One of Notte’s “first-born,” which is to say a vampire Notte himself turned.
Terrance is Irish, born sometime in the 1300s. He caught Notte’s attention because he picked Notte’s pocket – successfully.
Terrance has lived as a thief, a fake cleric, a fake nobleman, and a reluctant rebel against Norman incursion. Sometime after his successful theft of Notte’s money pouch, Terrance was caught killing cattle – an activity he’d undergone because, thanks to the ditch-and-fence of the Pale, he could not steal them.
Yes, it was petty. Yes, it was bitter. Yes, it was more than a little scary – but it was also honest and bloodthirsty. His skill, anger, and cleverness sealed his fate in more than one way: Terrance was sentenced to death by beheading, but the night before his execution, Notte came to his cell and made him an offer. Terrance took it: he became one of the Night Children, accepting Notte’s authority in exchange for preserving his life.
Terrance loves Notte fiercely, and possibly loves nothing and no one else.
He’s Notte’s knife, the assigned assassin of the Night Children, and the only one sanctioned to take life regularly.
He has skill with blades few people in any world could match. He hides his dark side with sarcasm and general obnoxiousness, preventing most folks from seeing him as much more than an overgrown brat.
In truth, he’s like a blade himself – honed and sharp and deadly.
He’s also never stopped being a right pain in the arse. Someday, he’ll tell you all about the thing with the Furies and the gin. Someday. Not now. For now, you’ll just have to wonder.