In which the Reverse Vampire is described in detail and by poetry, prose, or other literary device.

By Luclin Faydwer Page 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Introduction Page 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ode to Reverse Vampire Page 3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Glossary

Page 1 - Reverse Vampire Records

INTRODUCTION

I welcome you, fair reader, to the Reverse Vampire Records; a short collection of poetry and prose detailing the life and times of the Reverse Vampire. In this book, you will likely discover many things you never knew about Reverse Vampire, in addition to a few more easily recognizable stories or fables. As this is a collection, rather than a single work, you can also expect a variety of interesting literary and visual expressions, from several sources.

I first became acquainted with Reverse Vampire while travelling near Suzail, in Cormyr. There were heated discussions between the local mercenaries and hunters about a sinister-looking man stalking the roads during the day. A reward was posted for information about this man, as several trade caravans had run into trouble with bandits recently and he was an obvious suspect.

Not being the sort to shy away from an oppourtunity for coin, I made it my mission to hunt down the sinister man while escorting a caravan of dry goods. The first day of travel was uneventful, discounting the twisted ankle of a gnomish ox driver. The second day was much the same, resulting only in a few hungry wolves trying to pick off the limping gnome.

On our third day, however, it happened. We had intended to enter town early in the evening, around sunset, but a few hours past noon we found the road ahead blocked. Before us in a line at least ten armed men wide was a line of men, ten across, all armed. Mostly carrying bows or short blades, they glared venomously at our humble caravan and the two or three guards up front, of which I was one.

While my associates began that ever-so-awkward game of seeing who could back away furthest without looking like a weakling, I spotted a leader step forward out of the line. A finely-dressed man, for a human bandit, with a loping brow and hirsute features that made him look like a lanky bear. In his hand, a longsword, pointed out in an effective attempt at intimidation.

"We're here for the goods," he began with a crackling call, the voice of a man for whom puberty is a new and sudden development, "but since we've been getting too much attention lately we're going to have to kill the witnesses too." He formed a dim smile, as though there were some humour to the next part of his uncomfortable diatribe. "So sorry."

The longsword slowly raised, pointing up to the sun which had only just begun to touch the treeline to the west. His aforementioned line of armed men began to bear down on us at a quick and awkward pace, stalking forward in that wholly embarrassing way where each man, though confident in the overall outcome of the fight, is still scared of being that one little casualty that the boss dismisses as one less share afterwards. They were almost upon us when He arrived, the brightness of his sapphire robes glaring back at those in attendance like the light of the sun reflected from its cloth. The cascading locks of fine, blonde hair fell in curls around his shoulders, flying out in the breeze like the flapping flag of a great ship. His hook hammer swung down without warning against the side of a bandit's head, leaving his foe in a deplorable mess in the trodden, muddy roadside.

Concern quickly formed into cowardice on the side of the bandits and confused hope on our own side. I was never personally worried (I happen to be an accomplished sword elf), but my few fellow mercenaries began to charge forward to aid our sudden defender. It was the sort of unfair that makes you want to cut yourself, just a little, so that when you meet your enemies later in Hell you can say, "Look, see this scar? I got that from fighting you. You weren't that bad." The kind of unfair that prompts a squire to finally just kill the noble knight, giving up on riding and etiquette and taking the easy road serving some evil wanker. The robed warrior left very few of our bandit friends in a state worthy of further beating, and I myself didn't reach them fast enough to even get a blow in without just hitting a man while he's down. Like I said, unfair.

When the proverbial dust had settled (for as I said, the road was a little muddy, and certainly not dusty), we had an oppourtunity to thank our rescuer (though I could have taken them). That's when I got the first good look at him: the proud, prominent chin of a noble, with the kind and compassionate bearing of an Ilmateri, lent him the encouraging visage of a knight or at least an antijerk (see glossary, pg. 3). His body, slender like a dancer, was nonetheless possessed of a certain indomitable strength. The hook hammer at his waist, fashioned by the rarest and most expert of Gnomish designs, had the faintest glimmer of magic visible on both its striking and hooking surfaces.

Speaking in a graceful, prominent voice, he met our gratitude with humility. "T'was nothing," he boomed, the intensity of his tone bringing not fear but admiration, "and I am glad to see you've all come out of it unscathed. Except for the gnome ox driver who succumbed to his twisted ankle and died." He looked out over the assembled members of the caravan, and continued. "The roads in this area have been frequently accosted by bandits like this, and so I have been stalking the trade routes in search of fine people like yourselves. Thankfully, nobody was harmed before I arrived to put an end to the ruffians."

Our employer and leader of the Caravan replied, "So the rumours of a sinister-looking man in these parts...they were about you?"

"I would say so." Up close, there was nothing sinister about this stranger, although I remembered then that when he first arrived, from a distance he seemed almost frighteningly fierce or untamed, like a proud but wild animal. "In this case," he continued gloriously, "I am more than willing to take on such rumours, so long as my work can continue and the roads can remain safe."

We spoke only briefly afterwards, for we had to get into town before nightfall. Already the serene, cloudless blue of the sky had given way to a chaotic, almost visceral crimson and fuchsia skyline as the sun dipped ever lower behind the trees. My eyes turned to admire the sight, and as they did the stranger also looked. His own eyes of the brightest blue lit with a sudden fright, a look I almost expected he could never possess. His voice still proud, yet tremulous with deep, hidden concern, he spoke to the group of us. "It is far too late for me to be out, and you are very close to your destination. I bid you all fare well, and with luck we shall not again need to meet under such circumstances." With that, he turned with haste to the nearby woods and took off at an impressive pace.

It occurred to me then I had forgotten a very important thing, as I know the importance of being polite yet often forget its implementation. I called out after him, "Sir! Before you go, tell us; what is your name?"

He paused in his stride to look back, wearing a warm and comforting smile as he shouted. "My name? Dear lady, you may call me...Reverse Vampire!"

So ended my first, but not last, encounter with the Reverse Vampire. We have had at least a few meetings elsewhere in Faerun, once in Thay, twice in the lands surrounding Baldur's Gate, and a few more times elsewhere on the roads. It is to my great delight that I have not met him here in the Underdark, for although I would be grateful for all his aid and warm encouragement, I could not bear to think of what havoc this utter darkness would wreak on his light-thirsting body.

The Reverse Vampire is an enigma, as he must be with good reason. There are many throughout the world who envy his power, the force of his vibrant personality, the praise of the people he rescues, and the accolades he receives all over the world. His enemies are numerous, though none yet have managed to undo him in such a way that he could not bounce back. The resiliency of Reverse Vampire is such that, in a manner similar to his darker kin, he may very well live forever to bring good fortune and light into the lives of people all over Toril.

Reverse Vampire, I salute you. -Luclin Faydwer, Sword Elf

Page 2 - Reverse Vampire Records

ODE TO REVERSE VAMPIRE

Reverse Vampire. Reverse Vampire. Cursed to expire by stake or by fire, but nigh unto nothing worse can befall you. Reverse Vampire. Lurking by sunlight or bonfire. Soaking in rays of brightness and beauty, through me you stare, as you are a vegetar-ian.

Reverse Vampire. You hire yourself as a squire. The paladins love you of course. You toss a mean salad for meals, three-course. The holiest of holy's, your goal is only to please and to twist the perceptions of these, your most scornful hosts. Reverse Vampire...

On trial. Your file, immense. No recompense for the sin of you merest being was hence given value, I'll tell you, poor Reverse Vampire, he's over the fire, the barrel, the fence! His fate in the hands of the damned, the TRUE vampire, lurking in shadow, a cowardly force to be sure, it's his will that Reverse Vampire must perspire...then expire!

Reverse Vampire, what have they done?

by Luclin Faydwer

Page 3 - Reverse Vampire Records

GLOSSARY

antijerk: A person who displays qualities in direct contrast with those generally associated with jerks. i.e.: A jerk may have difficulty sharing, whereas an antijerk is generous by nature.