Vampires of Tenebris - A brief look at our dark fantasy WIP

There are many a soul in the cursed lands of the Towers, yet all know who they owe allegiance towards. They all remember the name of the dreaded building that casts a perpetual shadow spinning around like a clock, always expanding its domain onto another piece of land. That is the home of the vampire families. That is the fortress of their lords.

There are seven of these cyclopean constructs of dark magic and wonderous machines. Each houses a clan of blood drinkers related by blood and calling.

Thesantei

Most pleasant of the cursed tribes are the family of diplomats calling themselves the Thesantei. They act courteously and speak with great caution because they forever dance in the battle of wits and words. Their smiles and kind invitations serve none but themselves, bettering their position while they bleed kingdoms dry without cutting a wound. Not that they are incapable on the battlefield. They lunge and pierce like an artist painting with steel, commanding birds of prey and slithering drakelings to severe a life thread by thread. Their Curse is the most clandestine, capable of snatching and twirling the very thoughts of people, reading the most hidden perversions, and planting seeds of doubt.

Nerinai

People fear even the name of the Nerinai, the vampire physicians addicted to the pain and misery of others. They march in capes red as blood to threaten all who dare look upon them. They are suffering given form to most, humans and vampires alike. They are masters of flesh, bone, and blood, their Curse can mold living matter to heal, harm, or mock life itself. Using their knowledge they create Wretches, mutant abominations serving them without a spark of conscience. That is the root of their menacing fame; the ability to create life, and the cruel intent to morph it into something hideous.

Ataris

One family is like a shadow, a whisper you barely heard on the wind. Some aren’t even sure they exist. Some hope they don’t. They are the Ataris, a clan of vampires dedicated to unraveling the Curse itself and its tendrils into reality – magic. These mages learn nothing and care for nothing but the secret, occult powers they received during the Collapse, mastering it beyond any other. Their Curse calls onto the element of umbra, the smoke-like darkness that coils around every shadowed corner, manifesting it as liquid flame or straining tentacles. They are powerful, yet they don’t care for victory. They only learn fo the sake of learning, and never sate their infinite thirst for knowledge.

Sciria

Every soldier dreads the black blades wielded by the vampire legions because they radiate cold bloodlust and contempt. Those are the weapons forged by the Sciria, the family of blacksmiths that found their calling in the ore veins running under the Shadowshield Mountains. Their Curse allows them to smelt the black iron untouchable by any other soul, as it burns and corrupts every living thing around itself. For the Sciria, it is more than a metal. It is a god, a religion, an amalgamation of all their cries. Through the flames of their forge, it seeped into their blood and now all they touch manifests as their iron god’s avatar.

Tarquin

Even the Towers had builders; the Tarquin. The stone-blooded. The vampire masons. They are like the stone they cut, rough, cold, and immovable. Their Curse tears the border between creature and creation, giving them a sliver of divine power to damn statues with life and servitude until death. Their death. They welcome none, be it man or vampire, they work unseen and isolated and once they are done, only the stone speaks of them. But it speaks. It speaks of the Tarquin’s shame, the creation of the gargoyle horde that once threatened every Tower but remains to this day, scourging the outskirts of the accursed lands. So they build, higher and higher to forever bury this shame under the stone.

Hirinia

The Hirinia embody everything humans fear about the night. They prey in the darkness, silently scouting through the shadowed forest around their Tower and hunt everything that dares to make a sound. They are feral, bloodthirsty and savage, and they heed no warning or wisdom. Because they only hear the call of the wild. No Hirinia ever snuck in the night like a rat, because their Curse makes it their castle. They hear more, see more and sense more than a hound, their dark armor makes no sound and their shape is obscured in the fog of darkness that follows them. And when you hear the silent whistle of a crossbow bolt cutting through the air, it’s done. You are their trophy.

Venetesh

When the Towers go into war, the Venetesh are the first to answer. They are brutes, heartless butchers only kept alive by their everlasting rage and their desire to maim and carve up anyone they have an excuse for. They are the bloodhounds, the mercenaries, the expendable bulk of the vampire army. Their Curse is fury unbound, dark blood that rips them from death’s clutch, straining their muscles until they tear, flogging them forward until their bones break, creating monsters that sow terror on every field of battle. That is the call of the Venetesh.

These are the monsters we fight against. This is the enemy we shall smite in the name of our Lord, and all the Angel Legions in the high Heavens. That is His will.

- Alexandros, Exarch of the Divine Church of Heliogaia