Vampire Princess of Senegal

"This is some funky stuff, alright," Detective Khadija Camara of the Dakar Metropolitan Police Force said to herself as she gazed at the eviscerated corpse of wealthy American businessman, socialite and investor Louis Michael Rosenthal. The man's pale, chubby carcass was a grisly sight to behold, and even though Khadija Camara had seen much carnage in her time, she shook her head in disgust.

When she'd gotten the call about the murder scene in Dakar City's wealthy beachside district, Khadija figured that some rich guy's mistress killed him. The detective never thought she'd be heading to the plush seaside villa owned by Louis Michael Rosenthal, American multimillionaire and good friend of the Mayor of Dakar, as well as an influential personality in the country's business sector. Finding him slaughtered in his own backyard under the pale moonlight was most unexpected...

"Damn, Lieutenant, someone wanted this old fucker dead," rookie officer Malik Diouf whispered, and the tall, dark-skinned and roughly handsome young cop suddenly looked younger than his twenty seven years. Clad in the dark blue uniform of the DMPF, one which was a size too big for him, Officer Malik Diouf looked like he was about to faint.

The other police officers surveying the crime scene smiled with smug satisfaction as Malik suddenly pitched forward, and then began to puke his guts out violently. Khadija watched the scene, unperturbed by the nearby police officers laughter. She'd endured plenty of it herself. For in the Republic of Senegal, even in modern times, many still felt that police work, just like military duty, wasn't for women. Khadija remembered her days as a rookie cop in Dakar, and shuddered. The things she'd had to endure to prove herself to the brass...

"Pull yourself together, brother," Khadija said, and she seized a still-trembling Malik and clapped him on the shoulder. The rookie cop nodded, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Khadija fixed him with what was known around the police department as her wuthering gaze, and the young cop nodded, and seemed to pull himself together. Taking a deep breath, Malik flashed a brave smile.

"Sorry about that, Lieutenant, I, um, I really don't like blood," Malik said, and his smile turned sheepish. Khadija nodded, and then took a last look at the American businessman's remains. The medical examiner would have a look at the body soon, and would declare it yet another grisly, senseless murder, like so many which plagued the City of Dakar. Of course, Khadija knew better. There was a scent all over the crime scene, one too faint for humans to detect. The scent of a supernatural predator.

"Wrap this up," Khadija said to a stone-faced crime scene technician, and the young man did as he was told. Khadija walked away, and stood a hundred meters from the crime scene, and quickly got rid of that which mortal eyes weren't meant to see. The tracks of a large quadruped whose tracks vaguely resembled those of a wolf or dog. Khadija knew that no beast of the bush or desert had slain the wealthy old American who led a life of excess for decades in the Senegalese Capital. Nope, a werewolf did him in.

"Gosh I wish I were wrong," Khadija whispered to herself. Standing six feet two inches tall, curvy but fit, with mahogany skin, long black hair which she kept neatly braided when it wasn't tucked away under a Hijab, Khadija Camara was a striking woman who did not look a day over thirty. The truth is, she was much, much older than she looked. Old enough to remember the last time unnatural predators prowled West Africa, and what it cost in lives, human and otherwise...

Khadija Camara wrapped herself in her arms, and shuddered in spite of the blazing nighttime heat. West Africa was one of the world's hottest regions, and the Republic of Senegal, located at the heart of it, was a smoldering, beautiful and mysterious land. Khadija Camara was born in this land, more than three hundred years ago. In her time, Khadija had fought everything from French infantrymen, Portuguese soldiers and slave traders, as well as invaders from other regions of Africa. Defense of the Senegalese motherland was paramount to who she was...

Born in 1787 to Omar Camara, warrior-chief of the Serer people, and his wife Amina, Khadija grew up in the Sine Kingdom. Her people were proud and strong, among West Africa's most resilient natives. The Serer people ruled the Saloum River Delta, on whose banks Khadija Camara first saw the light of day. In 1810, Khadija was turned into a vampire by Mamadou Diouf, a wanderer from the Jolof Empire. Becoming a vampire profoundly changed who Khadija was, but in most aspects, she remained the same.

Khadija was taught the art of war by her father Omar Camara, and her love for her motherland prevented her from abandoning it. When European colonists came to do battle against the Serer people, Khadija fought against them. To the foreigners, she became a legend. The French soldiers on whom she preyed at night called her "La Mort Noire" or the "Black Death". A shrouded female demon who hunted them down, and left their bodies drained of blood. To the people of Senegal, she was the Angel of Deliverance, sent against their enemies by the Creator Himself.

"This land is our land, given to us by Allah Himself, and you must defend it until your dying day," said Omar Camara's deep, unmistakable voice. Khadija smiled, heeding the words of her Baba down through the centuries. She still remembered the pride she saw in his eyes when he gave her his scimitar, which had been given to him by a Mandinka warrior he bested during a training session between the Mandinka Imperial Army and the Serer Legionnaires.

"I shall honor it, Baba," Khadija said, genuflecting before her father and the leader of her people, and nodding sagely as he handed her the scimitar. Holding out his hand, Khadija's father pulled his daughter to her feet, and the two shared a warm embrace. The Sword Ceremony marked Khadija's eighteenth anniversary, and her entry into womanhood. Like all of the Sine Kingdom's children, Khadija would henceforth be expected to defend the land during times of war.

"Come, daughter, let us rejoin the family and celebrate," Baba said. For the next three days, Khadija celebrated her eighteenth birthday, and she rejoiced with her family and friends as she was finally brought into the Ceremony of Inclusion. It was a ceremony Khadija would never forget for as long as she lived. For during that ceremony, inhuman monsters that were a cross between man and wolf attacked her people, and destroyed her family.