Strigoi Lore

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So, leech, you have eaten of the Darkness. And it has eaten of you. Yes, you are strong, yes you are beautiful. But do not be fooled. If you speak to other elders of our kind, they will tell you you're a prince, chosen for some mighty destiny. Ha! The fools, they need such lies to give them faith, to give their "lives" meaning. You're no prince, no demigod of death. You, you're just like me: a leech, a blood sucking parasite that was too evil to live, and too stupid to know when to die. You're just like me. You're a Vampire. Don't forget it. What's that? I don't speak like other Vampires? Perhaps you've yet to meet the right sort. I am Strigoi, a scion of the fourth clan. Our kin call us Beasts, and not without reason, but that's far too lofty a word for what we are. We're carrion beasts: the eaters of the dead. Strigoi are the only Vampires who remember our true place in things. Straeglind taught us, thousands of years ago, and we have not forgotten.

Oh yes, I know the wrath of Oblivion is inside you and me, that the Darkness that stands in for our souls makes us strong, at least compared to the sheep we eat. But for all their tales of necromancy and the Void's glory remember this: our kind was born of a mistake, a failed spell that drew the interest of the Void and made it hungry. And now all creation is corrupted by another grand mistake, and the Turning has given our immortality to all. The warm, blood-filled sheep, they're just like us. They're already dead, but too stupid to see it. Go tell it to the Belgosch, or the Gorgoi, and they'll eat your entrails for it. They'll think they're angry, but they're really afraid. They know we Strigoi speak the truth. Tired of listening to their platitudes? Listen to me, then. These lips do not lie.

Who are we Strigoi? We're all nightborn who refuse to listen to the lies the Elders tell. Straeglind was the first to rebel, and she showed us the way. When she still breathed and sweat she was an Aelfborn, and as mad as any half-breed you'll ever find. Straeglind was never one to play by any rules, and in her time she rejected both her Elf and Human parents. Legends say that she lived like a beast in the wilderness, wild and free. When the hordes of Chaos overran all Aerynth in the War of the Scourge, she fought an entire legion to a standstill, and the fury in her eyes caught the notice of a demon prince. On a whim, the fiend ordered Straeglind spared, and offered her the chance to serve as the hound for his legions. The Aelfborn was glad to accept. She won her vengeance a hundred fold upon the Elves who had tortured and denied her, sniffing out their hidden enclaves and leading the demon armies to them without fail. As a reward, she was given the flesh of noble Elves to eat, and hot blood to drink like wine. Straeglind's crimes against her own kin and all the children of this world were so vile, so hideous, that she was not allowed to fully die. Oh, she stopped breathing -- the Curse could not be cheated, back then, and her mixed blood was the death of her. But death was only the beginning. As it had with so many before her, the Void took Straeglind's soul, and poured its power into her body. She rose again as a Vampire, undead and no less evil. All the other clans will whisper to you that their founder learned some great secret as they touched the Void. What nonsense! We Strigoi keep no secrets, though Straeglind had wit enough to see the single fact that all the other Elders are blind to. It's no secret, and I'd shout it to them if they'd hear me. Do you want to know? Very well. Here's all you need to remember: We are the Dead.

Straeglind heard the call of Baelgor, and made her way to where the first Elders lurked, hidden in the shadows, watching the War of the Scourge and weaving their grand schemes. They tried to lure her into one of their mighty clans, but Straeglind saw through them all. She laughed at their arrogance, and mocked their high purpose. She turned her back on them, and led more than a few back into the war-torn world. Those first few became the core of the Strigoi, and they learned much from the half-mad beast who led them. Would you hunt with us? I can teach you all our arts, how to unleash the anger within you, so that your blood burns hot as flame and drives your claws faster than the eye can follow. Remember that all you are is dead, and you'll find you can sense dead flesh, and sniff out the corpses of the freshly slain. Join us, and leave the other three clans behind you. Do not be poisoned by their lies! We have no grand purpose, no great destiny. We are the dead, cursed to feed upon the living. Remember that. Answer me this: when the great design the other Elders speak of is finally accomplished, what then shall become of us? We "chosen princes" of darkness? When all flesh has died and all mortal blood run cold, on what shall we feed? We shall feed upon each other, make no mistake. And do you really think our "mother/father night" will give us any rewards once our work is done? We'll be lucky if we're finally consumed. Either way, I'm tired of the waiting. This blighted world should have ended a century ago. The sooner we kill it, the sooner out hunger will end, and we'll finally get to die.

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