The Fangless Troupe

Outcast vampires are very rare, so I consider myself lucky to have been one of the first members inducted into an entertainment troupe lead by two such vampires. These fangless vampires had lost the favor of the Nameless and were given to the Rift as somewhat of playthings. A demon, who I still do not know the name to, cut open their chests and drew runes on their hearts, rearranging some of their appetites and removing their vampiric powers. Then the demon pulled their two primary incisors out. The vampires, who were actually siblings, were forced to stitch one another's ribs closed. This was, of course, before they created the troupe.

The sister particularly fancied story telling. Their tales were morbid and often sopping with gore, yet they were mysteriously enjoyable and thought provoking. The brother played percussion and the sister a harp, only to enrich and glamorize the dialogue. Their acts were the best I have seen to this day, their many shows including masks, stage, and deep, symbolic references to their trialed existence. I once caught them feasting on chilled blood, and I will never forget the look of embarrassment on their faces. To think a vampire could slip so far away from the Nameless often makes me wonder about my own spiritual integrity.

The troupe was ceaselessly moving and performing, and none of us slept at night. We learned to love the stars. The troupe was a guise for the vampires and an experiment for the rest of us. We studied stage performance without rest, but it was a different kind of performance. I cannot think of one time while I was with the troupe that an audience clapped or cheered after one of our shows. It was a quest to get flat or wide-eyed stares without being insulting, violent, dull, or controversial. The fangless vampires insisted that we could not be remembered while still being entertaining. It was a study of subtlety and mind tricks.

Our last performance was in Miruvhor. We slept at the docks and sometime during the night, the two vampires slipped out. I know now that they left for the safety of the rest of us, for a separate kindred, one who had not lost his powers, tracked them down and was waiting for them in the desert. There was a short battle and the hunter was victorious. The assassin chained the fangless brother and sister vampire to a rock in the path and when the morning sun light crept over the horizon, they both burnt to death. When the troupe awoke not hours later, we dispersed, as any leaderless band would. There were few ceremonial goodbyes, and I came to reside again in the Shire.

Two years later, I received a letter from the Bard guild overseer in Val Miran explaining that another follower of the Cycle, a vampire, was ordered to assassinate the fangless siblings because they were holding manuals of the Masque even though they were Outcasts. No wonder they were so good at acting. Supposedly the manuals burnt with them when they died.