"Quite the show." Lord Calverus muttered.

  To my ears, such a whisper might as well be the titillating words of a lover beside my neck. The distance was of no consequence to one such as I. From the moment I awoke in my coffin; I knew the world was far louder than advertised. Every sight and sound overwhelmed me, and only once mastered did the comparison become clear.

  "Quite," I answered his unspoken question with a brief affirmation.

  Calverus seized that moment as he always did, turning to smile without fangs. An attempt at decorum, showing fangs, has many connotations. And it was better withheld out of politeness. Though I am uncertain if such knowledge is accurate, based on the library he graciously provided.

  "Not what I expected, but infinitely new and amusing," he tried to flirt, poorly.

  "The dark days of an artist supply the most delectable of musings." I replied, but not to him.

  "They do indeed; perhaps I can show you my collection some night?" he offered.

  Of course you want to, darling. Like a moth to a flame. I grant you a moment of subtle poetry, and you leap upon it like a starving ghoul. Breath, Griselda. Don't bite him... yet. I can hear the soft thrum of his heart, noticeably quickening. He mistakes my interest for attraction. How deliciously predictable.

  I gave him the smallest of smiles, just to placate his mounting lust. I had no way to overpower his ambitions, not yet. So, I shall give him what he desired, but only in small doses, lest the heat overcome him. Rather odd considering we are all chilled to the touch. But people knew him as a vampire, one of the lesser breeds. Low in the dark hierarchy, barely above a spawn. Yet the spark of desire compelled him to seek the darkness and gather enough to master.

  "Perhaps," I answered, noncommittally.

  He scowled for a fraction of a moment, a malice he tried desperately to conceal. The malice wouldn't stay hidden for long. Soon he would give in to the terrible impulses lurking behind those kind eyes and sincere smile. Impressive falsehoods anyone would so easily succumb to.

  I, of course, serve no master beyond the dark powers. For they call me towards their embrace, just as another calls me close. Strumming the strings of my heart. I know not his name, nor if he heeds the same call. What I do know deep within. That his music, so familiar that I yearn to plumb its depths. Nevermind the power he wielded over the dead. Something else drew me, and for the death of me, I could not understand why.

  Just as I chastised this fool of a host for his own failings. I found myself drawn away, my gaze affixed to a figure in the distance. The eyes of a Strigoi easily pierced the darkness and made the distance as closely intimate as if the figure were here. Beside me, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Perhaps I was being foolish; I had only heard his voice from afar. But the macabre called to me like a song only I knew.

  Unable to help myself, I allowed a brief but intense assessment of the figure just beyond my reach. In a moment he became known to me, as my senses captured a perfect image. With pale and gaunt features, he appeared as a pristine corpse standing tall amongst the living. Trimmed goatee and deep blue eyes told me a tale of a man not long for this world. Dead, living dead, he was. Crossed the veil between worlds and returned to grant us such beauty.

  Other senses whispered truths; less mundane visions told me the depths he held. Spectres clung to him like frightened children, eager for a parent to guide and care. Instead of the typical leash of control, they crowded him willingly. Just as entranced as I, drawn like moths to a dying flame.

  As expected, my interest did not go unnoticed. Calverus glared across the chasm, ignoring the conflict below. Settling his gaze upon the mysterious stranger. I could see his mind churning; dark machinations boiled within that skull. I would be flattered if he weren't such a brute masquerading as genteel. No doubt he had already decided upon his path, and only violence would deter him.

  "You seem quite fascinated by something; may I inquire what interests you?" he questioned, his tone rigid and stiff.

  "There are many things that garner my interest; a lady should have a few, and a gentleman should accept some mystery."

  He snorted, derisive and dismissing. Undoubtedly, his mind processed my words and discarded them into the dark depths after extracting everything of value. Before coming up with his own terms to impose on me. A song and dance I had played for a time, but had become far too bored with.

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  "I have never been one to accept things. That is the mark of a coward," he vented his sage wisdom.

  "Clearly," I replied with a smile, taking a sip of the blood.

  "Let us not concern ourselves with such things."

  He returned to the festivities, but I could see his gaze flicker back to the marvelous singer just across the arena. A thrill of envy coursed through his veins; its scent was terribly familiar. Akin to wilted roses, steeped in old wine. Something beautiful, but drenched with a drink so sour it had lost its flavour.

  No doubt he would act to crush this blooming flower; it is his nature. I don't need my senses to tell me that. I need to rely only on a woman's intuition. Far more reliable than anything as mundane as sight and sound. But how to squash this foolishness? I have yet to reach the required level to oppose him. I willed my character sheet into existence with a thought and reviewed the relevant details.

  [Character Sheet:]

  [Name: Griselda]

  [Race: Strigoi]

  [Level: 36]

  [Class: Wizard]

  [Level: 32]

  [Attributes:]

  [Strength (STR): 45]

  [Endurance (END): 39]

  [Dexterity (DEX): 24]

  [Perception (PER): 33]

  [Intelligence (INT): 72]

  [Constitution (CON): 23]

  [Wisdom (WIS): 72]

  As expected, I still had not reached a level anywhere near his own, in either my race or class. It was possible for me to eliminate him if I caught him unawares and without his guards. Certainly, if I returned his affections and guided him subtly to somewhere more intimate. Then I could slit his throat as we descended onto a bed of satin sheets. How romantic. What better way is there to die, then at the hands of an elegant woman?

  Alas, that plan would be for naught, as he was no fool, no matter how many times he tried to prove his foolishness. He would have contingencies to preserve his pathetic life. And any attempt would bring cruel consequences for everyone involved. I do not relish the sinister ideas that man could come up with.

  "Yes, shall we judge the show?" I redirected the conversation.

  "Indeed, it was quite a surprise. I must compliment doctore for his new gladiator. What was that warrior's name?" Calverus turned to a sweating Volkaran to his right.

  The creature was an eyesore compared to this lavish parapet, but a necessary one. He was a doctore, apparently a slave wrangler for the temple and its arena. Dedicated to supplying the most entertaining slaves for the games. People once respected them in the elder days of Strigoi rule, I read. Now they are mere flesh peddlers, nipping at the heels of a lesser vampire.

  "That one is so named..." he paused, trying to come up with a lie, "the Black Gale, all his enemies fall to the gale at his command."

  I had to give the creature credit; he was an exceptional liar. And lucky Calverus rarely scrutinised his subordinates, so he didn't even notice the deception. Just carried on as if everything was within his grasp and outlined in his grand plan. I caught the doctore's lie; any vampire worth his salt would hear the faint flicker in the Volkaran's heart.

  Glancing at the fearful pup, my gaze traced the whip at his side, coiled around the hilt, but ready at hand. He wore mismatched leather armour, weighed down by ages long past. Scars across his brow and temple, peaking out of his dull brown fur, suggested the pain of past transgressions, punished eagerly.

  "The Black Gale." Calverus tasted the name, seeming to enjoy its feel.

  "Perhaps you should address the crowd, honour his victory. For surely it reflects well on your discernment of talent." I stroked his ego.

  His eyes widened before he jumped to his feet like a Volkaran in heat. Ready to act like the pompous emperor he desired to be. It was an easy ploy to redirect him; he always clawed his way onto any venue that would inflate his prestige. Addressing his subjects was one such event he never passed up.

  Once he rose, dusted off his tunic and thrust himself into the spotlight. I swiftly ignored his drudgery he called a speech. Instead, I had another interest to amuse myself. Out of sight, I withdrew a black feather from my belt bag; my hand reached far deeper than the small compartment could allow. The enchanted bag proved most useful for my craft.

  Feather in hand, I briefly pondered sacrificing the arcane component to the spell. It was the typical method of casting magic in the wizard class. Quick and efficient, yet incredibly wasteful, turning components into consumables. Frowning at the feather, I brushed it against my cheek, feeling the soft flutter cross my lips. I recalled snatching it from a rather pleasant little raven I befriended.

  Not really wanting to destroy the item for a quick and dirty spell. I turned to an older craft. Dismissing any notion of activating a spell from my spell list. Instead, I gripped the feather tightly, concentrating on the article, drawing mana from my core and letting it flow freely. Carefully fusing it with my energies, I could sense the sudden drop in my mana bar without glancing at my sheet.

  This process was far slower than the common method, but provided far more control over the effects of a spell. I performed the required semantic gestures with my off-hand and willed the mana to spring from the feather and lance across the distance. Connecting two points with an invisible tether of ethereal energy. I drew the faintly glowing feather to my lips.

  "How delightful you have been, weaving spectral visions into melodious tunes. Unfortunately, the curtain falls; you are discovered, my little imposter. I suggest haste, lest the hounds of Hades find you." I whispered a warning.

  The feather ceased its faint glow, spent but still capable of a few more minor spells. I returned the article to its resting place, comforted in the knowledge of my warning. And of course, not wasting such a beautiful feather, lest I require another plucked from a friend. Briefly pondering the difference between using a system developed spell compared to my own. Weighing the options against each other.

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