Mystic Falls 2015

The night was chilly, but Alasdair didn't mind. In fact, he relished it. He strolled down the empty town's main road, handsome with his raven black hair and almost unnaturally blue eyes. He wondered for a moment at the lack of people, but then remembered reading in the paper that there had been a mining fire that had caused a town wide evacuation. He smiled. That was very likely a lie. In his long life he had often found that when a town was evacuated, as this one had been, its cause was usually of the supernatural variety.

As he passed the local bar, he heard footsteps behind him. Turning around to see who it was, he found himself facing a man with brown hair, wearing a blazer and collared shirt.

"Nice suit," the stranger drawled. Alasdair smiled, adjusting his all white dress attire slightly. Looking at the stranger's own choice of clothing, Alasdair sighed, "I wish I could say the same to you."

The stranger's smirk curdled like sour milk. "What's your name, friend?" he spat.

"My name is Alasdair," Alasdair replied evenly, "And what is yours, friend?"

"My name is Malcolm," and suddenly Malcolm snarled, growing fangs and charging Alasdair with a supernatural blast of speed, closing down his jaws on Alasdair's neck, intent on sucking the life out of him.

Except, nothing happened. There was no blood to drink from. Alasdair sighed, as Malcolm staggered away from him in horror. Before he could react, Alasdair had him by the throat, and Malcolm was dangling in air.

"You know Malcolm," Alasdair lamented, looking at the ruins of his neck that were already healing, "that was my favorite jacket." He plunged his hand into Malcolm's chest, grasping his hand around his heart. Desperate, Malcolm tried to quell Alasdair with magic, summoning up a spell that would incapacitate any supernatural creature.

Alasdair stared at Malcolm. What was he doing with his hand? He wondered. Then it hit him, "You can do magic," he breathed, amazed, "As a vampire? Incredible. Unfortunately for you, it won't work on me. I assure you it's a common mistake however."

Malcolm struggled in Alasdair's grip. "Please," he choked out, begging for his life.

Alasdair simply shook his head. "Not only do you attack me, with no provocation, you ruin my favorite jacket. And you do all this without the slightest notion of who I am, or my power." He drew Malcolm closer, his voice becoming a snarl. "I am the oldest creature on this planet. Show me some damn respect!" And with that, he ripped Malcolm's heart out, dropping the body in the middle of the street, and continued with his walk. His night suitably ruined, his thoughts went to the night so long ago, when he had become what he was today…

Scotland 1046 BC

The night was frigid, and Alasdair hated it. He hated the cold. He longed for the few short days of summer, when the Highlands were warm and the flowers in bloom. Muireall would always tease him, telling him what a terrible Pictish warrior he was, for loving the flowers so much. He didn't see what was so bad about it. Between all the blood and chaos that followed the life of a Pictish warrior, a little natural beauty was to be appreciated, he felt. It didn't matter anyways, it was the dead of winter, and he was no longer fighting for clan and township, he was fighting invaders.

They were passing below them now, marching in neat columns. Invaders were nothing new, but no one had ever seen invaders like these before. Invaders usually came from the East, and were not that much different from the Picts themselves. These invaders, however, had come from the southwest, and they looked as foreign as could possibly be imagined. Riding golden chariots, their warriors initially wore nothing on their upper bodies. A Caledonian winter had quickly changed that. The few times the clans had engaged these foreigners in the open field, the result had been disastrous. Whatever these foreigners lacked in outdoorsmanship, they made up for in strategy. Half the clans' best warriors had been struck down in one afternoon. That didn't happen again, as the clans had adopted a kind of forest warfare, one that had been far more successful against the invaders. The force below them was small, only a few chariots, which had become a theme lately with the invaders. After losing a few large forces, the invaders had gotten smarter, committing less and less forces to patrols. Unfortunately for them, it wouldn't stop these patrols from getting slaughtered.

The leader of Alasdair's clan raised his axe above his head, and with a roar a dozen Pictish warriors charged onto the unsuspecting invaders. That is, until a new roar could be heard from behind Alasdair. Turning around, he realized with horror that the invaders had actually ambushed the entire tribe. They had used the small patrol as bait. Dozens of invaders were surrounding the Picts. Disgusted, Alasdair's chief threw his axe on the ground. They had learned that the invaders took prisoners, and would frequently use the prisoners to exchange for land and other services. As Alasdair's clanmates began throwing their weapons on the ground and kneeling, a commotion occurred from the back of the invaders war party. A woman, stunningly beautiful with a large snakeskin coat on her back strode forward. A witch, Alasdair realized. He'd heard tales of the powerful sorceresses of the invaders, yet had never seen one face to face. Looking over the assembled faces of the Pictish warriors, her gaze lingered on Alasdair. Something about the look in her eyes made his skin crawl. Nodding, she pointed at him. Two of their warriors went and started dragging him in her wake. Behind him, he heard the screams of slaughter as his fellow warriors were cut down. All he could think was, Why me?

Mystic Falls 2015

The door to the Salvatore house swung open with a bang. Nora and Mary-Louise rushed in, carrying the body of Malcolm between them.

"Valerie! Beau!" Nora cried, the brunette vampire-siphoner distraught with grief and confusion. The dirty-blonde and the mute pounded into the room.

"Oh no Malcolm!" Valerie cried, rushing to her dead friend's side.

"We found him like this in the middle of the street." Mary-Louise stated, the blonde tearing up as she made eye contact with Nora, her lover.

"We mustn't let Lily see him like this," Nora insisted. Lily Salvatore had at that moment just entered the room. Seeing her favorite "child" dead, she rushed to his side, sobbing, stroking his face and repeating the same phrase over and over. "Who did this?"

"There's only a few people who could have done this," Nora opined, "And all of them are affiliated with your sons."

"They will pay for this," Lily declared, "They will pay, in blood."

A/N: Reviews are encouraged and appreciated. Let me know what you think!