‘ very observant. ’ his voice dripped with heavy malice. though his gaze remained ever doubtful. the volturi did not take any vampire into their ranks so foolishly. it was something that was mulled over, a contemplation of the big three.
and as far as he was concerned, this man held nothing worth obtaining. his movements were quick, hand grasped at his throat, feeling steady heartbeat beneath soft flesh as he lifted him from the floor with ease, to dangle before him. in the glimmering moon, fangs shined brightly as his mouth twisted into a grin, one horrid, and evil, if not wrapped up in a beautiful bow.
head cocked to the side, gaze had not drifted once. ‘ and tell me, mortal. what could you possibly have that would benefit us? my family is far to royal for the simple man, and we do not accept many into our hold that do not possess some matter of greatness. you do not strike me as one who possesses anything of value. ’
Blue eyes bulging in surprise, his hands clawed to find purchase, to relieve some of the pressure on his throat as he was lifted like a disdained rag doll. The vampire’s hand was cold, not icy, but like marble floors on an autumn evening. He might have shivered, had there not been the very real possibility that he might choke.
He struggled to speak, but the pressure on his larynx was such that no words would come. Very well. Do without.
Calling upon his knowledge of the arcane, he cast the first spell that came to mind. A word, barely whispered, and a gesture, and he was shoved from one plane to the next. He was dropped to his feet and gasped and coughed, his throat no longer clasped within its marble prison. He recovered quickly and took in his surroundings.
The room, charred corpses, and the vampire were all still visible, but were cast in the eerie green glow of the Ethereal Plane. Now he could see the creature he was dealing with: platinum hair, a stony, chiseled face, and eyes crimson even bathed in the unnatural ghostly hue. Not at all the ugly beast that was depicted in the tales, but appearances could be deceiving.
He had only seconds to move before he would reappear again, and so put a healthy distance between himself and the blood drinker, positioning himself beside the unlit fireplace. Undoubtedly the vampire could cross that gap in the blink of an eye, but it at least would make him feel better. And, as an added benefit, it might show that he was more than meets the eye.
The green glow vanished and he was once again plunged into darkness. He wasted no time. “I am Strahd von Zarovich.” He half thought of introducing himself as the son of Barov, but cast the idea aside. Better to stand on his own merit, than that of a man who barely acknowledged his existence. “Noble, general, and an accomplished sorcerer. I assure you, I am not, nor have I ever been, useless.”
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