An Abandoned Tower

Was that the tower? It seemed to be. Excitement coursed through his tired veins, running over his weary self. He pushed forwards in his usual disjointed hobble, visibly pushing himself the last quarter of a mile. He was exhausted from the travel, his feet blistered. He dare not sleep, for fear of being taken by surprise. His lack of sleep, combined with the long journey and his pale, sickly self, severely deteoriated his already ill form. If only he had the so fabled 'seven-league boots'. Perhaps he should ask the assembly to look into their existence. It would save him a great deal of trouble travelling.

The dark stones were malevolent in Attla's eyes, imposing despite the size of the establishment. He took no time to burst to the door, wishing to not see the sight no more. He hoped that it was far more homely on the inside. Somewhere to put his feet up, have a good cup of tea and recuperate himself, in order to prepare for the looming task before him. He shivered, the cold wind blasting itself upon his poorly-covered skin, his cloak made for more temperate climates.

He tapped upon the door, flimsily whacking his hand against it, bringing him pain. He smited the door once again, bringing a heavier onrush of pain. His hand bounced off, he grasped it with his other arm, cradling it in a futile attempt to alleviate the damage of his blunder. He shook his hand and returned it to the position on his cane.

Despite the circumstances, a grin manifested itself upon his face. A chance to glimpse at the necromnicon? He would die for that. What a wonderful opportunity!

Volquin was at the top of the tower when he observed Attla, the Conniving and Igrik approaching. They approached with their black clothes, and if anything appeared to be the exact type of people Volquin wished to encounter. The edge of his lip smirked as he turned to head down the stairs and onto the bottom floor.

The inside of the tower was dark, with most of the windows boarded up to keep the sunlight out. As a vampire, bright light could be blinding, and the sun might even set him ablaze. Creatures of the night preferred dark environments for these reasons. Like all vampires, Volquin was able to see well in the darkness and so the lack of light did not bother him. The dark colored stones were not only easy on his eyes, but they could also be intimidating, warding off the weak and faint-hearted.

By the time Volquin reached the bottom floor he could hear Attila knocking on the doors. Two skeletons, armed with simple rusted swords, stood at either side of the door. Volquin gestured at his two minions to open the door and they complied, opening them enough to let Attila and Igrik come through. The bottom floor was a large, round room; the stone floor was covered by a dark red rug, and a worn wooden table was in the middle of the room, with a number of chairs. The windows were all boarded up, but with a flick of his wrist some of the candles on the table lit up and illuminated the area, if only a little. Some old weapon racks and rusted armor would be seen scattered about, untouched by Volquin. The only thing Volquin had done to the tower since he was here was fix the table and find some old wine bottles in the cellar.

"Hail and well met, friends," Volquin said, standing at the opposite end of the room, behind the table. "Please, sit," the Vampire Lord motioned for his two guests to sit at the table. The skeletal minions, after closing the doors, went about to pouring the wine in some goblets for the two to drink. Volquin preferred his goblet of blood, and took a seat at the head of the table.

Volquin had a fairly aristocratic appearance to him. He had a clean-shaven face, devoid of any imperfections. His hair was fixed nicely and he had a friendly and inviting demeanor. He wore a black suit with a long black cape, the inside of which was dark red. If not for his blood-red eyes, fanged teeth, or pale skin, one might would think he was a man of nobility. Even the sword on his waist was of fine make, obviously crafted for looks rather than for use.

"I am glad you could make it," he said with a smile to his guests. He was fairly prim and proper, with good manners, despite being a blood-sucking monster. "My name is Volquin, and I am a Vampire Lord. I have come a long way and spent countless decades searching for the ever-elusive grimoire known to the mortals as the Necronomicon. And I believe I have located it. But to retrieve it, I require help. Your help. In return for your services, I offer you unimaginable power; I can even offer you immortality if you so wish. But most of all, I offer you access to the Necronomicon. The spoils of such a tome will not be mine alone, but to my friends as well." Volquin took a long sip of his bloodied goblet. "So, what do you say? Will you help me retrieve this book?"

By golly the deal was sweet! Attla could finally grasp the one eluding factor within his life, power! And here he was, before him a chance to read from the unholiest of grimoires and a gift of such quality and magnitude! Isra shall feel his wrath for the first time! He shall crush those who oppose him! How, so very, very exciting.
His power fantasy did not cease to end. He was reveling in his 'victory', neglecting the obvious risk of the task before him. After all, the stakes must be high if the rewards must be high. And this 'vampire lord', or whomever it may be before him did not appear to be the charitable kind.

He grasped the goblet with a firm grip, drawing back into the seat in which he had being guided to. A broad grin appeaed upon his face, keeping its composure even as he sipped from the goblet. He paused for a second, moving in, locking eyes with the lord before him. Making sure to keep his eyes focused upon the lord's, outstretching his hand toward him.

"I think this arrangement will certainly work. You have my full support, Lord Volquin."

He shifted his focus towards Igrik. A man of similiar deacon our to him, he supposed. Certainly far more deformed than him. He looked as if they could get along famously. He turned towards Igrik, idly.

"May I ask, what is your name?" he asked with cordiality, briefly ignoring Volquin.