This place was dark, comparitively at least. Thinking it dark just made Rinold know he was spending too much time with the unholy, unclean. It was worth it though. Worth defiling himself to find the ones who destroyed him.

His tongue whipped out and if someone could see him, they might not have noticed. The air tasted like death. Death and fear. The fear must have been leftover. No one who was kept down in this place lived any longer, and no one who was yet to come would escape. He smiled and sucked the air in through his teeth, letting his mind and hands wonder.

Rinold's hand found the dagger at his side. Sixteen notches were carved into the hilt, with room for another hundred. The small amount of light in this room (which Rinold lovingly named the Interrigation Quarters) collected and refracted off of the sharpest point on the knife.

The knife was once his heirloom, something he would take when he earned it. He was Tagabren, and even more so was of the clan Trethius. Trethius was a small group at its peak even, Rinold's father leading the small band. The thing that offset them from other Tagabren was that they did not work for gold. In fact, Rinold did not even know what these people worked for, that was a secret his father had yet to tell him.

His father had died though. A time that seemed long ago, but Rinold lost track of it. He remembered the assault. It was so convenient?

Everyone was dressed in their best garb. Ceremonial outfits followed behind the leaders, each carrying boxes which contained silver dagger, and each set in a pyramid shape at the altar. Above the altar stood Rinold's father, dressed in long dark flowing robes, the candles enhancing his ominous appearance. Then The Damned rolled in.

The air tasted eerie, the fighting went on in silence, the battles fought unevenly, and in the end, everyone but two were destroyed. The vampires killed them. It was unnatural. They did not feed, although they did take one. The youngest after Rinold was stolen to these vampires. Rinold walked over to his father's headless body.

In his dispair was his glory though. The beautiful voice of his father come to reside in his head, telling him what to do, giving him power he never felt before. Now was the time for the Vampires that had destroyed him needed to be destroyed. 16 and counting.

He learned that these vampires were networked, intertwined about the humans. Rinold would weed them out. And one by one they would feel the revenge of Rinold. And his father would be pleased, and grant him his wish?

The air tasted lifeless now. Lifeless was different then death. Death was sweet to Rinold, but this feeling was void, and empty. Soon he would be filled with the putrid taste of the humans, but it worth it. It was always worth it. His father would be proud.

Rinold stepped out of the room, his hand fondling the dagger, his head filled with the frantic screams of death.