A heavy dew sets along the talk dark stalks of grass as a man who for all intensive pruposes is like any other but seems somehow so different strides with a quiet purpose over the vast field. He walks with the quiet reserve of a man of many years though a look in his eye shows a firey nature and strong pressence of mind. The grass seems to part away from the man's feet as if scared no to respectful to dare and put up any form of resistence. The man has a dark tone about his skin and as the icy paleness of the moon glistens over the arms left bare from the azure armor you can fairly make out the many battles scars strown though tone and sinewed muscular physique. This man has a body for killing that has seen many a fight and has taken it's fair share of triumph and defeat. For this man none of that matters for he is reflecting on a life past where choices whether fair, just, or loving have taken a toll on his very soul as condemned as it feels at that moment. Suddenly and without stimulus the man completely loses his composure and with a gutheral yell cries out "Why Why a thousand times I have tried but there is simply no peace, no justice, and no hope"! "Is this what is to be of me for my cursed exisstence"!

The man procides to come crashing down on his knees as if he is atlas and the world has finally won. He just sits there motionless frustrated to the point of tears, had he any to left to shed and this simply further throws him down into the deep despairs of his unknow grief. " Have I not given up enough"! "my pride, my dignity, my honor, my life"! The man begins to rise as if only out of the spitfulness torwards his own miserable feelings. "what more do I have"! After what seemesd as an enternity the man tormented by the thirst of a thousand desert stranded bandits continues on his march refusing to give in the the overwelming urge not to drink blood but to end life he has gone beyond that point he is no longer a vampire he is something more he is BLOODTHURST! "dear lord what have become?, I did not ask for this yet I cannot end my life". "were it so simple or had I thought things could possibly get this bad I would have done it long ago". He contemplates on the shallow twisted attempt at a prayer to a being he has lost both ties and faith in, hated with every fiber of his essence what he has become and at the weakness to carry on with the facade of a life he narowly believes in himself.

"I hunt them down rather they asked to be what they are or not it used to matter now I hate myself so much and what I see in them that I have that I have become a mere muderer but so be it"! Better they died regardless of rather or not they seek after the lifesblood of others then for them to become what I am, a creature hated by most and understood by few is it justice that compels me to destroy them or am I merely motivated by hatred.""what right do I have to pass judgement on them, to enforce my own brand of justified genocide onto their existence". He has found himself out of his head for a brief moment as he enters the soothing yet chilling darkness of a forest that harbors love for none and even less tolerence. With a twisted smile the man whispers to himself " Maybe I will meet my end here God willing". He fully rejoices at the thought of his death then thinks of what awaits him in Hell, the images of the torment he escaped once and he shudders at the horrifying fact that at that moment it almost seems right. Before this unfortunate soul has real time to decipher the immense abodeing nature of this thought the fine ghostly white hairs on his neck start to stand being all too familliar with this feeling living ,if you can call it that, for as long as he has he begins to ready himself no sooner then he moves a foot back in order to get into a more defensive stance he is struck fast and hard with what seems to be an arrow with the weight of a mountain on it. He is now in flying bak off the same feet he so thought to plant firmly. He lands and looks off to his right where he can see his looking at him almost mocking the disheartening position in which he has fallen in. Without hesitaion he rolls and using the momentum along with the good foot lunges quickly behind a tree seeking a few seconds to orientate himself as o his perdictament. All he knows is that he is being attacked he knows not by who or what and that has him completely shaken.. If only the weapon had left a clean cut he could tell if it was claws or a blade. The only thing this poor being has now is a gaping hole in his neck making his head lean off the left. Finally the shock has left and he curses softly "Goddamn this horseshit"! "what the fuck good is being immortal if you feel this pain"! He remains motionless as not to alert the entitiy to his exact location and painfully he regenerates bone,muscle and catilage melt forming a coagulating translucent glob on his neck. The glob starts to form into mass hurting worse now then when most would have been through the worst of it, of course most would have lost their head with an attack like that.As that thought runs through his head he has identified his foe only one metal could do that and only a select few can wield it, however this brings no comfort quite oppiste this has greatly damaged his morale, what little he had. He must comfirm the identitiy of his attacker to do so would be a gamble of his life but he has little choice though proficient in many arms the adverse affect of his condition makes using long range weapons more of a handicap in his current state not to mention he sold his bow for *Rattesbrood (Rattesbrood is a strong sapphire colored Liquor found mostly in the seats of major cities and in the black market corners of the criminal underground most stray away from due to the fact more than 3 shots kills most people of course he downs bottles at a time). As things are now this may truly be his last walk in the darkness.

"I am only at sixty-five percent but if this hopeless situation has any chance of improving I must act now", he thought as he began to map out the area quickly as if he has lived in the shadows of shadows. "The plan is complete now the hard part the execution because if it is of it may very well be my execution" he says to himself preparing for the worst possible outcome. He has figured out that the weapon must contain Godswrath a substance as dangerous and mysterious as his own cruel exsitence now that he knows it a a weapon of man there must indeed be a man or at the least a *humanoid (anything with humanlike characteristics and intelligence though maybe low ex:/werewolf, demon, halfing, mimic) given the fact that most humanoids lean torward the darkside they would sense his nature and more then likely seek audience rather then attack except the damndable werewolves who prove more of a musience then any foul demon at least to his kind.Weighing in these factors he is abot seventy-five percent sure the enemy is a human, that being the case it can only be a Crucifix Knight. Only they have the funds and opportunity to get their hands on Godswrath easily. Sitting around thinking about it is not going to get him anywhere granted it has taken him merely ten seconds to figure out this much three seconds is too much to ask for in a situation like this. With a boldness buliding second by second he jumps into the clearing shouting in a bomming voice "By he he compels you I challenge you with honor face me"! He stands there the fact he is not attacked immediately confirms his fears he must be facing a Crucifix Knight the only other thing it could have been was a brazen theif that stole the weapon anyone wealthy enough to by the stuff is rich enough not to risk their life fighting. After a brief moment a figure immerges from the darkness into the light and replies. "Oh dark one I admire you resilience and am truly honored you have intelligence enough to cahllenge me to a duel", that being the first half of the official reply the Crucifix Knight is quickly cut off. "Quit your bullshit you Holier than horepiss idiot"!, that retarded two phase response makes me almost as sick as the fact the official challenge must be spoken for you to fight fairly that is the single most annoying thing about fighting you knuckle-dragging mouth-breathing shit-trolls". The knight is left awestruck at the fluent string of obsenities thrown his way in a matter of which the greatest peots would recite, his pride is now hurt, the only thing worse then fighting these knights is fighting them when they have lost face the bastards just keep going and going like *Lightning Hares (Creatures made of pure enery that resemble hares they can be cut, pelted, smashed, and even most magic has little effect thankfully unless you do manage to hurt one they simply stand looking at you as if you were a circus monkey).