The Path of Contempt

         Richter meticulously worked on a small rocking chair for his son, Kamen, his body cramped and sore from having worked almost a day's worth of labor, but he was determined to finish it, needing only to apply the finishing coat of paint. His son was barely a year old at the time, but Richter was excited with the idea of him sitting in it one day, admiring his hard work. He noticed his wife, Alisse, watching him in the doorway of his workshop – a part of their stone house, as she swayed Kamen in her arms.
         “Looks good, don't you think?” Richter asked her as he stiffly stood up, unable to hide a satisfied grin on his long, squared face.
         It had been over two years since they met in 1206. Richter had immigrated from Germany to Italy, and made a successful living co-running a family carpentry business, owned by a close friend and colleague. Alisse was the daughter of an aristocratic father who immigrated from France for his early retirement. Both of them were still learning their new native language when they met, but together, fueled by their strong desire to share the simple pleasure of small talk, learned to speak fluently, transcending their relationship into something more passionate. Not long after, they were married and settled on a nice plot of land, just outside Apulia to raise a family.
         “I went with a dark reddish colour, like a fine wine,” Richter commentated as he glanced at her, awaiting her approval.
         He noticed a mischievous smirk on her dimpled face. “Looks more like violet to me,” she teased him.
         Richter's thick, dried up lips twitched into a frown, but turned back into a grin as he approached her. “Is that so?” He inquired rhetorically.
         He kissed her, realizing too late how rough his lips must have felt. But she hadn't minded or cared, reciprocating his affection by moving her pouty lips in rhythm with his.
         “It looks wonderful,” she conceded.
         She shifted Kamen in her arms and leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around her lean frame and pulled her in tightly, her chestnut hair draped over his shoulder. She let out a relaxed sigh.
         “Finally got him to settle down,” she said softly, as if she was about to dose off. “I feel like a mess.”
         “Yet, you still look beautiful as ever,” he assured her.
         She looked up at him with her big blue eyes. He stared back. For some time they stood there in embrace, comforted and secure by the warmth shared between them. It always astounded him how lucky he was to be loved by someone as tender and sincere as she was. How happy he had been.
         But the peace did not last, as his son, Kamen began to cry, screeching so loudly it pierced his ears. Alisse shuddered, her face turned to agony. And he was struck with a crippling chill of terror and sorrow.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

         When he opened his eyes he was blinded by a nearby light. Ulfric – his fellow companion, had been leaning over him with a small lantern, its light exposing his narrow and pointed face beneath his hood. His black, sunken eyes stared into him, with an inquisitive expression – as if he had known what he had been dreaming about.
         “It is time we move on,” he warned.
         Richter followed after him, crawling out of a small cramped den. It had just passed the hour of dusk, which left little natural light within the dense forest. Ulfric lead the way with the lantern, unimpeded by the heavily shadowed environment.
         Richter stuck closely behind. He noticed eyes watching them from a nearby thicket, eerily glittering from the reflection of the lantern's light. It had been a pack of wolves.
         “They will not harm us,” Ulfric assured him, aware of what he had seen.
         They had traveled inland from the coast, as civil war raged through Italy. Germany had invaded from the north, under the rule of both King and Holy Roman Emperor, Otto Von Braunschweig, in a campaign to eliminate the rivalry of his crown, Frederick II, King of Sicily. Richter had been driven from his home, and had since traveled with his companion, Ulfric, who had rescued him when Apulia was conquered.
         It had already been a long unsettling journey; Richter – left with little choice – was compelled to continue traveling alongside his companion, Ulfric – who still remained ever so mysterious. The memories of the events when his home had been pillaged were difficult to ascertain, but he at least had strong reason to believe he had been rescued by him, as he had claimed.
         It still however left many questions, which left him in a constant state of fear and confusion. The exact circumstances of how he manged to survive; the fate of his family and friends; abnormalities that had been occurring to his body; and then there was Ulfric himself, who invoked something ominous, which made it difficult to completely trust him.
         But what else was he to do? He was but a lost sheep without a home, yearning to return to his flock.
         They ventured out of the forest onto pastures with scattered outcrops, the vast horizon stretching out under a dark blue sky and a luminous full moon. For them, the day was still young, with much ground to be covered.
         After traveling for some time, they noticed trails of black smoke rising beyond the hills ahead.
         “The land burns with war,” Ulfric stated woefully.
         They reached a small private vineyard, likely ransacked by the German army. The property contained large fields of grape vines, and a set of buildings – one was a square cobblestone house, which was missing half of its roof from a recent fire. Behind it, they discovered the family in an indistinguishable pile of burnt bodies, and a man – possibly the father – hung from a nearby tree.
         Richter remembered when his wife had confessed her fears of the war, as news constantly warned of it gradually drawing closer to their home. Unable to leave everything behind, and with a newly born son to care for, they had hoped to persevere and be spared from its hardship. She had cried in his arms as he held her, assuring her that he wasn't going to let anything happen to them. But fate was cruel, as it had been to the family of the vineyard. It depressed him as he gazed at the horrific aftermath, longing to be with his wife and son again.
         Shortly after that discovery, Ulfric had picked up a strong scent, looking somewhat ridiculous as he sniffed every few moments, like an animal, as they followed a trail. They eventually came across a cellar. Richter was unprepared for what was about to happen next.
         Ulfric relighted the lantern, then they descended into the cellar. It was dark and relatively cool inside. Upon their investigation, they found the usual aisles of racks with wine kegs and crates of bottles, but there was something else there; even Richter, had uneasily picked up on it.
         Deeper into the room, within one of the aisles was a young man, curled up in a fetal position; the soft features of his face moist with sweat, his skin an unhealthy pale tone, and a pool of blood formed around him. He seemed barely conscious; his eyes flickered in reaction to the lantern's light shining on him.
         Ulfric quickly rushed over to help the man, inspecting his wounds and soothing him with religious verse, as if he was performing a sermon. Beneath the wounded man's soaked tunic was a deep wound on his abdomen, which was beginning to fester.
          Richter's uneasiness escalated to anxiety as his nose filled with the stench of blood. He was unable to smell anything else it had been so intense. His body quivered as he was engulfed in a powerful sensation of desire and hunger. The rhythmic sound of a heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears, beckoning him.
         “Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” Ulfric quoted to the dying man as he stood up.
         Richter was able to only vaguely recall the following moments as he lost control of his body. He remembered he had been standing alongside Ulfric, over the dying man, needing to feed.
         “He declared: 'I am the breadth of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”
         Richter extended his fangs and bit into flesh, consuming what remained of the man's life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

         Later that night, Ulfric and Richter sat around the fireplace inside the ruins of the cobblestone house, as the hour of dawn approached. Richter stared into the fire, unable to find any comfort from its warmth, as the flames consumed the wood that once belonged to a finely crafted rocking chair. His ragged clothes were still heavily stained with blood.
         He felt Ulfric's stare, but found no courage to meet his eyes.
         “I have walked this earth for over eighty years now,” Ulfric began. “And even I have yet to fully understand this curse, which is now bound to both of us.”
         Ulfric too then stared into the flames in deep thought, as it cackled over the splintered wood.
         “How naive I was then,” he continued. “I thought to be just a humble pilgrim, trying to spread the word of god, to enlighten the world. And then one day, a wounded man I tried to help, inflicted me with this curse, and for a time I wandered in disillusion, wondering why I had deserved to be forsaken.
         'I began to hate god for my fate, and I had lost my faith. Hate and resentment were all I felt, and at one point it seemed certain it would rule me. But in the end, I refused to succumb to such anguish, and realized god wasn't to blame for my misfortune. Having observed humanity while existing as long as I have, I've learned that evils such as cruelty and injustice, are from our own folly.”
         “So I am to become a monstrous beast?” Richter spoke up as he wrapped his arms tightly around his chest to stop his shaking.
         “There is a beast in all of us that we must struggle with,” Ulfric lectured. “But ours is something of a completely different nature, it is much more voracious, rightly feared by mortal men.
         'You must be strong willed, because it will not ever rest,” he continued, as the flames from the bonfire intensified. “Submit to it and you will become something truly monstrous, the remnants of your humanity will be consumed, and your identity will forever be forgotten. Only a mindless beast would be left – a loathsome creature, who's only purpose is to induce more despair in this already suffering world.”
         For some time they sat in silence, as the fire dwindled down to glowing embers.
         “I must know what happened to my family.” Richter spoke up again, struggling to find the strength to speak. “As hard as I've tried, I cannot, for the life of me, remember... but I am certain that you know. So you must tell me.”
         He met Ulfric's eyes. “And I want a straight answer,” he demanded.
         Ulfric took his time to answer, as if he attempted to find the right words, unable to hold back a sigh. “Your wife and your son, will forever be at peace,” he told him.
         Ulfric's words crushed him. Yet, deep down, he felt he already knew the truth the entire time. He struggled to hold back from crying, but one single tear managed to stream down his cheek. It was red like blood.
         From then on, both sorrow and anger swelled within him, and unlike Ulfric, refused to forgive such cruelty. The loss of his family was a pain he never would be able to let go.
         And Ulfric came to regret the day he sired another vampire, as Richter willingly succumbed to his dark nature, abandoning his name and former identity as he preyed on humanity across Europe. But the cry of a newborn child would always stop him cold in his tracks, inflicting him with both terror and sorrow, as it kindled memories of the tranquil life he once had.


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