The first and indeed only mention of the name Kravag in the township ledgers of Messinghof is in the late twenty-second century. An odd name, even for an odd and mercifully forgotten corner of the Empire, one Kravag was born to a Yarognev the Younger. The unconventional name "Kravag," by rough approximation, meant "evil" or "ill-starred" in the crude dialect of the benighted eastern peasantry. The last of thirteen offspring, Kravag's birth on Hexensnacht eve, 2178, is the same date as his mother's death, indicating her death during or shortly after childbirth.
No further note is made of this insignificant figure, and it is impossible to say whether this is the same Kravag that appears many years later in the whispered folklore of Sylvania. Kravag the Voracious, it is said, was once a Hogmonger's slave and son. Whipped and beaten, Kravag was treated differently than his six brothers and six sisters, each of whom was doted upon by their father. Every evening, this gargantuan swineherd and his twelve portly children supped on magnificent meals of beer and porkpie, stuffed eggs, boiled eel and braised greens with bacon. And every night, for dessert, they would gorge on plums in sweet wine. Kravag, so the story goes, was left to shiver in the the pigsty, being forbidden from the dinner table of his kin. The poor wastrel, starved half-way to a skeleton, survived on what mere scraps remained when the Hogmonger sent one of his paunchy progeny to throw the evening's rubbish to the swine. Even then, being scarcely six stone in heft, young Kravag could barely compete with the dozen or so ponderous sows that each measured ten times his weight or more. What little he could find of the leavings once the swine had finished with the bulk of it, Kravag could never find even a trace of the sweet wine and plums that he yearningly smelled wafting from the farmhouse each night.
Now if superstitious peasant tales are to be believed—and they most certainly are not—young Kravag's fate changed one night when a gaunt, terrible figure stalked out of the evening shadows towards the pigpen. Before the boy's eyes, the hideous creature sprang upon a young hog and rent its flesh, gorging on its very lifeblood. Only when the glutton's belly was full of swine blood did it notice the meek, terrified child peering at it from the dark corner of the stockade. At first the monster bared its wicked teeth and it seemed as if its fangs doubled in length. Kravag squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could in fear, but did not scream, for even at such a precious young age, he knew this death would be superior to even a moment more in his wretched life. Heavy heartbeats passed and yet death did not come to the pitiful child. Slowly, he opened one eye, then the other, until he was again staring at the beast. The figure had barely moved from his position gazing upon the child, hunched over the mangled sow. Then, to Kravag's surprise, the creature coughed, specks of black blood appearing on its sallow lips. In the pale moonlight, the beast looked different now... no longer vigorous and hale, but rather infirm and dying. The creature spoke in a slow, halting, heavy accent, as if it had not used its tongue in countless years but to lap up blood like an animal.
"For ages I have roamed the mountainside, chased from my home and hunted. I was royalty, ruling over my sheep. At Hel Fenn, I was awash in the blood of mortals. Now I feast on rodents and cattle... for too long, I have feared discovery and shunned hunting the cobbled streets and country roads that are my birthright. It has weakened me and now I am dying. But my line will not die. If I cannot rule again, then my lineage will after me."
It was then that the monster gave Kravag the blood kiss, before transforming one last time into a monstrous winged creature and flying off into the night sky. Within a moment, the memories of past royalty, the Aristocracy of the Night, flooded the boy's consciousness, and his darkest desires were transformed into a hideous plot.
The next night, when Kravag's portly brother came to discard the remnants of the Hogmonger's supper to the pigs, he did not return to the farmhouse. The next day, when the brother did not appear at breakfast, the siblings convinced their father that he must have gone to town for more eggs. The next night, another brother disappeared while taking out the garbage. Again, the siblings convinced their father that he must have gone out early in the morning to the next town over for some eel. This grisly pattern continued, until the Swineherd had to send his daughters, one by one, night after night, to throw away the dreck. Finally, only the Yarognev remained, alone at his long table, set with places for thirteen. Much too afraid to step foot outside, the corpulent pig farmer now ate alone, course after course, until he came to the dessert—plums in a sweet, sticky wine. As he reached for his spoon, he saw another figure sitting directly across from him at the far end of the table. It was Kravag... but he was different. Larger, more brawny, the usually-stooped child appeared to be at least as tall as his heavyset father if not indeed taller now.
"Is that... is that the plums in wine?" A familiar, yet eerily twisted voice croaked from the figure. Golden eyes peered sharply at the silver bowl. The old farmer held up the bowl shakily, as if to offer it in full to the intruder. A moment later, the sinister figure towered over the hefty Swineherd, reaching towards his offering with a long, clawed hand. The Hogmonger was frozen, eyes locked on the fulvous orbs that pierced his very soul. Motionless he sat as the hand extended past the silver bowl, slowly pushing its way into the farmer's fleshy chest, clasping an icy grip around his still-beating heart, and retracting with the purple, pumping organ, coated in sticky, red blood. Finally, Kravag the Voracious would have his plums and sweet wine.
Kravag the Voracious (Vampire Lord) ~ 375 pts