In the age of yor when times wassimpler where a man can own his own land fight for it and control it and all that live on it. A time where the Mississippi river carved out small empires around the south lived a particularly rich and powerful family. They were known as the McCullen family they owed the largest plot of land all around Georgia. They grew cash crops of all types they had the second largest cotton plantation in all of America the largest tobacco plantation and even a island down in the Caribbean that sol purpose was to grow sugar cane for export gaining them huge sums of money.

Yes the McCullen family was a small kingdom smack dab in the middle of Georgia. They could trace their bloodline back to the great French kingdom of the Charlemagne ages or so they would tell the many guest who frequently join them at the main mansion that sits on top of a hill and is surrounded by the cotton plantation that is the backbone of their empire. The patriarch of the McCullen family is Jebadiah McCullen III a old man who always wears a fine snow white three piece suite made of the finest cotton from his own plantation. He isn’t hard to notice his snake leather crisp point shoes and his cane christened with a ball of pure gold with the family initials engraved on it that he uses to walk give him a very clear and noticeable sound as he walks the halls of his mansion.

The many light brown pleasant looking house slaves always knew when he was about in the house from his three point sharp and loud gallop on his pure oak floorboards imported from the forest in Virgina. They would often be just out of site cowering and dreading the moment Jebadiah would stop in his tracks and cough twice clearing his throat to signal his need of his slaves. Jebadiah may be from a old family but his was not from the oldblood of kings, dukes, and priest whom he claimed in many of hisconversations with the rich and powerful folks in his extravagant parties that he throws to show off his wealth. No his bloodline was from a much darker and foul bloodline one as old as Cane and Able a bloodline that stalks the night and strikes fear into the strongest of men that even brainless animals would have enough sense to keep away from.

Jebadiah was average in hight at five foot seven inches six inches if you caught him with out his shoes on, had neatly cut long salted hair with a crisp beard on his face peppered with faint color of his once red hair but was mostly white from a long life and stress. He wasn’t the only member of the McCullen family no his wife Vanessa was so feared by the slaves they wouldn’t dare raise their head to look at her with out being smack across leaving deep claw like scratches across their face. She wore a deep dark purple dress of the most prominent fashion of Europe and her classic red heels and was never seen with out a vail over her face with either a elegant paper fan or a matching sun umbrella. They both ruled over the large plantation with a ferocious iron fist that they would be more then happy to demonstrate if the need be to anyone be it slaves of which they own near a quarter thousand of or regularupstanding folks who they feel have wronged them in some type of manner.

The slaves often worked from before sunrise to mid day taking a small hour break to work well into the night. None dare to even think of leaving as the last brave soul that tried to escape with his family corpse is still locked up in a three foot high cage infront of the slave quarters. His family of two small children both eighteen and a woman no more then thirty six had their legs cut off in front of every slave including the house slaves, and how they were left in the fields to be eaten alive by the vermin and insects that roam in the fields. They all saw as Bartley the man in charge with maintaining the slaves in good working order was also whipped and then had been dipped in hot bubbling oil for letting them escape essentially cooking him alive.

Bartley son Gilbert was the one who punished his father and was now in charge of the slaves he is young man at the tender age of nineteen but filled with the hate of a bitter broken down eighty year old man. He would stay and watch over the slaves day and night making sure that even the spirit of the slave who has been long dead in the cage due to starvation couldn’t escape to Hell. Gilbert is engaged to be married to Chastity the only child of the McCullen family she is a beautiful vibrant young lady of eighteen years old. Chastity while looked to be a fairy tale princess with her dark charcoal black curls and bright shining sky blue eyes was a evil child often flaunting her body over the huge muscle having negros that worked over the fields.

If any would look up she would pull out a large club studded with small iron balls she carried and beat the slave to death with a smile and giggling as the body twitches and is gurgling for mercy. If none looked up she would be filled with so much hate from being spurned by these beast that she would walk up to one of the boss men and point out any woman slave and have her raped infront of the other slaves and shot dead afterwards. Chastity loved watching the negro women scream and groan in pain then curl up trying to gather her torn clothing up despite knowing that soon she would be killed. Chastity especially loved how the skulls burst open and blood splash all over the field as no one could help her or even look away scared they might suffer the same treatment and punishment from this demented child.

Jebadiah knew of his daughters extra curricular strolls over the field, but couldn’t care less. In his mind she was a angel, a saint in his eyes walking among the slaves giving them a bit of entertainment before they would work themselves to death. He stood on the porch of his mansion looking on as his daughter would blow him a kiss and head off towards the slave house presumably to torture the slaves to start her day. It’s very rare that a vampire can actually have a born child as most ranks of vampires are made picked and chosen by another who you inadvertently impressed with your act of cruelty over your fellow man.

That’s how Jebadiah was turned back in the battle field of some long forgotten village in the desert buried under sand but once was filled with life and death. In the great calling of God himself crying out for his children to reclaim his lands from the evil Ottoman empire, Jebadiah wasn’t a man who was stricken with the cry of battle for God’s army and glory. No he was a common English man a traveling thief who made his way from London to Paris who was caught stealing from a shop. Once jailed he was sentenced to die in battle for his Gods forgiveness in the hopes that his noble sacrifice will gain Gods favor and spare him a eternity of pain with the devil himself. He wasn’t even called Jebadiah his name that he was born into is long forgotten since he was reborn in the field of battle.

His company officer was one Count Francis Rothschild of a small village who’s ranks were filled with many criminals from petty thieves likeJebadiah to murders and rapists of nuns. His company has survived the two year trek from the borderlands of France to the middle east, once they reached the Chosen Land they were all dismayed. Gods Kingdom was filled with sand, blood, burned churches, and carnage. That’s what Jebadiah remembers of the land which that his company was sent to save. His group of two hundred men were surprised nearly being swallowed up buy a sand storm that appeared to come from God himself banishing the men from his land. They quickly ran into shelter in a small village that was mostly burned down by the Ottoman armies and waited out the storm. Some tookshelter behind the stone walls that stayed erect while others were picked for guard duty and stayed awake guarding then rest as they slept.

Then in the middle of the night while most of the men slept in the chard remains of the pillaged village and the sand storm was still raging. A group of Ottoman Calvary chargers rode into town using the storm as cover the sentinels didn’t notice them. A third of the condemned soldiers where slaughtered by the time the rest woke up and fought back the charge. Jebadiah was awaken by the cries of men dying around him quickly he grabbed his sword and shield ready to fight not for his God or his fellow men but for his own survival having his mind, body, and soul dip into that beastly urge that man experiences when his life is threaten and wants to live no matter the cost.

He charged at a horseman using his shield as a battering ram and crashing into the neck of the horse tumbling the rider off his mount. Jebediah ran his sword down the riders chest the riders thick cloth wasn’t no match for the cheap metal blade that easily sliced threw the man quickly ending his life. Next he used the sand storm to his advantage running with the wind to hide his approach and slaughtered three more riders inadvertently saving count Rothschild who was about to be killed by a huge Turk welding a large curved blade. Jebadiahs brave charge inspired the rest of the men and they circled the riders and began to hack them away until they bolted threw the crusaders ranks, and retreated back into the desert disappearing like spirits in the night.

Count Rothschild who was in charge of the men and nearly was cut down is now missing his left arm and was walking among his men inspecting the troops like as if he wasn’t bleeding out profusely onto the ground. Normally a cut that big in a dirty sand storm would leave a man’s wounds to fester and eventually kill the man or leave him severely lame. The count didn’t seem to mind in fact he rallied everyone together to prepare for the next charge of the sacrilegious Turks. Jebadiah noticed the counts wounds and urged the count to relax and lay down fully expecting him to die a agonizing death of some infection or blood loss if he wasn’t treated quickly enough.

After Jebediah helped Count Rothschild into a small house to start a fire he placed a sword in the embers, as soon as Jebadiah placed the sword on the embers to burn and clean the wound he felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck. As well as what felt like a sharp claw carving some sort of symbol on his back in the shape of a six point star that burned his skin and made the room smell like the sulfuric pools in the bedrock of Hell itself was rising around them. The pain was sharp but brief everything seemed to pause and the world faded into darkness a deep and empty darkness that seemed to swallow everything up. When Jebadiah woke up all was diffrent the air was still and warm the dry air wasn’t the same as it was when he last remembered. Instead of a howling wind blowing sand everywhere the air was quiet and he was alone in this still and deathlysilent world that he has awoken into.

Standing up Jebadiah felt diffrent no longer weak from hunger or his feet sore and blistered from the months of marching across Europe to the other side of the world. He awoken with the sense of power he looked at the sky and it seemed like a new world to him. Stepping out he saw it wasn’t a new world but the same one only with more bodies littering the ground both Turks and some of his fellow French men their bodies half buried in sand. “Ahhh we have awoken have we? Shame I thought I’d have them all to myself if you didn’t survive.” Count Rothschild said from across the burned village in a hushed tone but Jebadiah could hear him as clear as if he was standing in front of him.

“I’m sure you’ll see that you missed quite a battle. That’s fine I saved a few Turks who survived the battle for us to enjoy, come to the church my boy.” Count Rothschild waved him over with a hypnotic gaze that Jebadiah couldn’t resist. They both entered a church that was barely standing with its walls ashen with remnants of a fire the few pews that where left were filled with captured Turks bound up like stuffed pigs and even some of the men that were part of the company Count Rothschild controlled were bound like prisoners.

“You have survived I knew their was something special about you from the moment I saw you back in France.” Count Rothschild stepped closer to the men. “Which one do you want? You’ll need your strength if you want to make the trip back or keep on hunting here in our land.”

Jebadiah was surprised his own comrades at arms gagged and bound like wild boar in some sort of kings feast. “Your insane what do you mean? Release them this isn’t what we came here for have you been stricken mad?” Jebadiah said as he went to untie a solider, but the closer Jebadiah got the louder his ears rang with a thumping sound a beating of a loud drumb. He focused on the sound pinpointing it to the men’s hearts beating faster and faster under their chest from fear.
“You hear them don’t you? You feel that hate that burns deep in your body towards that sound don’t you? It’s their hearts silence them.” Count Rothschild said to Jebadiah smiling as he saw Jebadiah dive towards the nearest man and tore into his neck. Instinctively Jebadiah knew where to strike and closed his mouth over the man’s throat his sharp tongue dragging over the soft flesh tearing up skin as it drags over the area and leaving a much softer and raw flesh in its place. He then dug his teeth tearing into him and began to drain him dry noticing he didn’t use his fangs in his mouth to suck the man dry, but his tongue feeling it split open revealing tiny suction cups that drained the man dry leaving nothing but a pile of bones in a sack of flesh where a young man once stood.

The other bound up men cried some prayed to their God for salvation while a Turk solider cursed them in Turkish, “Şeytan vampir şeytan oğlu Tanrı cehenneme geri grev olabilir!” Which roughly translates to vampire demon son of Satan may God strike you back into Hell. “A smart one you know of us?” Count Rothschild asked as he got closer to the brave Turk. “Speak up sığırlar or forever hold your tongue as I send you into the abyss.”

The Turk spat at Count Rothschild leaving a trail of yellow mucous dripping down Rothschilds face and spoke up loudly in broken english. “I’m no sığırlar I’m no cattle I am a solider of Tanrı of God sent here to rid your filth off this land.” Count Rothschild wiped the spit off his face with his elongated tongue stretching up and grabbing all of it up then spitting it back at the Turk. “Your doing a terrible job at it sığırlar.”

Jebadiah stepped back after seeing the sack of flesh and noticed what he has done his hand over his gaping mouth still tasting the iron tang of that man’s blood in his tongue. “My God what have I done?” Jebadiah looked over to the tipped cross from where Jesus Christ hung his head looking away as if condemning the gruesome act Jebadiah has just commented. “It’s fine we all lose it at first but you can’t gorge yourself like a glutton like that everytime. Pace yourself here like this.” Count Rothschild pounced on the man to the left of him sucking on his neck for three seconds leaving him pale and dazed as his mouth hung open drool and blood dripping from his mouth.

Jebadiah felt sick feeling his stomach bubble and he began to vomit uncontrollably purging himself of the blood he just consumed. “My word, your a rude one.” Count Rothschild said as he pulled a handkerchief out and cleaned the excess amount of blood from his lips and politly folding the handkerchief back into his pocket. “You’ll learn to control your urges. I had to wait a month before I could feast having to endure the meats and wine that these cattle feed on.” Count Rothchild said eluding to how the company would lose a man or two every few weeks most thought they deserted. Now Jebediah knows they weren’t cowardly men running from their fate but victims of Rothschild hidden evil. Rothchild encouraged Jebediah to try to feast on one again the urge to drink the warm and addicting blood was to much to deny and they continued to slowly devour the men once Count Rothschild explained what had happened to Jebadiah.

---