Chapter 4: The Waiting Game
Always the late one...
Shadow awoke with a stretch of the arms the next morning. She never liked sleeping on beds. In fact, Shadow never much fancied herself sleep at all. Vampyres didn't require sleep; it was just something they sometimes did to pass the inexplicably long amounts of time they had to waste. It was extremely clear by looking at Shadow's bed that she had a rough sleep. Ever since she was a young Vampyre she had been used to falling into the typical Vampyre cliché of sleeping in a coffin. Far as she was concerned, you could laugh all you wished, but she would always enjoy the intricate feeling of nestling herself into a coffin, even if the lid weren't closed. Shadow's bed was a complete mess. The covers were in a frenzy, ripped in some spots, thrown on the floor. One of the pillows had been thrown halfway across the room, whereas the other had been torn apart, probably by her sharp teeth. Nobody, not even Shadow herself, understood what caused these night time fits. All that was clear was that she didn't have them in a coffin, thus she slept in one of those instead. Shadow couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed of herself, worried what Roavar might think upon laying eyes on the fine mess she had made of her sleeping quarters.
She stretched out, yawning loudly as she did so. Morning was a mercy to her mind, for she certainly hadn't enjoyed the previous night sleep. As she stretched her body out much like a cat, her wings unfolded, the tense bones finally able to loosen up as they stretched to their full length. Shadow purred like a pleased cat as her bones made a subtle snapping noise, finally finding resolve from the tense night they had been forced to endure. She didn't even notice her wings whacking items on the nearby table, knocking things off one by one. Shadow paused mid-stretch, hearing the clattering of objects. It was then she noticed that she was making an even further mess of the room, her wings serving as a great way to clear off a desk. Sheepish, Shadow quickly folded her wings up behind her, stopping them from knocking over anything else in either this room or anywhere else in the tavern.
Her throat felt dry, drier then usual. It was uncomfortable to her, but not something she wasn't used to. When she was a younger Vampyre, spending countless months away from her home city of Meiyerditch, she often found herself suffering from pangs of hunger, hunger for the blood of others. She knew the symptoms all too well. That dry throat, slight hostility, elongating of her pointed fangs. Sometimes it didn't even cross her mind how important it was to get enough blood, to not starve herself. However, it was interesting to note that she would never die from lack of blood. It would, though, cause her to act in a feral manner, trying to drink from anything that moved wrong.
That was one of the two ways a feral Vampyre was formed, and it was a shame for Shadow to think that some of those hapless monsters wandering the Haunted Woods could have been perfectly qualified Vampyres had they not been starved of blood. Sometimes there just wasn't enough blood flowing through the veins of Meiyerditch, and the higher ranked Vampyres would be given first drink of the blood over the lower ranked ones. There were also times where Vampyres that had extreme rivalries with one another would purposely cut off their enemies from blood, leaving them trapped within a small room until they went insane from the lack of blood, biting into their own arms and legs in an attempt to suck their own blood due to desperateness. The other fashion in which a feral Vampyre was formed was rejection of the transformation. Sometimes, when Vampyres were transformed from humans, they would just naturally become hostile, showing no desire to communicate with their fellows and caring only for vast amounts of blood. These creatures were beyond help, their bodies just not fit for a Vampyric virus. These ones were usually either thrown in the Haunted Woods or killed, if they were deemed to be a threat. Nonetheless, it was upsetting to think that these poor creatures never get to live qualified lives. Then again, Shadow imagined, those creatures probably enjoyed their lives just as they were. They were monsters, preferring to run free over vast miles of land with no rules or laws to bind them. They wished to suck blood with wild abandon, where they were completely free to drain their prey to death. To their frenzied minds, that was probably the greatest heaven they could ever have bestowed upon them. Shadow would never want to live such a life.
Finding her mind to be confused, Shadow simply decided it would be better to stop thinking to herself about such randomly chosen topics and continue downstairs, possibly to get something to quench her irksome thirst. She gladly left her mess of a room behind, hoping that whatever poor sap ended up having to clean that mess wouldn't mind too much, for she would hate to be a burden to anyone, save for a few people, who she would be more then happy to burden. As she started her trek down the stairs, her half asleep mind became to grow an air of awareness towards a ruckus she had initially failed to notice was happening downstairs. She stopped halfway down the stairs, wondering to herself what exactly could be causing such utter chaos. She yawned once on her pause, figuring she must have been a trifle more out of it then she first though, for her ears had failed to pick up on such a rowdy mess of noise downstairs. Would that really be the best way to start her morning? That was probably a no.
Deciding to see what was up anyways, despite her minds constant argues to turn around and go back upstairs, Shadow finished her trot down the staircase. As she reached the bottom of the old stairs, she reached behind her, pulling out a long black rod with a purple speared point on the tip. She never went anywhere without her handy spear, having been trained for precious years on how to properly handle it. She knew seldom few Vyrewatch used these spears anymore, but she still fancied them nevertheless. Holding her spear made her feel better about herself, as if it gave her an air of power, something that she could use against others.
She turned the corner into the main room of the tavern, her spear nearly bashing the wall as she was holding it with a slight tilt. It didn't take long upon entering the room to be drawn into the chaos, to see what was going on with such bold audacity down in the main room of the tavern. Shadow turned her head quickly, sensing something flying her way. She came to see that a glass, one of the ones Roavar had been cleaning the night before, was flying in her direction. Whoever had thrown it was certainly a powerful person, for it was coming at a great speed, which required an even greater force. Luckily, Shadow's Vampyric mind was quite evolved, evolved enough to be able to internally calculate exactly where that projectile was heading and when it would arrive there. Shadow was able to act accordingly, spinning her spear in a few small circles. She was spot on with her timing, and as the spear spun on it's side like a baton, the glass connected with the side of it, shattering wildly. Shards of glass flew across the room, raining down like some sort of ferocious rain. Not a single shard of glass ever touched Shadow, not even the end of her hair or her shoe. Her accuracy was absolutely astounding.
Once she stopped the glass from smashing her in the face, doing so with an unimpressed expression lurking on her usually emotionless face, she turned her attention in the direction the object had come from, hoping to locate the source. Naturally, she was able to do just so. There across the room near the counter stood Roavar and a female Werewolf whom Shadow did not know the name of. The female Werewolf was in wolf form, soft white hair blown up in a wild frenzy. Shadow could see the way her long snout was wrinkled up, revealing her dangerous teeth adorned within her mouth. Her ears were laid back against her head; that and the furious snarl she adorned revealed that something had greatly angered her. Roavar on the other side, who was still in human form, appeared to be on the other side of the emotional spectrum. He looked as if he were trying to relax her, but was frazzled by her obvious hostility, not to mention how horribly he seemed to be failing to ease her mind. Shadow had seen an angry Werewolf before, they were very easily frenzied creatures. They were quite horrifying when they were upset, very difficult to calm. Sometimes they would get angry over the stupidest things too, like a loose thread on their clothing or a glass of water being too full.
Roavar winced, seeming upset that he was failing to calm the Werewolf down. He began by saying,"I am quite sorry, madame. I feel bad about how I acted last night and if there is anything I can do to make it up to you, I promise on my feral heart that I will..."
"NO!" she howled, her snarl growing wider, causing Roavar to flinch back slightly. "How can you just give up my room and act so nonchalant about it!? How!? That was my room, my key, I paid for it! He didn't even pay! He just barged in, smashed the door, and demanded a room! So you took mine!? How can you do that!?" Shadow glanced back towards the front entrance to see if that were true, and yes it was. The door lay there, hanging wide open, only holding on to one hinge instead of both. There was a huge dent in the wall where you could clearly tell that door had been violently smashed through it. Clearly, no one was capable of fixing it as of this moment.
Roavar continued to try to ease her, despite the furious temper she obviously had. "I told you I was quite sorry for that. There wasn't anything I could do, ma'am. There are certain people you just don't refuse. Surely you can understand that. We've been..." he paused, heaving a depraved sign. "I am willing to more then refund your room. I will also give you any room at half price next time you come to stay here. There's nothing more I..."
She seemed to fancy interrupting him, for this time she shrieked hatefully over his calm voice, "Stop trying to bribe me, you mongrel!" Even Shadow shuddered, for that was usually an insult only the Vampyres used towards their Werewolf companions. "You can't face up to the fact that you wimped out! You gave it away! You idiotic, worthless little...!" She abruptly smashed her claws down on the table, leaving a huge crack in it. "Shut up! Just, shut up!" Her claw still driven into the table, she jerked it viciously to the side, knocking over a good dozen or so glasses on to the ground as the crack in the table widened, smashing them all into the same fine shards that the one Shadow shattered had broken into. "I'll never come here again as long as I live!"
The female Werewolf removed her claw from the table, leaving the large, malformed hole embedded in the top for everyone to see. She seemed pleased by the damage she had caused, though still visibly angry, definitely unapproachable. Shadow's ears twitched twice as she watched the angry Werewolf stampede for the door, clearly tired of the argument she was having. Shadow noticed the saddened look on Roavar's face as she trailed to the door, a look which said he desperately wished he could have helped out better then he had.
Before exiting, the Werewolf turned on her heel, facing back towards Roavar. Shadow knew that whatever she had turned around for wouldn't be good. Roavar knew too, for he himself had spent more days then he can recall around furious Werwolves. He himself had a few horrible temper tantrums in his life too. He knew how impossible an angry Werewolf was. You were better off not even trying. "I mean it too! I'd sooner die then come back here!"
"You do that, then! I don't even care anymore! Leave, don't come back, commit suicide for all I care!" Roavar furiously barked at her, tired of trying to reason with her anymore. He snarled in her direction, showing her that he was now down being kind. Aware of this change of personality, the female Werewolf continued back on her path of departure. Once she was gone, Shadow heard Roavar mutter under his breath, "At least I won't have to deal with your horrible temper any longer. There's a load off my back."
As the source of the chaos had now departed, Shadow found it to be much quieter. Nonetheless, the Werewolf had accomplished spreading widespread agony and chaos, which was clear just by looking at Roavar's face. He was clearly distressed, aggravated by the horrible mess that had been made of his once beautiful tavern. The table was torn in half, many of his glasses were in pieces. It was definitely not any simple accident. This would take a while to properly recover from, and Roavar was not looking forward to doing so. Roavar didn't even notice Shadow was watching that entire scene. He didn't notice her presence until she started wandering towards him, in which he finally bothered to look up, internally wondering how long she had been standing there.
Shadow dared to sit upon one of the stools, which, amazingly, seemed sturdy enough. It occurred to her that they probably hadn't been on of the casualties in the previous ensuing battle. That was enough to please her, for she wasn't looking forward to falling through her seat due to unstable conditions. Once comfortable, Shadow gazed upon Roavar, her face reflecting how badly she felt for him, as he was forced to politely put up with all sorts of idiocy and endless chaos. "What was that all about?" Shadow dared to ask, leaning on a part of the table which had gone unharmed.
Roavar glanced in her direction for a second, though his mind was clearly somewhere else at the time. He had attempted to quickly recover from such a moment, already working on cleaning up the glass covering the wooden floor below. He only watched her for a fraction of a second, turning his eyes back to the job he was attempting to perform. Even without the source of chaos in the room, the tension was still evident, an aura of irritability still lurking like a storm cloud in the room. Her fury was like a disease, something that quickly spread from one person to another at an outstanding velocity. "She's upset because I gave her room away to someone else last night." Roavar responded, continuing to collect the pointed shards of glass littering the floor. "I know snatching someone's room key right out of there hand isn't a polite thing to do, and I'm sure no one appreciates seeing their room handed away right in front of their eyes." He sighed sadly, finishing, "But there wasn't anything I could do. Like I told her, you just don't refuse some people."
"Who was it you gave the room away to?" Shadow inquired, tilting her head to the side. She wondered who could be so powerful as to force Roavar to submit and give away a room key so easily.
Unfortunately, Roavar simply shook his head, remembering what he promised the ferocious Vampyre the night before. "Sorry Shadow. The party requested to remain private. I'm afraid I can't tell you who it was." One side of Roavar's mind felt as if he had just done wrong, by refusing to tell such an innocent little lady such a simple answer. However, the other side of his mind knew it was for the better, for his safety. Somehow, he could feel Vanstrom's presence, almost as if the man were lurking over his shoulder right this instant, waiting for him to mess up. He knew Vanstrom was listening. Fear rushing down his spine, his paranoia caused him to peer over his shoulder, expecting to see Vanstrom standing there behind him, his blood red eyes bearing deeply into Roavar's soul. When Roavar looked back, though, he came to see there was nothing there, that his mind were simply playing tricks on him. Nonetheless, he still knew Vanstrom was listening somehow, even if he weren't eerily lurking behind the poor Werewolf's back. Silly, thought Roavar. For if Vanstrom had truly been luring behind his back, Shadow would have noticed and she surely would have said something, for you cannot ignore such an intimidating man so easily.
Noticing Roavar's sudden paranoia, Shadow couldn't help but stare. She wondered what he was looking at, for he suddenly glanced over his shoulder as if something were there, which, far as Shadow could see, there wasn't. "Is something the matter, Roavar?" Shadow inquired innocently
Roavar jumped back to attention, realizing how silly he must have looked glancing over his shoulder. "What?" Roavar couldn't help but asking, startled by Shadow's sudden question. "Oh this?" Roavar motioned behind him, despite there clearly being nothing there. There was no way he could admit that he thought someone was behind him. "I thought I heard something." Roavar lied, pretending as if he simply picked up a strange sound in his ears. "I guess it was just something outside, though. Nothing worth worrying about."
For a moment, worry passed between Shadow and Roavar, for each was worried about the other one's true actions and motives. Luckily, all barriers must one day be broken, and Shadow abruptly shattered the barrier between the two of them by finally bothering to respond, "Well, that's quite alright. I hear stuff all the time." Though Shadow wasn't quite sure if he truly had just heard something or if some other feeling were washing through him, she secretly knew it wasn't her place to bother him and his internal emotions. She didn't want to be rude, so she just kept to herself.
"Indeed." Roavar muttered, still a little bit bothered by how he was being forced to hide things from such a friendly Vampyre, one who had never done him wrong.
Shadow learned forward a little more, trying to avoid the awkward hole in the surface of the table. She avoided it as if it were a virus, like it were going to tear her limb from limb if she happened too closely to it. "Do you have anything to drink, Roavar?" Shadow finally built up the courage to inquire, sitting up just a little. She didn't wish to be a bother, for it was clear to her that he had enough bothers today, but in retrospect, she badly needed something to drink and he was the only one to ask. So in the end, she managed to push past the thoughts that blocked her words, smashing them as the glass shattered, and just ask what was so powerfully on her mind.
Luckily, Roavar seemed quite understanding of this, smiling as Shadow gently placed her request upon him. It took him a minute to actually reply, for he seemed deeply involved in his work. Shadow was quite patient, observing as he brushed up the misplaced glass, gathering it into one small pile so that he could dispose of it to the best of his abilities. He continued by throwing the glass into a bucket, which was about the best he could produce in the means of disposal unit. Finding the bucket of broken glass rather unappealing, Roavar pushed it back underneath the counter, where it was likely to remain for a very long time. He stood back upright, glancing questionably at Shadow. "You need something to drink?" he asked, appearing to take a couple seconds to understand it. "Hold on just a second." He wandered towards a jar, a strange looking jar full of a thick, disgusting liquid, holding a gushy organ within it, floating haplessly within the unknown liquid, as if it were too busy trying to process the identity of what it was supposed to be floating in. Shadow never knew why they kept a brain in a jar of liquid, who's brain it was, what it's purpose was to be, or why it was posted to be up for sale. In general, it served little to no purpose far as Shadow could see it. "Oh thank Zamorak." Roavar muttered, placing a single hand against the jar as if he were comforting a child after a horrible nightmare. "The pickled brain was left unharmed. That wouldn't have been easy to replace." He seemed very interested in this brain, the reason was unknown, but he was definitely protective over the little thing, whatever it's purpose was. He turned his focus fully back to Shadow upon confirming his unique item to be unharmed. "You wanted blood, am I right?" Shadow nodded quietly. "I thought so. Last I checked Vampyres don't drink much win anyways. Hmm... hold on, my dear. I think I have a barrel of O type blood that I used to serve to Lord Drakan when he hosted private parties here, back before that blasted Shadowland was built." Shadowland was a Vampyric tavern, built deep within the reaches of Darkmeyer. Shadow never really understood it's purpose, though she was beginning to think it may be an avoidance tactic for the Hair of the Dog Tavern. "Ah, here we go! I knew I still had some around here. Just had to locate it."
It took Roavar a moment to locate a glass that wasn't in shatters, for most of them had unfortunately been completely destroyed. Eventually locating one, Roavar carefully placed it on the table, making certain it did not sit too closely to the large crack. He shook the barrel for about a half of a minute, which was a task often performed on older blood to stir it up and freshen it a little, making it satisfactory for consumption. Shadow's nose twitched as he carefully poured the thick red liquid into the glass, the delicious fragrance of a most scrumptious type of blood rushing into her nose, gently tickling the small hairs within. It had been months... no, more like years... since she had last been graced with the taste of O type blood. She recalled it well, nevertheless, for it was a taste that was not easily forgotten.
"I hope that is satisfactory, miss Shadow." Roavar smiled, handing the glass carefully off to Shadow, who accepted with grace. "Lord Drakan used to enjoy the taste of it. It was specifically made for him. Usually I would not dare give away his personal blood, but I highly doubt your lord will be gracing us with his presence any time soon."
Shadow shook her head, lowering her glass a little as she thought to herself. He was quite right, she knew all too well. Lord Drakan was not an easily stirred man, preferring to do things just the way he desired at just the moment he so wished it. If Lord Drakan lost an interest in something or someone, it was very unlikely for him to show a future interest in it later in his life once again. These weren't the comings and going of an obsessed child; this was a Vampyric lord you were speaking about. Needless to say he was never the easily swayed type. When Lord Drakan said he was doing something, there was no way you were going to make him abort the operation. Likewise, if he tells you he no longer wishes to do something else, it is quite probable that you will never see him perform such task ever again in his life. That was just how things worked in Morytania. "That would be highly unlikely." Shadow eventually muttered in response, taking a gentle sip of the blood for the first time.
A warming feeling washed through Shadow as she took her first taste of the blood. The taste was extravagant, an extraordinary blend of a flowing river of soothing sweetness and a pang of tang that seemed to splash into the slow flowing river like a new coming duckling, a little curious creature throwing ripples in the water as it appeared. It was unlike anything Shadow had ever tasted before. She softly closed her eyelids, imagining a soothing shimmery light, which flickered peacefully, but was beautiful and bright, a color which portrayed her thoughts on the blood's taste. Lord Drakan had outstanding taste, which was something he had often been complimented on. For one of the first times in her life, Shadow openly agreed with his tastes. She had tasted O type blood before, but never had a luscious taste such as this graced her lips before. It was a delicacy, the lord of all delicacies, like the greatest king. Shadow felt as if the gods themselves were stepping across her tongue, giving her their power. She purred softly, hardly even realizing it. Nothing mattered to her over the taste of the blood. It was the only thing on her mind.
Roavar smiled, noticing the pure enjoyment outlined on every stretch and fold on Shadow's face. "I guess it suits your needs." he rhetorically commented, his smile widening by a little. She failed to answer him, much too focused on the taste of the blood. That didn't bother, Roavar, though. He knew what it was like to finally get a sip of the delectable drink, the flavour you had been looking for. It was a blessing unlike any other.
Without warning, Shadow woke up from her fantasy, glancing unknowingly around the reaches of the tavern as if she had suddenly developed an awkward case of amnesia. Her eyes appeared lost, trapped in a vortex of time from which they were unable to escape. When Shadow's fantasy realm fall apart, it was replaced by a heavy feeling of realization, a slight sheepish feeling over the way she had previously been thinking. For a moment, when she had described the blood in explicit detail, imaging its taste in a physical form, she imagined everything she had made fun of Malak for, except in herself. Shadow herself felt as if she were Malak, giving the blood a complex analysis as if she were submitting it for an Encyclopedia of blood tastes or something awkward. "I do apologize. I simply lost my train of thought for a moment. It was nothing." She placed the glass on the table, worried what awkward thoughts would race once more through her head if she took another drink. "Mind me asking, how did you get the blood to taste in such a manner?"
"I wondered if you would ask me such." Roavar responded with a grin, already having come to the realization that this was an intricate flavour to Shadow, one she had never been graced with before. "The blood comes from a Werewolf of unknown origin. His name is Anthony Red-Grave. You can easily recognize him because he is taller then the rest of us, and his wolf form is furrier then the others. Nobody knows where he came from or what his purpose here is. For a while there were strange rumors going around about him desiring to destroy Lord Drakan so that an heir to the throne could take over, but that was never confirmed. Eventually, he went docile, though he's still a valued hunter. He started donating small amounts of blood to us, never much. Lord Drakan liked the taste of it and took it for his own... until recently. I myself added a couple of spices to change the blood's taste a little, but it wasn't anything too complex." Anthony was a strange wolf, Roavar knew that well. He was definitely not of Canifis. It made Roavar wonder, though, it Anthony didn't come from Canifis, then where did he come from? Was he supposed to believe there was another settlement of Werewolves out there somewhere, Werewolves that weren't under the control of Vampyres? Roavar wondered...
Shadow once more purred, a most delighted noise that portrayed an inner sense of jovial happiness that could only be present in such an awkward Vampire such as Shadow. Shadow was always that one in a million, the cheerful rainbow of personality who didn't quite care much what anyone else said or thought about her. Hers was an interesting story from the front, anyways. Metaphorical father who is a Vampyric Lord, almost like god to their kind; was pushed into the middle of the noble family at an age so young; had seen the Icyene firsthand, their tastefulness and their outstanding beauty; free to wander outside Morytania as she desires, something so many Vampyres had only dreamed to be able to do; and not to mention that she was dating Count Draynor, the young Vampyric mind who had been shunned by so many and denied the right to live amongst his own kind. She was creating a fine tunnel in the wall between Lord Drakan and his younger brother Count Draynor that had naught been touched for several centuries, ages, had it been. No matter what you said, or did, or pondered... Shadow was never quite going to fit into the normal Vampyre category. There were times, though, she that appeared to be for the better. Shadow's cat-like purr, ringing through the tavern with such boisterous pride, was her way of saying she was happy, happy with her surrounding, happy with those around her, happy with the general events, and just happy with herself in general. Happiness was easily labeled. Shadow could care not who ruled what Werewolves, or where they originated from. She only cared that they were Werewolves, humans that changed into canines. That's all the mattered to her. If she could be so easygoing, why couldn't Roavar?
Roavar glanced towards the young Vyrewatch, who despite seeming very content sipping on her blood and gazing around the room, appeared almost lost, as if she were expecting something to happen that hadn't quite. "Lady Shadow." spoke Roavar, remembering the throw in that 'Lady' that he knew he would have to. "If my tavern does not entertain you, you are free to go outside of it. Canifis isn't the liveliest of places—I won't attempt to sugarcoat my homeland—but I'm certain it's more fun the lolling around my tavern. The Slayer Tower is nearby, you could..."
"No thank you, Roavar." hummed Shadow, thought she seemed rather dejected, quite out of the blue, as if she had been refused something she so badly desired. "I just don't quite feel myself lately. I think I'd much rather just sit here and skulk around the tavern, if you don't mind."
"Of course I don't mind, my lady." Roavar responded with a smile, though the evident degree to how that smile was fake, just plastered on with some swamp tar, was making it hard to maintain. "Just try not to bother my customers and please don't get in the way of the private party. I think it'd be safer for all of us if our private guests were just left alone, well alone." Roavar shivered at the thought of angering Vanstrom.
Upon being spoken to, Shadow gazed upwards, and emotionless haze clouding her usually shimmering red eyes. This wasn't the general lack of emotion a Vampyre held, this appeared almost as if it were sucked out of her. She eventually plastered on a smile, then replied, "Don't claw yourself over it, Roavar. I'm just bored; I always am. You may think we're entertaining, but you'd be amazed how boring being a Vampyre gets, especially when your only forms of entertainment are annoying other Vampyres until they throw you over the city wall or listening to one of the nobles tell you a story you've heard a thousand times over. I just, have no interest in this town or the infernal beasts in the Slayer Tower... or anything." She paused, before adding glumly, "And you needn't call me Lady. I'm not going to throw you in the bloodfarms like the rest of my kind if you don't use such a term."
A feeling of total loss washed over Roavar like a rouge tidal wave, as if the sirens blaring in his head were telling him, storm approaching, dock the ships, you failed to reach shore. There was Shadow, sitting along on a tropical island, palm trees blazing in the ravenous winds, but there stood Roavar on the city shore, trapped, and unable to assist her. He could only watch as she was eaten away by the waves, which she didn't appear to fight against. There had to be a bar, a pause, anything that could break Shadow's silence, that could be the rewinder to the calm before the storm, something to perk Shadow's spirits. Eventually, a dim light shining in Roavar's skull, he leaned in front of Shadow and, though he was a little anxious to do so, suggested, "If you're looking for something new and interesting, you could go to the cellar. Ever since the Myreque abandoned that cave, it's become a little lair for one of the Werewolves."
"Why should I care?" Shadow asked coldly, pushing a metaphorical bar between the two of them which appeared very suddenly and would not be easy to pass, but not impossible either. This was simply a time when it had to be approached with the utmost caution.
Roavar gulped slightly, trying to get through to such a confusing mind. One moment she was happy as could be and the next she seems as if the world is ending, like Zamorak were about to rain fiery doom upon Morytania that no power would be great enough to stop. "Well, you made a comment about how much you liked that blood, right." Shadow's gaze, though mostly unamused, showed a shallow hint of interest. "Well, Anthony is the Werewolf who made his home in the old Myreque hideout. I don't really know what he does down there, but he's a nice enough fellow. Maybe you should go down there an introduce yourself. He's a Werewolf from out of Canifis, where ever that settlement may exist. It might be something new for you." Anthony was something new for everyone. The way that wolf's mind worked... He always acted as if he were so unimportant, as if he didn't give two cents about anyone else, which went double for the Vampyres, but... there had to be more. He spent so much time ignoring Werewolves, rejecting Vampyres, acting as if he didn't exist in that dank hole of muck in the ground. There had to be some story behind it. Everyone has a story. Unfortunately, Anthony and Roavar had never become close enough to share such a story. Anthony always claimed Roavar was under him, and that he was looking for someone who's power could match up to his, for that was who he would trust with his plan, a plan that was for everyone's sake. What was the plan? Well, Anthony was shy about telling, suffice to say.
Shadow lowered her head, falling into a rather dejected looking state of mind. The brisk, melancholy winds of sadness fluttered past her, revealing the inner emotions she was trying to mask under her fake feelings. Roavar's smile faded further, him delivering her a look which said how he felt for her, how he wished she would be happy again, how he wanted to know what was bothering her. Shadow, with foresight working in her favour, almost instantly knew why he was watching her, and not wanting to bring worry to his mind, for he already had enough to fret over, she muttered, "Don't worry about me, Roavar."
Unsuspecting of a response, Roavar glanced upwards, still uncertain of whether or not he had actually been spoken to. "Pardon?" he inquired, his tall ears flicking like a curious puppy. "Did you say something?"
"I said not to worry about me, Roavar" Shadow repeated, leaning upwards slightly in her seat as if something had lightened her mood a little. She sat her glass down, though it still had a little blood left in it, and she pushed it ever so slightly aside, like the blood's taste no longer appealed to her tongue. "I'm a Vampyre." Roavar, unsure what to think, tilted his head to the side. "Don't think I'm depressed or anything, is what I'm saying. Vampyres have been around since the early second age, though I clearly have not been around so long, but what I'm trying to say, Roavar, is that when you've been alive as long as any Vampyre has, everything has already been done, not as much is new. We act bored quite often because we have already done everything, we've seen it all, we've done it all... it's all boring. I am just falling victim to the common Vampyre boredom spells, nothing more. There is nothing for you to worry about." For a moment, Shadow appeared as if she were considering taking another sip of blood, but she must have suddenly lost interest, for she instead turned her head away and lost any interest in the glass.
However, Roavar didn't wish to give up this quickly on the Vampyric lady. He wanted to please her, to make her happy, and with any luck, have her involuntarily put in a good word about Canifis to Lord Drakan when she returned back to the city of Darkmeyer. The question was, what? How was he to please her? These thoughts rambled through his mind, but they would only crash into one another and shatter like frail glass, the shards flying in several directions and thousands of small pieces, impossible to recollect and put back together. Finally, his mind failing him, he gave up and asked, "Is there anything I can do to help, Lady Shadow? Something I can do for you, or... anything, to make you feel more entertained... If there is something you desire, please do tell me."
Shadow glanced quietly over in Roavar's general direction as he spoke to her, her emotionless eyes focused on his every single feature. After an elongated period of silent staring at the worried Werewolf, she finally muttered in response, "Unless you can make Malak appear out of thin air so that we may get this done with, I would imagine not."
"Unfortunately, I cannot control Master Malak's actions." Raovar sadly responded, knowing that the sheer comment of making Malak appear from thin air was a subtle way of her refusing his help. "If I could, trust me when I say I would bring him here immediately, do trust. I am no mage, though, so there is nothing I can do to assist you in that matter." Hoping to get her to come crawling out of her blackened shell, Roavar inquired upon her, "Is there not anything else I can do to please you?"
Regrettably, Shadow dejectedly shook her head upon the hopeful Werewolf, causing his hopes to fall like a bird with it's wings clipped. "Then there is nothing more you can do." She muttered, glancing inside her glass at the thick liquid inside. Roavar observed in mystification as she dipped her finger into the liquid, twirling it in slow, graceful circles, creating a gentle whirlpool within her glass. Roavar was unable to discover why she was performing such an action, but she eventually brought her finger out, gazed over it as if she were expecting something to have changed, then, with her narrow, smooth tongue, licked it. "I think I'll just have some more bloodwine, if you may." Roavar simply nodded, no longer trying to debate with her; he then agreed and proceeded with, her request.
This moment had not gone on only between Roavar and Shadow, however, for eagle-like ears were listening thoughtfully in on the conversation. Directly above the two was a room, occupied by three tall, eerie figures. Two of them stood motionless by the door, waiting the moment when someone dared to saunter in so they could react with grand hostility. The third sat upon the bed, bent ever so slightly over, his ears twitching as the conversation he had been listening to was coming to an end. "Malak's disappearance is an inconvenience." he announced abruptly, leaning back upwards at such a dragging pace that he seemed almost effortless in getting upright, like it didn't matter how long it took him to get there, or if he got there at all. "The longer this plan proceeds the more it begins to irritate me. We must make some sort of action, or I will grow ever tired of this."
One of the men guarding the door had his blood-red eyes focused on his master the entire time, absorbing every word and making certain not to even blink, so long as there was a chance his master may see. "I apologize, Lord Vanstrom, for the difficulty we are traversing through. Had I known Master Malak wasn't going to be here, I would have suggested proceeding with the plan otherwise." He paused his speech for a moment, worried by the way his master's eyes were narrowed ever so slightly. Realizing this was sure to happen, he continued by suggesting, "We could always carry on the plan now, if you would desire it so?"
Vanstrom shook his head upon hearing such a request, knowing that continuing in such a fashion would not be strategically intelligent. "No." Vanstrom huffed, turning his head to the side so that he no longer watched the guard. "We shall continue to lay in wait." Vanstrom rose abruptly to his feet, and his guards knew almost instantly that something else must have crossed Vanstrom's mind for him to so hastily rise from where he had seated himself. "There is something I would like to know of, though, something I would desire to obtain." With haste did Vanstrom cross the room, speaking to his guards as he did so. "Come men, I wish to search Shadow's room."
The guards simultaneously tilted their heads to the side, both ultimately confused by Vanstrom's sudden decision. Though fearful to question someone with such power, and someone who was so quick to show anger towards others, one of the guards—the only one that ever talked, of course—finally spoke up by asking, "Don't mind me asking, but, why would you like to do that, Lord Vanstrom?"
However, Vanstrom failed to answer, instead pushing past the two curious guards and out the room, bringing with him that air of evil that lurked like a plague around him. It was never a good thing when Vanstrom ignored your questions, for it was to either be assumed that you had royally ticked him off and that he was done with your nonsense, or that he was planning something against you, usually for the same general reason. Either way, it was an expectantly piteous reaction to receive from Vanstrom at any given moment in time, for any given reason. Exchanging confused looks, for Vanstrom's actions seemed to be contradicting what he had just declared no less then a minute ago, the guards decided to no longer question Vanstrom's unknown motives and simply act as any guard would and follow their master without a second thought. By the time the two of them reached Vanstrom, the eerie man was already at Shadow's door, fiddling with the lock that was to ensure nobody entered that was not supposed to. The guards stopped behind him, about to ask what he was doing when suddenly the huge, thick lock released an unmistakable click, falling to the ground with a subtle bang. It then occurred to the guards that Vanstrom, with his fine-tipped nails, had picked the lock. Never did Vanstrom fail to impress his followers, something they reminded him of often. Even so, they kept to themselves on this occasion, standing static on the border of silence as Vanstrom pried open the door, wandering in, and they, following.
Vanstrom glided into the room ever so gracefully, his billowing red cape flowing elegantly behind him as he did so. He moved with such light steps, almost as if his feet were not even touching the ground at all. It often confused people, how a man so malevolent, so supernatural, could move about with such beauty and grace. Upon stopping, Vanstrom gripped the edge of his cape, pulling it over his chest as if he were trying to hide himself from something... or someone. His guards stood thoughtlessly behind him, saying absolutely nothing as Vanstrom's eyes darted around Shadow's room, which was, for the most part, tidy. There were a few things knocked over, the bed was a mess... but compared to any room Vanstrom had managed, it was absolutely perfect, hardly a thing out of place. It mattered not to Vanstrom whether every single object was exactly where it was supposed to be or if the room appeared as if a tornado had raged angrily throughout it. He would scour the room either way and it would matter not to him. If Vanstrom wanted to find something, and it was around to find, he would find it regardless the conditions of the location he was searching.
Whatever it was, Vanstrom seemed certain it was around, and his guards dared not make a single move as they observed him swiftly darting across the room, glancing into corners, underneath objects, and other various places in an attempt to locate something unknown. "With all due respect, my Lord Vanstrom," the guard began, his head turning to the side as he observed Vanstrom busily burrowing through a dresser, as if he were some sort of groundhog trying to dig his hollow, "what is it that you are hoping to locate?"
Once more did the guard receive no response, which caused him to fall into an awkward state of silence, for he feared speaking any further would in fact provoke a response, and not the sort of one he had been hoping for. Whatever Vanstrom was doing, whatever he was hoping to locate and wherever it may be, he wanted to do it alone, without interruption. He may not have said anything, but being completely ignored said more then a novel from Vanstrom, and it was not a novel in which a happy ending occurred.
Unsure of what to do, for Vanstrom refused to accept assistance or even tell them what he was so eagerly hunting for, the guards remained frozen where they were, precisely in the center of the room, as if they were the sun in the room's solar system, which made Vanstrom one of the planets, but a confused planet, for he did not make perfect orbits around the sun. Sometimes he would wander too close or too far or move at a pace of which is too quick or to slow. His progression was not impeded by their presence, though, for his merely acted as if they were not even there, like they were two ghosts of a time long since past, and Vanstrom were an innocent person, blissfully ignorant to their presence as he frolicked around the room. The guards often grew wary, as time passed, for they wondered if Shadow would attempt to return to her room. Though they could hear her downstairs, still they fretted, and they were indefinitely ready to hustle Vanstrom quickly out of the room should she abruptly decide to return. Vanstrom rushed, speed being his guide as he flew through anything he could locate in order to determine the location of his unknown object. Just as of this moment, Vanstrom had his face buried deep within a drawer on the nightstand, throwing various objects over the edge as he searched, for they were evidently not what he had been so hopefully searching for. Many-a-times did Vanstrom's guards consider suggesting they give up, to tell him that whatever he was searching for clearly did not exist in this room and it wasn't worth getting spotted over just to prove so. Withal, what if Shadow decided to wander in at the wrong time? She would not react well to Vanstrom nosing through her stuff, and it would cause an unavoidable and displeasing delay that Vanstrom would never allow the two guards to forget. They were too timid, too scared of Vanstrom's wrath, though, to make such a bold statement. So instead, they kept quietly to themselves and continued to observe.
The guards were literally moments from getting over their fears, no longer worrying about how Vanstrom would react, to tell him that such comment. They did not, however, get that far, for Vanstrom suddenly flung his head upwards and with a happiness he rarely exhibited, loudly declared, "I found it!"
Willing to risk Vanstrom's fury, the two guards hustled over to their master, hovering questionably over his shoulder to look at what he had found. They were expecting something amazing, something rare or something worth a lot of money. Suffice to say the disappointment reflected on their faces was evident when the object reflected into their dull red eyes was nothing more then a dreary black stone. It was just a slab of black, and though it released an eerie black glow, which dimly vibrated, almost as if there were life within that pulsing blackness. Despite this, it was nothing more then a black crystal shaped stone, and it didn't appeal to either Vampyric guard was unique or special. "No offense intended, my Lord," interrupted the guard, who dared to break the joy reverberating in Vanstrom's eyes, "but that is just a black rock. Pardon my asking, but what is so special about this thing that we had to risk our cover to find it? First question, actually, may be, what exactly am I looking at?"
This was a daring move, and Vanstrom portrayed that with a spiteful glare of his atrocious red eyes. The guard got off lucky, though, for Vanstrom's gave thankfully softened and he finally answered, "This is called a Dusk Stone." Vanstrom began with a vain smirk. "It's special because it summons a Blood Dragon."