he year was 1427 and the Norse settlements of Greenland were declining. Brattahlid, which had once been a promising colony with hundreds of people was now a ghost-town. Far more serious, though, were the mysterious deaths that were plaguing the few settlers left. One by one, day by day, the population dwindled until all that was left of Brattahlid was a lone family.
A father Karl, and his daughter, Ísleif. The girl's mother, Svan, who had been a Skræling, had died ten years prior in a hunting accident. The girl's mixed Norse/Skræling heritage had been a source of contempt for most of the settlement. Thus, Karl and his daughter lived in relative isolation, on the outskirts of Brattahlid. This had been their saving grace for some time, as they had been unharmed by whatever it was that was leaving behind settlers drained of their blood.
On a particularly snowy day, in the already freezing weather of Greenland, their luck ran out. As Karl and Ísleif attempted to flee the island, they were approached by a strange man.
He had dark black eyes, light blond hair, a wide forehead, and a prominent chin. His physical build was rather slight. In fact, Ísleif was taller than him. What was most interesting about the stranger, however, was his skin. The man was extremely pale, even for a Norseman. All in all, the stranger was beautiful.
And yet, Ísleif, felt ill at ease in his presence. Something about the stranger reminded her of something her mother, Sven, had warned her of as a child. Before she could think to warn her father of the man, Ísleif watched as the man disappeared from in front of her. She felt a gust of wind sweep past her and then immediately sensed a presence behind her.
Whirling around in shock, Ísleif watched in horror as the stranger snapped her father's neck. Ísleif cried out. Her father was dead. She was an orphan. It soon got worse though. The man bit into her father's neck with ease and drank. He was feeding on her father's blood!
Ísleif realized exactly what the man was and what her mother had warned her of so many winters ago. He was a Cold One. Ísleif ran for her life. She knew that the chances of her outrunning him were close to none, but she wouldn't stand around and wait for the monster to finish feeding on her father and then move on to her. She wouldn't hand herself over to him and to death so easily.
Ísleif ran, faster than she had ever ran in her entire life, but compared to the monster, she must have been a hobbling cripple. Within seconds he was upon her.
"Now, now girl. There's no more need to run. It will all be over soon. It's always a shame to kill a young lady, especially one as beautiful and unique as yourself. But hunger is hunger. And you look more delicious than most."
The man lunged at her. Ísleif felt a terrible sensation at her neck. His teeth were ripping into her skin and bloodying everything. And then he was gone.
Ísleif could distantly hear snarling and the howl of wolves. Loud noises echoed through the night, like boulders crashing together. As loud as they were, Ísleif could hardly hear them.
A fire had ignited in her neck, and seemed to creep through her body. The pain from the wound seemed to pale in comparison to the agony that the slow boil of her blood was causing. Ísleif fell unconscious.
But the roaring flames did not relent.
Two days later, Ísleif awoke. The fire that had burned through her body had run its course, leaving behind a body that felt stronger than ever, and a heart that no longer beat.
Ísleif immediately understood what she was, the power in her limbs, and the thirst burning in her throat left no doubts. Opening her eyes, Ísleif witnessed a familiar and get much altered scene. The environment that she had seen throughout her entire life seemed to have come alive. Ísleif could distinguish between several colours of snow, and each individual snowflake that fell from the night sky.
Even more impressive than her vision, was her sense of smell. Ísleif could smell the snow, her own floral scent overlaid with dirt, and her waterlogged furs, the remnants of a thick, almost greasy smog. That last scent triggered in Ísleif an almost primal response, her body tensed and she snarled. Immediately she understood that the smog was a result of a burnt Cold One. The thought of herself at the mercy of flames was enough to make Ísleif bolt.
Ísleif flew through the air, running at speeds that would surpass the fastest animals in the world. She was determined to get as much distance between her, and whoever, or whatever it was that was capable of killing a Cold One, now that she herself was one. As she ran however, she noticed that a mouthwatering scent had tinged the air, setting her throat aflame. Without even meaning to, she adjusted her course. As the scent intensified, so too did her need for whatever it was that was causing it. Her vision had tunneled. All that mattered in that moment was the scent, and the heartbeat that she could now hear accompanying it. She felt venom pool in her mouth.
Ísleif lunged, and with a sickening crack she ripped the skull off of her prey. Blood squirted in the air and coated her furs, her hair and her face, but Ísleif didn't notice. Her victim's heart hadn't yet registered that it belonged to a headless body, and that it should stop beating, so wave after wave of hot blood gushed into Ísleif's waiting mouth.
After the body had given all it could, Ísleif felt sated. Her skin felt warm, and flushed, and there was a pleasant warmth in her stomach as well. She had never felt so good in her life.
Ísleif for the first time really noticed her prey. She was shocked. Could it be possible?