It is done. The rituals have been performed, and the sacrifices have been made. I have cast aside my mortality to become that which is the greatest and most powerful hunter of all. No longer shall the frailness that afflicts lesser men constrain me. I have become a vampire, the highest form of being.

I have elected to keep a journal of all those whom I have turned myself, that I might read it on a later date and know my own legacy. Perhaps it will become useful at a later date, as I might be able to claim ancestry to a vampire who comes seeking my help, or challenge my authority. In any event, I shall dedicate my first entry to myself, that I may never forget how I came to be so gifted as to be a hunter in the night.
 
It all began two years ago, when a curious visitor arrived in Egjora. He was a wizard of an inclination to the dark arts, chased out of his homeland by the unenlightened and the plebian. His name was Jethero E. Briarthorne, and he was stranded on the isle. At the time, I was unaware of his predicament, and indeed his very presence. My wife and I were busy finding our daughter a likely suitor, a challenging task considering my daughter’s temper. It was while walking the streets of Egjora, after a visit to a young baron, that I bumped into Mr. Briarthorne for the first time. I recognized the garb as something more elaborate than I would expect from the city’s plebs, though less elaborate than a noble, and quite different from a landowner’s typical garb. This man thus held my interest for a long enough time to make an introduction, and tell me his story. Being somewhat fascinated by the dark arts myself, I elected to invite him to my home, and provide him a more suitable place to sleep than the run-down tavern he had been forced to stay in up to that point.
 
I quickly came to understand that his grasp of the dark arts was more than a matter of simple theory. After a few weeks, I invited him to see my library, and he had some interesting things to say about a number of my tomes; in particular those that touched on the subject of necromancy. While I am personally inclined to enjoy the subtleties of psionics, his deep understanding of death-weaving was, frankly, captivating. We spent many an evening in my study, discussing the practice and theory of various forms of magic, and I soon came to understand that he would be an asset in my court.
 
It was not long before he had ingratiated himself firmly enough in my family that he held a position of trust in my household. As my personal wizard, he would advise me on many matters, and he did a splendid job of educating my daughter, eliminating the need for an army of tutors. He spent a year under my roof, handling my acquisition of books, assisting me in the purchase of wines and other delicacies, teaching my daughter, and providing me with a fascinating mind with which to spar on slow evenings. After that year had passed, however, he told me what he really was.
 
It is not hard, I should imagine, to understand - and appreciate - my astonishment, as the man revealed himself to be a vampire, allowing the illusion that had changed his appearance to fall at last. I was, of course, fascinated by the development. I was also quite curious, for in a year of living with healthy men and women, he had never touched either one of us, a fact I found somewhat bewildering, as the man was a vampire, infamous for their thirst. He explained to me that vampires typically had more restraint than people gave them credit for, and that he had avoided touching my family out of respect for the way I had honoured and helped him, by providing him with a home in my household. Upon reflection, the warning signs were there all along. He was always disinclined to leave the mansion during hours of sunlight, and many nights he would return from his walls with curiously red-shaded mud spatters on his clothing.
 
However, I digress. Upon revealing himself to be, Mr. Briarthorne offered me the greatest gift he could provide – his blood. It meant immortality, and domination of the night. Now, as a noble of Egjora, not being able to move comfortably in sunlight – not to mention the pale skin – would be rather conscious of a noble house. I therefore elected to postpone the process, and began the lengthy procedure that was turning my family gradually more reclusive. It worked, however – through careful planning, I managed to remove myself from the social scene of Egjoran aristocracy entirely. It was a difficult year for all of us, in particular my daughter, who is so fond of breaking young men’s hearts – or indeed their minds. However, it all turned out in the end, and we were prepared to become immortal.