[center][h3][color=000000]Night Haunter[/color][/h3][/center]

Volkimir drifted through the dark of night with the same ease and mastery of the bat soared through the inky skies. The land was still and quiet, save for the vampire who stalked like a lone predator. Volkimir's eyes glimmered as he closed onto a bloodscent. Humans, at last. The smell of the livestock, pitiful bovines, appealed to him as much as a bale of fresh peat. Volkimir had one true prey, and that was his fellow man. In his mind, he had no idea for how long he had been entombed, but his body knew all too well. Volkimir's hunger roared in his mind, clawing at the back of his eyeballs, and trying to escape up through his throat. He slowly came ever closer to the bloodscent, and he felt his blood vessels constrict and his muscles burn as he anticipated his kill. It took much of his willpower to contain himself and not rush forth and maul his prey like a starving wolf.

Perhaps the farmer caught some stray sight of Volkimir as he wandered into the edge of the firelight. The vampire would sometimes vanish, only to reappear ten steps closer, as though he were drifting in an out of reality. His sword he carried heavily, as though it were some great, obtuse tool. The farmer tried to cry out, but he found himself suddenly having great difficulty drawing breath. He felt a vice-grip on his chest, and his blood ran cold as he felt the strange pressure sink deep within him. He stepped forward, but not of his own accord. His body moved against his will, as though pulled by invisible strings, wandering ever closer to the approaching vampire. Volkimir smiled, his fangs glittering against the torchlight.

Once he had drawn his prey far enough out of sight of the village, Volkimir dropped his pretense of subtlety and tore out the farmer's throat with his bare hands. As the peasant gurgled his dying breath, Volkimir clamped his mouth down over the gaping wound, sucking ferociously at the stream of dark, thick blood. Sweeter than sugar, more intoxicating than spirits; as the blood flowed into him once more, Volkimir felt ecstasy rip through him, equal parts orgasm and immolation. However, the climax of the hunt was quickly over, and the dead farmer had little left to offer Volkimir. The vampire lapped at the blood on his own hands and face, sure that there was more that had run down his bare chest that he could not reach. Such a hasty kill had wasted much blood, and Volkimir had not drank his fill. Even so, this would be enough. He preferred to never fully satisfy himself, rather than constantly gorge himself as his noble family was wont to do. Volkimir enjoyed the predatory sharpness that hunger gave him, not to mention that hunger carried its own masochistic pleasures.

Even so, he would have to continue along to his destination. He sought the nearest city, so that he could at least familiarize himself with the world he had awakened into. The density of population would make feeding easier as well. Given his current appearance, as well as the sudden disappearance of this farmer, he thought it wise to avoid the hamlet, and really any major roads, until he could better clothe himself. A bath would be nice, as well, considering that he was now sticky with peasant blood. He looked back to the corpse, pale and limp. If the Shadowlands were anything like they had been when he knew them, wolves would claim the rest of the body soon enough, and the villagers would be none the wiser to Volkimir's presence. Giving a final lick of his ruddy fingers, Volkimir set out through the nearest thicket of woods, drifting between the tree-trunks like a phantom of vengeance.