Black Knight

[Toothless]

                                The plural of vampire is vampire.

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Within our world are secrets; of many different kinds. Some secrets are bad, some are good, and some are difficult to believe. As a child, you are told stories of vampire, of demonic creature with long, gleaming fangs, unnaturally angelic looks, and mind persuasion powers. As the month turn into years, and the years turn into decades, those stories fade into disbelief and become fantasy, scary stores meant to entertain and not to be believed. The world is viewed through the eyes of perception, meaning that you see only what you believe you see. Do you believe in vampire? Of course not. Any sane human who perceives them to be a lie would not believe. But because you do not believe does not mean it is not true.

In our world, vampire exist, though not as one would believe. They are, in truth, evil creatures; many care only about themselves, their humane side more or less obliterated by the vampire virus as it ravages their system. They will attack and feed off of women mostly, intermingling sex with the act of feeding. Vampire appear much like any human, aside from their pale, colorless irises. The vampire virus destroys the color in the host's eyes during the transformation. They are small in number, by large in strength.


But do not fear, little one. There are those who stand between the vampire and the mortal world, protecting humans from the evil of this dimension. They are a secret organization, known to their own kind as the Order of the Black Knight. I will not go into the origin now, but know, that to be knighted as part of the Order is a great honor, as well as a great responsibility. Do you have what it takes to stand as a vigilante, barring the world from the evil of vampire whenever you can? 

[Toothless]

               Because there is an erotic element in vampirism, female victims are the rule. Human females are not usually susceptible to the vampire virus, but survivors are rare because of the massive physical damage. Consequently, the great majority of vampire are male, having contracted the virus through contact rather than bite. Ironically, the contact wounds are often received in defense of a vampire's target.

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         The paralyzing saliva of vampire takes effect within five seconds of entering the bloodstream. The saliva contains the agents of paralysis and the living virus. A victim infected with the virus, but not drained of blood, will transition to vampire in two to three days.

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The history of the Order of the Black Swan begins in the year 1458; it is a story of a Count and his wife. It begins as thus:

    In the year 1458 there was a Count who lived happily with his wife in the mountainous region where Germany borders Austria. Their goldenrod-colored house was as picturesque as a fairy tale, more stately than a manor, but smaller and less grand than a castle. It stood on the shore of an idyllic lake. The surface, which was usually still as glass, reflected the forest that lined its banks and changed color with the mood of the sky above.

    The Countess, who was known to be both kind and generous, had not been blessed with children even though it was her fondest wish. So the affection that might have found expression in watching little ones grow was instead bestowed on other living things: her gardens and a small herd of black swans that decorated the lake named for them. Even though all the swans in the land were, by law, owned by the king, she secretly, in her heart, counted these her own pride and joy. She would never pass a window without looking towards the lake. 

    Every day she would walk to the water's edge with crumbs and tidbits delectable to swans and call the gorgeous bevy to draw near. They would glide effortlessly to the shore, reach upward with their graceful necks to accept their offering, bask in the light of her adoration and, though she could not know it, they returned her devotion in kind. 

    One day the Countess, taken in will fever, slept through the day until well into the night. When she woke, she saw that it was dark and that her husband was already sleeping. Her first thought was that her beautiful black swans would think she had abandoned them. Being fearful that they might be confused by her absence, she took a candle, and when into the kitchen in night dress, on bare feet. No one heard her steps as she passed through the halls. With no concern for her health, she fathered two partial loaves of bread and went out onto the wet grass, into the bright moonlight. In the ribbon of light that fell upon the lake she could see the shapes of her pets turning and gliding toward her as she whispered encouragements. 

    There was no warning, no moment to fear or entertain recriminations about choices badly made. Silently, in less than a breath's time, something emerged from the forest shadows and paralyzed her by sinking fangs into the nape of her neck. It dragged blood from her body in great gulps. Each time the flow began to slow from a puncture wound newly opened, the thing withdrew its fangs and struck again at another font of her body, ripping at flesh with ragged nails for no reason other than the foulest of depraved pleasure. 

    The Count woke with dread to the sound of strange, unearthly voices piercing the silence of the night with a nightmarish song, beautiful and horrible at the same time. What he heard was the cry of swans as they rush from the water, walking upon the land with wings spread to full span as the gave alarm. They threw themselves at the creature who tore the body of the mistress. Some where spared from the monster's claws while others were struck down, swatted away without effort, but that is neither here no there, as none escaped because, as everyone knows, a swan who sings pays the price with its life.

    It was over before a single rescuer reached the door, left standing open. There was none who could bear witness to the strange and gruesome event. What the Count and his servants found in the bright moonlight near the water's edge was the pale and lifeless form of the Countess, torn, ruined, covered with blood. And, scattered all around her were the pitiful, limp remains of the black swans who gave their lives for love. 

    The Count, whose wife had filled his house and heart, was stricken with a soul-crushing grief and fell into a melancholy, the depths from which he could not be roused. Some years passed without improvement in his condition. Being honorable and dutiful by nature, he fulfilled the responsibilities of the office of the Count, but enjoyed no personal pastime or comfort. 

    One rainy night, a traveler came to the kitchen door requesting shelter for the night. He was a tall man and old, at least old for the times, with gray hair beginning to show among the brown of his beard. He wore a heavy, hooded cloak over modest clothes and would have been unremarkable in every way except for the glittering spark of intelligence in gray eyes that appeared much younger than the rest of him. He seemed harmless in spite of his size, bearing and the fact that he had a foreign accent. So the kitchen maid looked to the cook and scullery maid for their opinion as to whether shelter should be granted. Both shook their heads in a vote of nay.

    Turning back to the hapless, wet pilgrim, she opened her mouth intending to turn him away, but unaccountably, she opened the door and motioned him inside. She looked sheepishly at the cook and scullery maid, shrugging as she led the stranger to a bench by the fire. She bade him remove his cloak, sit and warm himself dry and he did so gratefully. When the shivers of his chill subsided, the man introduced himself to the kitchen workers as Dankwart der Recke and asked the maid to humbly request audience with her master on his behalf. 

    Thinking that the kindness she had sown by inviting the man in could be cause for her master's displeasure, she promptly refused. But, after lengthy and charming persuasion with assurances that the master would benefit from such a dialogue, she passed the request on to a manservant whose station merited speaking directly to the Count. Because the Count no longer who did or did not spend time in his company, he agreed to have the traveler dine with him and speak if he must. 

    Count Jungbluth and Meister der Recke ate in silence except for the crackle of a fire and the raindrops hitting lead glass windows set high above their heads. Because the night was too cold to heat one of the larger rooms, they dined in a smaller room near the kitchen, at either end of a rough hewn table; the sort that might be found in an inn. The room was rectangular, as was the fashion, with stone floors and a fireplace six feet high and eight feet wide. It was comfortable and warm, intimate enough to enjoy a tankard and a tale on such a night. Above the fireplace there hung a battered, brown tournament shield, bearing the coat of arms with the image of two black goats with long spiraling horns rearing on hind legs, front hooves striking the air on either side of a noble woman wearing a trailing green dress and holding a banderol that read "Hab Mych als Ich Bin"; take me as I am. 

    The Count scarcely glanced at his guest from supper's beginning to end. Nor did he utter a sound. He stared at the food, stared at the table, then stared at the fire. Der Recke, on the other hand, used his considerable power of observation to study his host, taking stock of his mood and character. When the meal was cleared and the servants retired from the hall, the stranger said he had heard the story of the murder of the Countess, his host's wife, and offered solemn condolences. 

    He said that he had also lost a wife along with a child, far from there, but in a curiously similar manner. He then began recounting tales he had collected on his travels; travels of monstrous creatures who bear a resemblance to humans, who stalk victims in the night for the purpose of desecrating their bodies and drinking their blood, creatures who are an abomination to the natural world. He said that there were many like themselves, who had lost precious souls to the rampages of these demons he called vampire. 

    As the traveler told his stories, the Count began to listen with an interest possessed, but long forgotten. He perceived the pattern of threads that were common to all, threads that did not unravel upon examination, but formed the beginning of a tapestry.

    Slowly the Count became aware of colors, textures, and sounds as if the curtain of haze that had fallen over his soul was clearing. For the first time in a very long while he was aware of the body he occupied; the sensations of breath, hands and feet, rump in chair. He grasped the tankard in front of him, appreciating the smooth feel of the pewter, and lifted it to his lips. As he leaned forward, bringing his full attention to bear so as not to mist the slightest detail, purpose rose from the ashes of his despair. Henceforth, his raison d'etre would be to learn everything that could be known about vampire and kill them. All.

    That stormy night, as the wind blew a gale outside, they talked and conspired. Several times the fire was stoked and logs were replenished, and an alliance was forged between strangers that transcended station and class. Dankvart der Recke had a fine mind, a Cistercian education in science, history and literature supplemented with sorcery, alchemy, and an uncanny ability to judge people truly. As a member of the First Reich College of Princes and Counts, Jungbluth had a treasure second only to that of the king.

    They formed a fraternal alliance bound by mutual heartbreak and called the highest ambition possible; to protect the helpless and vulnerable from devils that lurk in the night. In honor of the Countess and her martyred birds, they named the organization the Order of the Black Swan. The emblem was placed upon a red background in tribute of the blood shed by innocents. That emblem formed both crest and talisman, an equal-armed cross with a swan superimposed at the center. The cross stood for the intersection of the four winds, a symbol that there is nowhere on Earth where predatory monsters may be safe from the wrath and righteous justice of the knights of The Order of the Black Swan. The swan is a memorial to love and courage, fearlessness in the face of helplessness, an elegant expression of death before dishonor.

    So the two founders set about accomplishing their mission by trolling the families of European aristocracy, which often face the problem of two male heirs living to adulthood. As the custom was to keep family estates undivided and pass to a single male child, the quandary facing such families was what to do with the second sons. The redundancy of healthy, adult seconds sons was both blessing and curse. 

    Placement in the clergy was politically expedient in terms of power and wealth. Such a position was a good match if the boy demonstrated the unusual traits of being a next-in-line who was both compliant and ambitious. Others, true to the rebellious nature typical of their place in the family hierarchy, sought out the Knights Templar and other enterprises where high-born progeny found carer, adventure, and sometimes discipline as gentlemen soldiers or highly paid mercenaries.
   
    The most exceptional of these were recruited by the Order of the Black Swan. There they found a purpose that far transcended an inheritance of wealth, power or public recognition and, in the end, counted themselves the more fortunate between their older brothers and themselves.   


*Excerpt from 'My Familiar Stranger' by Victoria Danann