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I'll post my little excerpts from stories based on the blood born fluff, in no particular order, just to help me keep track of them and maybe get some feedback. No need to really read this if you read the blood born stuff, as it will all end up there eventually.


The first one I write will be about Micheal before being turned and how he did. This would be his first battle as a Vampire. Most of the writing will seem incredibly exaggerated, and it is. Its intended to be a story told among the bloodborn vampires, so obviously they treat one of their gods as an all-powerful being.

And there he stood, raised above the battlefield, his sword held aloft. The winds of magic gathered and swirled around him, the harsh force of nature itself feared his power. The sun had gone black and the wind stood still at his mere presence. Time had appeared to bend to his will, as though the gods themselves where in awe of his power. Then, from the stillness emerged a paralyzing scream, the silence broken by the restless dead. A swarm of banshees appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and began to fly overhead. Their ghostly figures shimmering and fading along the passing winds. He looked upon the beasts, the faces of the damned stared back. They appeared to stare into his very being, yet he could see nothing in their eyes, what stood before him was not a person. What stood before him was a tool to be used and discarded, a beast to be tamed. With but a word he brought forth the spirits of the fallen. The blood soaked ground below him would give rise to a the dead, skeletal hands clawing upon the hard ground, looking for an escape from their earth-tombs. Every man that should die today upon the battlefield shall rise again, a shadow of their former self. Ever man that his enemy slays shall give rise to a thousand more.

A continuation of that
From the shadows stepped forth another face, not a beast from the ethereal plane as the banshees where, but a being of flesh and blood. The face belonged to what appeared to be a regular woman. The woman was in no way ugly, yet he sensed something.. off about her. If felt as though a dark power emanated from her, something not unlike the power coursing through his veins. He could feel the winds of magic gather around her as it did him, as though she was the same. Yet he could tell, through some new found sense of awareness, that this woman was not of the same blood as he. She must be, he concluded, a necromancer. A woman well acquainted with the 9th wind of magic, trained in the uses of the black arts. They would stand on even ground, he reckoned, should she need to be slain. She stepped forward, into the light he seemed to summon from the heavens. Her hair, a bleached white color, seemed to shimmer as she stepped into the beam. "Speak your name, wench." He shouted, a hint of fear in his voice "Or you shall soon find a blade across your throat". "Victoria." She replied, a smirk across her face "You should know better, dear, not to threaten strangers.". At that, a light flickered, ever so briefly, in the palm of her hands. He could feel a cold presence inside his chest, as though an icy hand had griped his very heart. With out a word, he called upon the winds of magic, channeling his inner power to free himself from her icy grasp, yet no matter how hard he struggled he could not best her fell magics. "Do you know now what you deal with, wench?" He said, acting as though he had been able to stop her. "I know exactly whom I deal with. One never strikes a foe he knows not" Victoria replied, silently recalling the Cairn Wraith she had so effortlessly called upon.