The life of a vampire is simple really. Five steps are required: hunt, feast, hide, sleep, repeat. Naturally, a vampire can do this where ever, whenever, providing that mentioned vampire is willing to obey certain rules and ready to avoid or face any threats or entanglements posed by that those who wish not to be drained of their blood. Whatever life lead before needed to be, and often was, forgotten. All that mattered was blood. The blood calls, the vampire answers - simple as that. Maybe that's why Morgan Thrainsson jolted awake from his place of hiding when blood presented itself. He had found this concealed place during the previous night: a carved stone ledge, covered by an eave of sorts made from the same carved stone. By his estimation, it would provide the necessary protection from the accursed sun and any set of eyes casually looking upward. His sanctuary would be close to the Church of Reina, the latest hunting ground. Places of worship often lured the weak and feeble, the desperate and the wanting; the type of people who were weak enough to prey upon and the type of people that do not matter in such a large city large as Zerul City. No one would care about the impoverished girl he had left bleeding on the dusty alley floor, her left jugular vein cut cleanly by Morgan's dagger blade. He had drank his fill, satisfied and more than likely to remain so for at least a few days.

Yet, he could not help but wake when a sole vessel of blood suddenly appeared from thin air. In the depths of his deep, brown hood and behind the face covering mask, the vampire's red eyes snapped open with the sudden shock of the waking world. However, he quickly assessed his position and remained leaned against the rough surface of crevice, looking about slowly for potential prey. Yes, the craving of blood would be satisfied briefly but an easy bonus was always welcome. Taking heed to any immediate danger from the sun, the mask was slowly lifted, the metal shutters stifling his searching eyes. [i]Ah. There you are.[/i] From his perch, some odd thirty-seven feet above the alley's dirty path, a woman in a long, bluish coat was finishing the last of the contents of vial she had produced. At least, the vampire assumed it was a woman - her height, her general shape, and the tinges of a sweet smell that female blood seemed to hold. 

For a moment, she held perfectly still. In this brief pause, Morgan could not help but sense a purpose of some sort, gaining his immediate attention and causing his loosely garbed, green body to shift from a lazy, almost lounging position to one of attentiveness. While it was being masked behind some mist, a glimpse of an emotion of conviction, of searching, expelled from her person. This was no normal passerby - she had a reason for being here at this exact moment. Suddenly, the stranger bolted, sprinting down the alley, under Morgan's point of view and quickly out of sight. Normally, the vampire would have more than likely returned to sleep - anyone who offered even a mild threat at this time of day would not be worth the energy or possible entanglement, but something was different about this woman. The emotion that she had radiated, even for a passing moment, was strange, bizarre even. She was no mere civilian with an errand, nor was she someone of the law, progressing in her duties to protect and defend. No, this women had a touch of destiny surrounding her; destiny beckoned. 

Grunting quietly as he attempted to rise, Morgan pulled himself upward with the aid of his staff, carefully wedged into the corner of his ledge he had called home only moments before. He had to follow her. Whether it be destiny or just plain curiosity, the vampire felt compelled to know where she had rushed off to in such haste. Gathering himself, Morgan began to follow her, using his natural agility to climb and leap among the three story heights of Zerul City. He shadowed her, keeping a safe distance behind and staying close to the stone walls in attempt to be made hidden. With a little luck, the vampire could go undetected. 

After what seemed like an eternity, she suddenly stopped at the sight of a lone figure. The armored person was moving with an obvious impairment - if he were wounded or ill, Morgan would not be able tell, but her voice pierced the silence that was ever present in these forgotten city passages. "Stop." Her voice rang true, though it seemed to be lacking. The vampire could not help but smirk. Did she really think that she would be able to stop such an imposing figure with such a simple command? Judging by his garb, he had to be a sword-for-hire at the least - a profession that always seemed to demand respect and would not listen to such an obvious order, unless it was received from the owner of a heavy coin purse. However, any other thought was brushed away as he concentrated on her voice, as she was not yet done speaking, "Are you the Fixer?" Morgan's curiosity intensified, though his face would be not echo this emotion, as a firm line formed across his bearded face. However, his hooded eyes shifted from woman to the crimson hooded figure, wondering how the ongoing event before him would play out...