Tim Tucker

In the town of Nosgoth, a newly born girl was left one night on the steps of the church. She was a beautiful babe, her skin as white as freshly fallen snow and a tuft of jet black hair that adorned her head. At first glance she appeared to be just a common babe, but if one looked close enough they would find nary an expression etched onto her delicate contenance, only eys as dark as twin raisins and tiny fangs that portruded from her pink, puckered mouth.

Once found, the pious nuns of the church attempted to bring the babe inside, only to have her cry and shriek in pain once she crossed the threshold of our Lord. Upon examining her teeth, the old nuns concluded that she was a babe born not of woman but of the Devil himself and the only thing to be done with her was cleansing by the fire of the stake. Fortunately, wiser heads of the sect prevailed, and the babe was taken to the abandoned convent where she was left under the dutiful eyes of hermits and crones.

As time went on it was reckoned that the babe would die from her unnatural affliction, but instead she persisted year after year until she flourished into a beautiful young maiden of sixteen years. She was a fine young lass, skin as white and impeccable as the surface of an egg and a flowing mane of jet black hair that cascaded past her buttocks. On the surface she seemed remarkably unremarkable in her beauty, save for the twin nail like fangs that jutted from the overbite in her mouth and eyes that reflected no light whatsoever. She spent her days and nights behind the high stone walls of the convents steeple where many bats made their home high in the rafters. There under the gentle screeching and wings darker than sin did she find the peace and solitude away from the prying eyes of the citizens of Nosgoth.

One dreary day a lowly begger spoke too loudly of the girl's queerness at the marketplace, and soon tales of the Night Maiden spread like wildfire through the streets of Nosgoth. There was much ado about secet blood sacrifices and supernatural beast run amok inside the convent, and not content to just sit idly by as the Devil's work commenced so close to home, the guv'nor of Nosgoth rallied a group of men to put an end to the unholy abomination.

They descended upon the convent with torches, pitchforks, shovels, axes, and all manner of blunt instruments. The guv'nor unlocked the heavy oak door and one by one they filed into the sanctuary. After much searching they found her tucked away in the steeple, a pale creature amidst a sea of shadows.

The Night Maiden was even more beautiful than the rumors foretold. So beautiful in fact that killing her too soon would be seen as a waste, so the men of Nosgoth intended to ravish her first. She stared at them wide eyed and uttered tiny screeches, as if imploring them not to hurt her. The men, intent in their ravishment, never noticed the shadows fester and seeth, and when they heard the flapping of many wings it was already far too late.

The darkness descended upon them in a fury of gnashing fangs and molten eyes. There was a cacophony of angry screeches and manic, desperate screaming, and through the sounds of absolute chaos came the most terrifying sound of all.


On the 'morrow the men who had entered into the convents steeple were gone and replaced with blood, blood, oh so much blood. It decorated the walls, dripped from the ceiling in grotesque droplets, and clung to the air with the heavy scent of iron, and in the center of the massacre was her, gore splattered from head to toe. She crept to the iron barred window and gazed upon the city of Nosgoth, her soon to be new hunting ground. The men had been fools, leaving their families unattended while they partook in their henious scheme. Now every woman and child would pay with their own blood.

Slowly, her lips parted into a crimson smile as merciless as a dagger being unsheathed.