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Vince Caruso's Blog Entry


Blog Entry
Thursday, Aug 15, 2019
Biography: Vince Caruso
    A long time ago, nestled somewhere within the folds of the snow capped Rocky Mountains, there lived a village. For centuries its inhabitants lived peacefully among themselves, sharing in the responsibility that came with taking care of one another. But many of the villagers did not know about what secrets lie beneath the rocky bones of their town. The thousand year old catacombs housed unimaginable knowledge, but was only accessible by those belonging to a very specific bloodline.

    Unfortunately, the village elders were not the only ones privy to such power. The knowledge contained within held information about the destruction of many non-human species. There were those who would stop at nothing to make sure that their weaknesses could not be exploited. Even if it meant the eradication of said bloodlines. Especially so.

    In the year 1787, fury descended upon this village. Nevosa (Snowy; Italian translation. Original translation has been lost over time.) would be lost to a pack of ruthless night stalkers, whose razor sharp fangs and brutal strength seemed beyond the realm of possibility. To this close knit community, these vampires were nothing more than harbingers of death. None of them could ever have known the attack was coming, for no one in the town had descended from the hunters.

    This coven of vampires were satisfied that their slaughter of the village meant the total elimination of this bloodline. What they were not aware of was a local farmers eldest daughter who'd been away at the market, gestation still in the early stages, and no one aware of her folly. She would return to the display of carnage that was once her home, fully traumatized and the only survivor. Some say that her escape was unequivocal proof of divine intervention.

    This woman's pregnancy went unanswered for many months. Long enough for her to relocate and begin to lay her roots somewhere far from the massacre of Nevosa. New Orleans welcomed her with open arms. Once more, a stroke of luck, for had she traveled anywhere else, she would not have discovered the family of Matilde Begere. French witches born from a long line of hoodoo practitioners. At once, they recognized the value of this woman's life and, subsequently, her child's. Unlike many who frequented the world of the supernatural, they saw hope in the great cleansing this child might bring forward.

    And so, a pledge was made: to keep the child safe.

    Many generations later, in the very same home that my distant grandmother had built for her family, I received the calling.
    Come home.
    It is time.

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