I, Elizabeth, do so solemnly swear to go to the Sunless Citadel afore the creatures of Sosaria destroy me. Upon the theme of vampirism, I have come to understand that my blood has waned since I slumped into torpor underneath the tombs of Britain’s ill-famed graveyard. But have no despair, dearest reader, I looked to necromancy to supply me with the bounty, the bread crumbs, the trail to the regeneration of my blood.
I spent long hours decoding a bundle of necromantic scrolls written in ghast, old vampyre, and a bit in haunt. I assembled my reagents, and dramatically I waited for the moon before I cast the Rel Xen An Sanct ritual. Make no mistake, I turned from tanned olive to blanched white in moments of casting. However, the ritual gave me a smidgeon of what a true vampire possesses. Yes, I still need to eat gross matter like chicken, lamb, venison, but I am immune to poison. But because the necromancer who framed the famed ritual was afraid of fire, I am prone to damage by fire. Go figure.
Day by day I grow stronger.
I make frequent trips to the mountain nest of ettin giants; I make frequent trips to the ruined dungeon of Deceit, killing droves of ill-preserved mummies. And each are robbed of their possessions when they fall to my envenomed blade; like a good squirrel, I pack it all away in Britain’s bank, saving for my quest to discover the Sunless Citadel.
Not without passion, I burned upon the site of a young tavern wench. “Would you come with me out to a clover patch to watch the moon,” I suggested, the strings of my lute emoting a “yes” within her subconscious. Returning at the end of her term at the bar, I took her by hand out to the moon blanched clover patches in the woodland surrounding Vesper, and with another strum, had my way with her. Yes, I am necromancer; yes, I am muse, and last I am one hell of a seducer.
I cut into her flesh at her back when she swooned from orgasm. Rolling her over, I greedily relived memories of how the blood in my older reincarnation strengthened me. But not now. Alas, this was a blood orgy that lasted all night, and by early light, her wound had healed under my warm, caring hand. It was falling in line, that thing humans call “the future,” as ruinous as it may be.