The weary traveller had wandered into the mine, hoping to find a safe place to stay, hidden from the hot sun. It was high noon, and the rays of heat had already made his brow form with beadlets of sweat. Wiping the moisture from his forehead, the man lit one of the torches near the mouth of the mine, and pulled it from it's sconce before moving forward.
The mine smelled dank, as if it hadn't been used for it's intended purpose for many years. The traveller idly wondered why that was, and hoped to himself a bear hadn't wandered in to make this abandoned mine it's own home ...
Shaking the fear of animals and cave-in from his mind, the man kept moving forward, until he reached a fork in road. The traveller wondered if he should camp here, close to the entrance, or press on. There was something about this mine that was calling to him, appealing to his sense of adventure. In the distance, down the path to the left, the man could see a faint light. Tip-toeing forward, cautiously, the man moved closer towards the room with the light. As he made it to the mouth of the cavern, he noticed a large, dead-end room which seemed to be set up like a study or a small library.
The traveller wasn't really that tired, and this discovery had peeked his interest, so he decided to have a look around for a while, and cautiously moved into the room further... Lining the walls were book cases with many leather-bound tomes encased into each of them, filling up each shelf to the maximum compacity. The man wondered who would take up residence in a mine, and what all the books were for. Noticing a small work table in the corner, the man made his way towards it and noticed a pile of papers with writings inked upon them. The language was unknown to the man, so he decided to ignore the stack of scrolls. He was about to turn away, but he saw another leather-bound book on the desk and his curiosity got the better of him. Sitting on the stool in front of the work table, the man slowly grazed his finger tips along the cover before opening the book. The first few pages were barren of writing, and the man was about to close the book before flipping the page once more. Upon this page, the beginnings of a journal seemed to start.
Unlike the stack of papers, this writing was in a common tongue, written in a strange, red substance, and the Goldylocks-like traveller decided to read forth. Obviously, the traveller had no respect for other people's property, for as he began to read, he could easily tell that this was some sort of personal writing... the man concentrated on reading in the dim light, becoming lost within the pages of the book........
I remember little about my life before my change. All that my memory tells me is that I was once a mage of promising skill who grew up within the Romanian province of Moldavia. As a boy of about 12, I was shipped to the mountainous region of Transylvania, within the dangerous ranges of the Carpathians....
I was shipped to one of the chantries of the Hermetic Order. I was to become a mage, and return home to protect my family's barony from the warlords that ravaged the land, when I had the skill to do so. Little did I know at the time, that this would be the last time I would set foot within the village of my birth ever again. Never again would I see my family or my friends. I do not remember my birth name, for over the years I have gone by many names and titles... but now, I call myself, 'Lucian..' A common name within the land of my birth...
I remember growing up there; they were my family - my brothers, my fathers, my friends, my associates. I studied hard and with every new spell that I gained, I revelled in the power that it brought me. Even at a young age, I was in love with the power that it gave to me. The freedom to wield magicks that could save or destroy the world, depending upon the caster's whims.
That is all I remember, and then I was changed. I had heard stories of devils that dwelled in darkness inhabiting our chantries, but I considered it nothing more than peasant superstition. Little did I know just how wrong I really was....
I had been chosen by the Clan Tremere, for my promising magickal abilities and my thirst for knowledge and power. Upon that day, my life - or unlife as it is now - would be changed forever.....
________________________________________________
The traveller leaned back from the book momentarilly to take this all in. He couldn't help but chuckle though. A vampire? Was the writer of this book some sort of deranged lunatic? Vampires, for heaven's sake, were a myth. Just as the writer of this book once said himself ... peasant superstitions meant to scare naughty children into being good.
Shaking his head slowly, still snickering a bit, the stranger turned the page and continued to read from the journal.....
After my embrace, I had encountered the same problem that others of my new clan had at their change - the practice of our Hermetic Magick was no longer capable to our vampiric blood. At first, I was in despair about this. What is the good of living forever if one cannot seek the knowledge and power to use our time to the best of our abilities? However, I undoubtedly had much to learn.
During my embrace, My lifeless corpse was forced to drink a goblet filled with the mixture of our elder's blood. I would come to find later that this was a way of keeping us in line. For now I was one step closer to being blood-bound to my masters. For this, I know not who my true sire was, but considered them all to be my teachers, and I to be their pupil. I was taught the secret Tremere discipline of thaumaturgy - or, in essence, "working miracles."
I was suprised at all the power and the different paths that this form of "blood magick"( as I was soon to learn it was called) could easily occupy the centuries to come. For truly, this blood magick could undoubtedly be endless in it's paths. I hurriedly ate it up, practicing and learning as much as I could from my group of sires.
Some years later, the chantry that we inhabited was attacked by mortal mages of another order, and we were sent into fierce battle with them. The battle between Magus and Mage shook the very foundation of the chantry and it collapsed upon us as the first rays of dawn peered over the pinnacle of the Carpathians. Many on both sides were lost, but being buried under the rubble had saved the remaining Tremere from the burning rays of the sun. We stayed beneath the rubble until nightfall, and slowly dug our way out.
We were ambushed. The mages stayed there to wait for us. They were smart enough to know that we weren't dead, but sleeping within the mound of wood, brick and mortar. We were unprepared and injured, and we were thoroughly defeated. The last remaining Tremere, myself included, ran like the wind, however we were systematically hunted down like dogs and murdered by the rival chantry.
I know not how many of the survivors lasted. For all I know, I may be the last remaining survivor of the massacre. I care little to find out. I was chased for many months, leaving Transylvania, and the country of Romania as well, doing my best to outwit, and stay one step ahead of my pursuers, but they finally cornered me within the walled city of Prague. I fought for my very existence, and sent many a head flying off the shoulders of my assailants.
But they were too many for me. The mages tried to cast a spell on me, but I had another trick up my sleeve. Allowing my knowledge of thaumaturgy to help me, I had called forth the flames of their torches to explode. As they were casting the spells, they scrambled to safety, but their spell was changed, and a portal opened behind me. I was near Torpor, and the expenditure of blood had caused me to stagger and fall within the portal. It sealed shut behind me and I was trapped in the land that I now occupy. Truly, a twist of fate, but I am not certain if it was for better or worse....
______________________________________________
(Continued with the reply...)