The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

An old man, wizened and wisened from his long years alive; bent over with age and blind with time. He was speaking to a young arrogant man, youthful and strong. "The four horsemen of the apocoslpye? They simply do not exist old man..."

The old man said, quickly hushing him before he could continue. "Hush boy...lest you wish them to prove they exist..."

The man scoffed, grumbling as he walked away "Preposterous, this is myth against science....blashmany..." The old man watched him walk away, and then stood; pulling his light green cowl over his head, picking up his scythe as he walked out of the town.



The night came quickly, as they always did for this small town, nestled as it is in the mountains. The young man watched from his window as it came, as he always did since he was a child; his family sleeping soundly; a yellow mist began to settle in the town. He watched as a white horse with a rider in white armor. A golden bow on its back, yellow mist dripping off the cloak on the rider's back. The young man watched as the horseman stopped dead in the center of the town; he left his home once he was sure that the being was not going anywhere. "Unless you have business here stranger, I suggest you leave..." The rider looked at him; a cloudy blue eye stared almost blankly. He went to speak again and this time the rider interrupted; revealing that the rider was a woman. "I...am...Pestilence...first horsemen of the apocalypse"

The man laughed "Prove it then woman..." She nodded, drawing her bow which secreted the yellow mist; she shot several in windows of house, but no glass broke. Then she disappeared into the night.



The next morning, he wakes with his wife to find his two youngest sons and only daughter had died from the plague. Soon he found out that many others had lost their lives. As his children were buried, beside him; his eldest son was burying his wife and infant child beside his. His wife stricken with grief; he shakes his head thinking. The plague was carried on the wind...not on the tip of an arrow... soon night fell again.



This night people watched from their windows as a rider came into the town, his armor red and savage, riding on a horse in armor just the same as his, a great sword dragging on the ground; creating sparks as it grinded against the stone. Again the young man approached the rider, slightly agitated by the lack of sleep; his sad voice rose slightly. "Stranger, this place does not welcome you...” His horse snorted and the rider spoke, his voice dark. "I am War, second horsemen of the apocalypse..."

The young man scoffed, "Bullshit. You know what? I don't care who you are...leave" With a purpose, the rider drew his sword, pointing it at the young man. "You have a tongue on you mortal! Maybe I should cut it out..." War's attention turned and then he sheathed his sword, he spurred his horse’s flank and took off, and the horse’s hooves sounding of thunder; the man shook his head as he walked back to his home. The next morning, the village was attacked on all sides by bandits, for days this battle lasted, claiming the life of his last remaining son. His distraught wife stood behind him as others buried the dead; he frowned. “Just random chance, no way that they came because of that rider.”



The survivors slammed and barred their windows for the night; the young man however watched as always. This time, a man in rages, so starved that bones could be seen from hunger appeared, his horse much the same way. In his hand a scale, this time the young man walked out angry, and a pistol in his hand. The young man began to yell, "STRANGER I DEMAND-" The rider spoke interrupting him, his voice raspy and frail; turning his head slowly...”Why do you yell at...Famine....the third horsemen..." The young man yelled lifting his pistol to the rider "YOU ARE NOT! YOU ARE A MAN STRAVED AND DRIVEN MAD BY IT! LEAVE! YOU WILL FIND NOTHING HERE!" The horsemen looked at his scales as they tilted to nothing....he sighed tiredly and moved on.



The next morning all of the livestock, and fields had died; this just before the first snowfall...and the winter passed claiming all but him; driven mad by this, he screamed into the air as he sat over his wife’s grave.

"HORSEMEN!! HORSEMEN!! I TAKE ALL MY DISBELIF AGAINEST YOU BACK! I TAKE MY THREATS AND ILL MANNERS BACK! PLEASE! END THIS!"

The smell of rotting flesh filled his nose, he turned and a rotting horse stood behind him, along with the others who had visited. The new rider cloaked in a light green, resting his scythe on his shoulder. "I give you...a choice..." The deal was never heard by the sprits that lingered...but whatever it was, he agreed to it. Death swung his scythe, cutting through his soul...then putting it back into him.



Time was reversed, all who died, being brought back; though, the young man was no longer there. His family searched for years, but finally giving up. Every year after, the village celebrated Reincarnation day, only feeling they should, and every time on a cliff above the village, the horsemen sat and watched; but slightly in front of them was a man in bandages stained with blood, a white mask in his hand, the inside stained red and the outside around the eyes as well. The young man smiled, now serving them; placing the mask on his face he turned with them and did his duty, which only he could perform. As the Red Death.