Rogan’s journey as a vampire had been… unique, to say the least. Before the magical eruption that transformed Blossom Forest’s entire landscape - before whole territories moved like waves in the ocean and new bloodlines broke from obscurity - such things as vampires had existed purely in myth. Stories circulated of bloodthirsty creatures that preyed on their own kind, vicious and damned from salvation; these were fables meant to scare pups or entertain adolescents when the moon grew dark. By the time glowing red eyes truly became fact, varg had the terrifying name ready on their tongues: vampire. A nightmare come to life. A curse understood before the first set of deadly fangs actually grew. Yet Rogan had grown up beyond the boundary of Blossom Forest… his homeland rested in a place so obscure, so insulated, that legends never reached his ears. His pack told history, their world based solely in fact. It was not merely that they scoffed at myths - they had no myths to deride. Rogan had never heard of an afterlife, or of how the world might have been created, or of supernatural entities that haunted the earth. He possessed no framework whatsoever to prepare him for the separate universe he walked into.

Diosa had been the one to turn him: the Vampire Princess, only surviving daughter of the Vampire Queen. The shimmer of her rubies as they studied his face enthralled him - but still Rogan wrote off that impossible glow as a trait of the royal family. Something that wolves in this land flaunted, like white fur or brindled markings. She’d bitten him - the sharpest, sweetest kiss - and the horrific agony that burned through him was, to Rogan, a poison of some sort, probably derived from the exotic plants growing in Caidir Olc. He’d mistaken this bite as his “initiation” into the favored ranks. He believed that in time, he would gather immunity to the painful poison Diosa injected into his bloodstream. And then his once green eyes had fallen from his skull… blood spurted from every pore… his heart had stopped, he had died, and when he awoke it was as a new beast who would never see the sun or eat normal prey again. Not even a month into his life in Blossom - and Rogan was Turned. But how could someone who had never heard of vampires grasp what had become of him?

Again, it was Diosa who ultimately led the way to his new life. Patiently, gently, she explained Rogan’s reality. The price he must pay for all the dark gifts dropped into his lap. And rather than rail against his fate - instead of grieving what he had lost - the russet warrior took his destiny firmly between his newly fatal teeth. A hunter of hunters. Predator of predators. Diosa gave him purpose as both soldier and protector, so when disaster in Caidir Olc drove them out Rogan never felt at a loss. She had to but whisper his name, and Rogan came running - gladly. He would do anything for the shadow-painted lady. No matter how uncertain the future, whatever hardships battered their shoulders, Rogan stood by his Princess. His sweoster: maker. The first time Rogan had ever experienced raw, sickening rage in Blossom was when those blue-eyed bastards dare try to harm his lovely Diosa!

Thinking of it now - that savage battle between darkness and light - had the giant gladiator grimly gritting his knives, lanterns flaring a brighter, hotter crimson. The Tempests. He did not have to know who or what they were to know that he loathed them with every fiber in his massive body. Those monsters had tried to kill Diosa - something that made his blood boil, his breath hitch, his instincts bellow in fury. For too long his sweoster had lived in fear. He watched the way she withdrew deep into herself, building a prison within her heart. Diosa believed that she was unworthy of love… that her very existence deserved punishment. He could feel her fighting with herself whenever they were near each other; sometimes it seemed as if Diosa had accepted her feral nature, only to descend into a monstrous state Rogan hardly recognized. It was as if the evil she feared inside herself was a disease… the princess fought it, struggled, and upon “embracing” that malevolence her soul twisted. She was fracturing all the time - more delicate than Rogan would dare say aloud - and her saidu desired desperately to help her. And how would he pull that off, exactly? How would he rescue his drowning master?

Simple: he’d win back her kingdom.

For seasons now, Rogan had trailed along after his maker, ensuring that she always had a safe place to slumber when the killing sun smoldered golden over the horizon. Before he fed, he watched her feed. If they encountered any scent that reminded him of the Tempests, Rogan steered them away toward a better sanctuary. However, the vampire knight knew that they could not continue to live like rogues. Diosa needed a pack - a land that was hers, somewhere to rest without fear of being hunted. When no other territory appeared to suit their needs, Rogan gradually circled back around to the walls of Caidir Olc. He waited for months for the first hopeful sign to appear… when the maddening flowers that bloomed within the packland’s heart died at last and no excruciating hunger stabbed his chest. Rogan stepped past the border immediately, knowing that if any strangers infiltrated the terra first his vampiric nature would prevent him from taking back Diosa’s rightful throne.

The night sky stretched endlessly above the sleeping jungle, glittering with silver stars. The moon had closed her gleaming eye, leaving a pitch black hole settled amidst the diamond dust. In the heat of summer the air hung heavy, humid, and fragrant - beautifully familiar to the rust-hued vampire. He breathed deeply of Caidir’s rich green scent… and threw his cranium back to call for all those he’d met before, wolves he had tried to seduce with the promise of sinful delights only Caidir Olc could provide. Lupines that craved the shelter of the shadows… those whose natural violence marked them as dangerous, or whose depraved vices could be sated nowhere else. Rogan would take them all in. If they wished to join the ranks of the undead? He’d happily share his venom. And for those that would be collected, the strays Caidir would welcome as pets and lovers… woe be to any that harmed a single hair on their pelts.

“TO ME!” Rogan sang his demand into the blackness above. He reached for Diosa, begging her to come home. No more would the Tempests hold sway in Blossom Forest. The time of the midnight monsters had arrived.