal on its own.
The priest smiled happily. He begun to laugh and clapped his hands.
He moved forward then complete, unrestrained hate and malice filled his eyes.
"Very well. Now, it begins."