Kresnik leaned back in his chair, gently rocking himself with one leg that pressed against his oak desk while the other leg was crossed beneath it. His violet eyes were half-closed, boredom written upon his beautiful face. Kresnik did not know what to do, for he spent the majority of his time living in his clinic, a hermit awaiting the needs of the hurt and wounded. Propped against the desk was his sword, a physical manifestation of his previous life. It was an oddity for him, a self-proclaimed doctor, to be wielding such a weapon; yet his entire existence revolved around him wearing it at his side, despite that life being long and far behind him. It was awkward to not have its weight on him at all times, and awkward still to not possess such a fine and unique weapon in his presence.

A life of eternal danger and death... a life he wished dearly to never miss.

"Peace..." the dhampir lamented, alone within his homestead. "An uneasy transition for one such as myself." Kresnik knew himself to be a warrior, to put his very life at stake for the sake of those around him. No... for the thrill, the excitement, the undeniable power over life and death; even undeath could not escape his shadow, he knew, for he was death's true harbinger. The change and transition from his previous life to this new existence was unsettling and unusual. Korvania, his homeland and keepsake, fell into darkness. The citizens cower in their homes and forsake their freedoms to those more powerful; the powerful crushing the hopes and dreams of individuality for the sake of power itself. Vampires, papists, and the monsters that lurked in the dreams and nightmares of the Korvani people warred for what seemed to be aeons, struggling for control. That was not a life Kresnik could endure any longer.

After a moment of being lost in contemplation, Kresnik took notice of the rumbling of the ground and cacophony of [i]moo[/i]ing. With a sigh, he strapped his sword to his right hip and began his way outside. Upon opening the door, he took notice that the entire situation was handled rather quickly, with one woman-- Cia, was it?-- moving away, quite nude, from a young farm boy. Kresnik shook his head, running a hand through his thick white mane. "I was hoping [i]someone[/i] would be hurt," he stated cynically, a dark jest at his own expense. The village doctor walked around to ensure [i]nobody[/i] was hurt, his right hand resting comfortable upon the hilt of his sword; a habit from the days of old.