It was almost cruel just how quick the day seemed to recede away, stepping off the stage on behalf of the slow encroaching night. She had but barely spent much time on, the sheer number of people whom had taken to the streets being nothing short of impressive, if not intimidating even. They moved in uniformity like a sea’s waves as they crashed against the heavy set cliffs, one almost forced to move with them despite the allure that any given stall may have had. Baubles, gems, intriguing goods forged of metals that seemed to reflect the warm colors that had begun to cast over the skies above like the first draft to a painter’s masterpiece; their colors and arrangement enough to entrance plenty of passerby’s into breaking from the flow. They pushed through, admired a trinket or two, perhaps following a brief exchange of jewels secured said trinket away and went on with their business, back into the wave of commerce and merriment.

For most, it was a thing of routine. Cruelly efficient in not only itself but also the people who played to it as well. Save for the pale woman with the indigo hair and eyes as intense as a pair of amethyst gems themselves, who stood there, head shifting from side to side with as much certainty as to where to go next like that of a child left abandoned by a parent. Within the middle of the road she stood there, no place in particular that she had given herself reason to visit or tend to, no place where she had to go to.

She was just simply there. A woman lost, without any clear idea of where to go next. Moreso, a woman without any clear idea of where she were in the first place.

It had not been for any reason that she found herself here. Rather, she simply found herself proceeding down a given road, following it until she happened upon civilization. A fortunate happening of events really, with such allure and fanfare towards the coming Hallows End, a festivity that seemed to envelope the city and its people. She admittedly could not help but find herself curious as to all of this, talks of this Hallows End being simply sounding almost alien. Intriguing perhaps, but what interest may have settled within her were stripped from her as the wave motioned again, a nameless figure walking into her as the force and suddenness of it all nearly robbed her of her balance.

It would not have been difficult to accomplish such a feat, so much of her attention and focus split in all directions. The people around her left her uneasy, the sounds of the commotion and celebration being a constant cacophony that seemed to go without end, and the smells… Oh how the smells taunted the young Isobele; her mind struggling to separate away the scents that were alien to her yet native to these festivities from those of the people that motioned constantly around, their scents lingering within the air, as she desperately tried to separate them apart. Amongst the foods, odors, and all other smells that lined throughout the street, one stood out to her. An almost homely type of scent.

Blood.

She thought that she had smelled such a delicacy. Poor in quality, all things considered, compared to what she had once had the delight of enjoying over the near century, but it would do. Blood had become an unexpected rarity for her, to the point that the idea of going to extreme lengths were far from outside of the realistic for her.

But it had been days now since she last fed. Her body was weak, her mind struggling – an ordeal made no easier by the overwhelming myriad of sensations that flooded her. That she was able to skewer the scent of blood from everything around her should perhaps have been thought of as nothing less than a miracle, if one could ever be said towards the Nerach.

As if compelled she pushed forward, blindly following the scent as she moved with the crowd, at times even pacing ahead as she moved mission-driven while they moved along with the flow of things. A complete disconnect between them and her, most of them having not a single care of what or where they were going next while she had only one thought on her mind.

The closer she moved forward, the stronger the scent was, the more diluted, impure she came to realize it was. But a beggar could not be a chooser. It was blood, and to find something of that sort within this kind of environment, it was far greater than what she could have possibly imagined it being. Yet the good fortune only held so much weight as her eyes suddenly dawned then upon the stall, pieces of meat hung upon hooks, droplets of blood descending down into small puddles formed upon the wooden counter. It was a poor presentation, even from the perspective of the shop keeps; a rushed display in hopes of passing along second-rate goods. It was hardly an uncommon thing, but for something like meats – particularly those of the quality presented – there would be few whom would want anything to be associated with.

That didn’t much matter to Isobele, looking on at one piece in particular – a deeply red piece of meat, the creature of origin unclear by the looks and likely neither known by the man whom seemed less than interested in it and far more intrigued at the lovely, if not strange woman whom had approached his otherwise silent stall. “You seem quite taken by that ribeye miss.” His words were hoarse, making his age seem far older than that of what his image conveyed. Tired eyes further observed Isobele then peered to the side catching a quick glance at the creature that sat just atop her shoulder. “Strange-looking cat you got there. Doesn’t look like something that could eat a piece of meat of this size…” If not for the amethyst eyes that briefly glanced over to him after finally separating from the large hunk of meat he likely would not have given a second thought as to the creature. “B-b-but, I think I should have something that’s more… fitting… to its size.”

As poorly discreet as he attempted to be, the Nerach Vampire could not help but catch a faint glimpse of the man reaching his hand within a small barrel behind him, all sorts of meat seeming to have been piled up within it. Ligaments, bones, skins, trimmings, any and every piece of refuse that could have been upon a piece of meat as much piled on with them. A few more moments of being “discrete” and the man turned back to the unlikely pair, holding a small leather-wrapped bag – arguably nicer in quality and looks than much else of what he had to offer – with an almost gory smell coming out from it. The cat glanced down at the bag for a moment, eyes narrowing as it looked back up at the merchant, though any further attention would no longer be upon it but rather Isobele instead.

“H-how… much?” Her words were hoarse, drowned out by the sound of the crowd around them, having only seemed to become more alive as the sky continued to glow with warm colors.

“Excuse me,” the man asked again now leaning forward, holding his breath in hopes of avoiding taking in the scent of the meat all around him.

“How much,” Isobele spoke up, her eyes looking almost in utter rapture towards the piece of meat. She would have it, that much was clear to her now.

The man looked at her, then towards the meat. A snicker appeared upon his face, thinking himself having secured a great deal. But then there were a whiff in the air, the scent of meat rushing into his face, utterly shattering whatever bravado he may have once had. “I tell ya what. I wouldn’t typically do this, but it seems kinda clear that you be wanting that meat.” He leaned back, folding his arms, “I’ma let you take it. No charge.”

Isobele could hardly believe what she were hearing, the excitement almost too much to contain. Almost in disbelief, she began to reach for the large piece of meat, half-expecting the man to renege and the hand to come down violently upon her outstretched limbs.

But the hostile response never came. Even as cold fingers gripped along the raw meat, faint bits of blood beginning to stain otherwise pale skin, there never came any response from the man, save for perhaps disgust.

She continued while he watched. The feline creature upon her shoulder carried out its own movement, taking hold of the small bag that otherwise had been left unattended upon the stall. Clutching it tightly, it treated it special much like how she chose to look upon the meat, just where it came from, what animal it may have been utterly irrelevant to her.

All Isobele wanted in the immediate moment was the taste of blood, something that she as much hated but felt compelled to indulge in. So much so that in nearly the same rate at which she had found herself so singularly approaching the stall, too had she left. Disappearing behind the stall, not bothering to entertain the idea of manuevering through the unforgiving seas of man. No, there was privacy in the back alleys, a sort of assurance that what they did within the shadows would be of their own knowledge and seldom few else’s.

A bit of distance away, a short time later wherein only the occasional spec of blood upon the ground could have further marked down her trail, she finally knelt down with relief. The feast was finally upon her.

Paying no heed to the smell, Isobele bit deep within the meat, blood pooling, some of it staining her face, hands, and clothes, but so much entering within her mouth, providing her with something special. Euphoric even.

Elation.

Sustenance.

But even with that there came something else as well.

Shame.

Disgust.

The urge overwhelming, it took a moment before she had finally realized her situation, kneeling down against a cold wall in within a dark alley of some nondescript city, feasting upon a large, rancid piece of meat as though there it were a grand buffet.

Still starving, still intent upon dining on the blood that remained within the carcass, she could not help but look with great disappointment. With great disgust and hatred towards herself.

In what world could she have imagined this being something acceptable? In what world could she have utterly hoped that she were not looked upon as a sort of monster?

Given her current situation, she was without an answer to that.

Time, it flowed in a constant current. It was both tranquil but also incredibly harsh in the sense that time waited for nobody. Neither the youngest of mortals or the mightiest of dragons were truly spared from the flow of time. Well, there were stories of an ancient dragon who had once contained a certain mastery over the flow of time, but that was a story for another time.

Ever since the recent events that had transpired she had found herself at an impasse. Although she had obtained a great opportunity, it also came at an immense price: The birth of a goddess, at the cost of the dragon's strength. Although she had never been to Astera before, it was far from the events she had been associated with, and it seemed like a safer option to wander the streets of this city instead of returning to Pergrande.

She had been traversing among the various stalls peddling their wares, her lone purpose being one that she had thought was never truly one she would have had: To waste time. Indeed, she had nothing better to do than to wait and recover, and she was not the time to lock herself in a cave in the middle of nowhere, even if that might had been the safer option.

But it was also the more boring and mundane one... and she hated boredom.

She had just stopped in front of a glassblower who had been selling a collection of mirrors, and for the briefest of moments her gaze settled in her reflection of one of them. It was a fair maiden, although it was one unfamiliar to most. She could understand why, after all this appearance belonged to one who was familiar toward Earthland, but Earthland was unfamiliar with her. In the end, that was the result of her wish: the power to usurp the void and obtain its power for her own goals. The end result? She had ascended into a being that was both Voidal and dragonic in nature, at the cost of the ire of a certain... benefactor.

"You seem to be taking a liking to the mirror, would you be interested in purchasing it miss?"

The owner of the stall addressed her, her gaze settling briefly on the man who addressed her. There was something about the woman's presence that took away his breath. He wasn't sure what it was: perhaps the nature of her eyes, or her beauty, the glassblower had almost forgotten to breathe for a moment when finally he heard her speak, the light curve of her lips into the gentlest of smiles making his mind turn back to reality.

"Yes, the handmirror here would be a fine gift, how much is it?"

The glassblowler smiled politely at her as he answered: "That would be fifty jewels please." A gentle nod followed by the woman who handed over a small pouch filled with jewels, and before he noticed its contents were heavier than the suggested price he could barely hear her whisper across the wind. "You can keep the spare change~"

Having disappeared in the nearby alleyways she had finally taken a moment to appreciate the solitude, rising the handmirror before her face and looking at her reflection once more. Indeed, this form was not the one belonging to the Tyrant Dragon of Pergrande... Right now she was Veles, a newborn goddess of the Void and Pergrande's Guardian deity.

Even now it felt so different, her mind was oddly at ease, calmer...

"I guess it is the result of my awakening, hmm?" She mused softly, yet in the moment that followed a peculiar scent drifted through the air and caught her attention. It was faint, but as a Dragon it was a scent she was not unfamiliar with: blood.

"Some say curiosity kills the cat, good thing I'm not a feline~" A soft hum followed as she decided to investigate, her steps light but her stride filled with confidence. Even weakened she doubted some thugs or criminals would pose even the slightest of threats to one like her, but it was neither a criminal or a crime scene she arrived at.

No, instead she found a young woman knelt over the carcass of some animal, likely stock from a local farm.

"Oh? I didn't think I'd ever see a mortal enjoying their meals raw like I do~" Raising her voice just loud enough to make her presence known she approached the stranger, yet as her gaze lingered on the carcass she couldn't help but notice something peculiar: It wasn't exactly the meat that was being savored...

"Well, I can't say that I ever seen anyone enjoy their meals to the point they get squirmish and excited in a different way~ Just do please keep the moaning at a minimum, and... please tell me you brought along some tissues."

She raised a finger and gestured lightly at her cheeks. "Right now you look like you left a crime scene, and although I am neither a hero or in charge of this nation's peacekeeping, I would prefer not to get involved in unpleasant shenanigans~"

She stretched her arms lightly into the air, heaving a soft sigh. "Then again, I bet someone would complain if I leave you looking like that so..."

A momentary pause followed as she spread her hands in front of her, a soft gesture and a channeling of mana causing a small droplet of water to start growing in the center of the space between her hands, steadily expanding till it became a small swirling sphere of fresh clean water.

"Go on now, wash your face~ We can proceed with proper etiquette and introductions afterward~"

Her gaze remained soft, her voice kind and yet laced with a playful mischievousness. She did have to admit she was quite curious about what this woman had been up to, but right now she'd prefer to avoid having someone else walk into a scene like this.

Such a pitiful state she found herself within. For whatever sort of justification that Isobele would have sought to provide herself, however she may have wanted to make the sight before any foreign eye understandable, even to the most simple of means, she knew that the her appearance was simply damning in its own right. Her hands, much of her face smeared crimson with animal blood, of what variety even she could not put a right finger on. It certainly was not outside of the realm that she found herself forced to dine upon such creatures within the wild; in fact it had actually been something much more of a normality.

The idea of feasting upon humans, particularly those that were living, it was still something that despite being a Vampire and having experienced no shortage of human blood via the thralls offered to her before, the idea of hunting one was still far too much for her. A deceased body whom had succumbed to the elements or to the creatures that existed within the untamed wilds, those were different stories entirely. What crime then, what justification would there be to descend down into madness and venom towards her when no life was robbed, her simply being little more than the scavenger who would have picked the body clean, whether of armor or blood.

All hypotheticals, of course. In the time that had passed since she had left the safety of her mother’s brood, the idea of having to rationalize or defend herself had never presented themselves; a welcome circumstance given the challenge that inevitably would come of it. In her ignorance, she assumed this to be the standard. The risk that came with everything she was doing, what she participated in being outlier scenarios than anything else. A figment of fear that was unfounded, simply tied to her sense of unknown presence within the open world.

Perhaps it should not have been, lest she had realized the figure who stood just beyond the alleyway, their gaze fixated upon Isobele. It was not the sight but the sound, words nearly drowned out by the commotion all around that it was little more than what one would expect from a simple passerby. But there were seldom any reason that someone would find themselves within an alley like this, Isobele included. Even fewer reasons that one would seek to stumble upon another.

She could see them, eyes that looked down upon her, not of cruelty or harshness, but almost perhaps that of intrigue. Just in the presence of the pair, she found herself in complete contrast to that of the other, their figure becoming a bit more apparent with subsequent steps, a hidden visage becoming a focal point as it gave the appearance of a beautiful woman, adorned in garments that Isobele never could have imagined before.

It took a moment before the allure shattered into panic, her mind hastily pulling from the allure of the woman to that of fear, the potential reality manifesting properly within her mind.

In but a swift single motion, the carcass had dropped to the ground, what blood remaining within it staining the dirt below, less of a pool than what would be expected from such a hearty piece of meat. She had risen to her feet, her immediate motion that of a knelt stance, as if to strike out at an impending attacker, but lacking any of the intimidating presence or believability that a capable fighter would be able to display. Rather it seemed more like someone trying to imitate something that they had heard of, not actually what they had encountered themselves. That wouldn’t matter as she made her attack, only to feel the ground come up from beneath her – her body moving out of sync with her mind – an bloodied hand outstretched towards the ground to keep her standing, the ground beneath her only further now stained by the blood from her hand and the few droplets mixed with saliva that descended down from her mouth.

And so her confidence and hope for survival fell with those droplets. Her weight gave out, she fell to her knees, desperate, defeated eyes staring up at the figure, as much expecting to be looking upon the face of her executioner. Perhaps even an assassin dispatched by her mother. Thoughts raced through her mind whilst combating whatever force stopped her from departing as hastily as possible. The will to live, the desire to feed another day being made impossible by the futility and shame that came with everything that had happened.

She wished for the strength to say something. Anything. A simple plea for her life, even the most meager of requests, yet her mouth remained silent, not a lone sound save for the low, panicked breathes escaping. With the next step, her eyes widened further, anything within her sight not the mysterious woman now being little more than an afterthought within her mind.

But what happened took the Nerach Vampire by surprise, the moment of violence that her mind had seemed to play out in multiple scenarios never coming to reality, but instead there were little more than words. Kind words, stitched together like that of a beautiful harmony, cascading through Isobele’s mind, a soothing nature to it, to the words spoken, towards the face that gifted such a reprieve.

Kindness.

The very concept of it was something so foreign that she still struggled to find herself used to it. While the world had tolerated her up to this point, that was the extent of it all. Compassion, care, the kind of feelings that more often resonated and reminded her of her mother than anything else, the people had shown little to no reason to provide her any, nor did they. That her first moments encountering such a reaction left her stunned, perhaps more even than at the prospects of facing her own demise.

A part of her still found herself struggling to move, still struggling to process everything going on, the nature of this woman before her, the restoration of her mind and focus following the sanguine meal she had just indulged in – rancid as it may have been. How was she to have reacted? Delighted? Fearful? Perhaps somewhere in the middle of those emotions? Potentially. Yet she could little more than remain there, as vulnerable as she was enamored by the sight and sounds. A beautiful face and kind words as much speaking kindly while demeaning; a parallel far too resonate of the way her mother had often taken to her. A sentiment that only seemed to further add to Isobele’s confusion, unsure of whether or not to fully trust such kindness.

Then the woman approached further, the gap between the two narrowing down, so much that Isobele could swear she could have heard the beating of the woman’s heart, the rhythm from it like that of a symphony for only her ears. A beautiful solo performed just for her. So entranced that she failed to see the more spectacular presentation, the Magic manifesting before the woman, growing steadily and steadily until it were no longer the fragmented piece of Magic made manifest but instead a glorious sphere of blueish Magic, a gift of sorts held out before her.

It was impossible not to appreciate and recognize the enthralled nature of Isobele, the sphere before her – undoubtedly something of simple means without requiring more than a simple thought to make reality – the first true instance of Magic witnessed. She had heard plenty of the concept before. The tales told by her mother, of the thralls and servants whom had seen much of the world prior to their devotion and surrendering to her mother’s brood, so often did they come with their own tales of Magic, enough to where her mind perpetually wondered, unsure of quite how she would ever respond to some of the things that she had heard.

Compared to the stories, it was almost anticlimactic that this would be her first encounter with Magic. A sphere, barely larger than a pair of outstretched hands, every rotation or so causing a droplet to stain silken-covered hands that supernaturally manifested the Magic initially. It was impressive, but was she to simply admire it? Did the woman expect a performative applause? She was almost prepared to swat a hand forward, intent on dispersing the watery orb into nothing more than a faint puddle, when she heard the command echoed out by the woman.

“Wash my…” Her words trailed a bit, confused more than anything. She glanced down at hands, smeared with several layers of crimson adorned upon them. So appetizing, so ripe, yet wasteful too. Her focus, adrift in the scent of blood, paid no mind to the fingers that slowly rose towards her lips, stopping only as they came within a lick’s distance of her mouth, only to part away and grace along her lip. It was difficult to tell with the blood that smeared all surfaces, but the distinct difference existed, enough to know that all things likely equal the flesh surrounding her mouth bore little difference than that her hands.

Only then did it sufficiently dawn on her the request by the mysterious figure. A gesture, if not a necessary formality before either of them took a step further. And who was Isobele to argue such a demand? In such a non-subtle way, this woman had shown something of a hand, enough to impose her superiority over the Nerach Vampire, at least per this capacity. What was someone of her status to do against the prospects of Magic? Was someone like her foolish enough to try to engage in her still weakened state? Such carelessness had not enabled her to survive thus far, nor did she much intend to allow herself to be felled yet.

With some reluctance, her hand pulled back, cautiously proceeding into the sphere that remained as impressive as it did before. A wet sensation overtook her skin, the layers of caked on blood becoming more like that of a faint paint that with every second within the sphere seemed to become less and less thickened, all the more simply like that of a red ink that quickly was becoming that of nothingness. Once the fingers were sufficiently clean, no more crimson to overwise mistake pale skin, Isobele began to lightly scrub the area around her mouth. She could feel the sensation of the bloody water beginning to descend down her face, part of her wishing to have had the chance to taste the blood again. Yet, she resisted, fearful of the ire that such a gesture may have made towards this other woman.

After some seconds of scrubbing, she peered down upon her hands, faint red smudges and streaks still present, if little more than the last remains of what had been there. Somewhat disappointed, she shook her hands, droplets landing all around her but leaving a fairly dry feeling now with her, preferrable than that of the wetness, sinking feeling of earlier.

“Is that sufficient for you… Whomever or whatever you call yourself.” Her words weren’t so much cold as they were of sorts indifferent. Callous. Her mouth opened, another word expected but instead she gave pause, her mind reconsidering the manner of her tone. “Thank… you… I appreciate the gesture.”

She looked past the woman for a brief moment, fearful of whom may have born witness, yet no eyes as far as she could see were cast in their direction. A feeling of relief ran through her as she turned her amethyst eyes back towards the kind yet mysterious figure. “I suppose I owe my name, given your act of kindness I would assume it only right I reciprocate it. My name is Isobele Koz… Isobele is my name. Surnames, I think it would matter little at the moment and may only inspire rough sentiments.”

A knee buckled slightly as she leaned forward slightly, a sort of bow, one not of prestige nor of high society but rather one of lacking direction than anything. Respect, if not respect not quite understood as to why. “To who do I owe the courteous of such a… memorable encounter?”

Her gaze softened for a moment, the hesitant of the stranger reminding her of a little memory. She was once told that her presence could be intense for mortals. Even if unintended, the strength of her gaze as a dragon could often leave warriors speechless, and lesser mortals breathless. It was the very reason she got told to try to smile more often. It was an entertaining memory, but one that felt would have changed little to her story. After all there was no denying her history as the Tyrant Dragon of Pergrande, even if she currently was wearing a different identity.

It was rather sudden, the momentary distracted nature of the woman turning into a familiar reaction of intimidation, fear perhaps? Indeed, the way the carcass was dropped in such a hurry. The way the stranger tried to get back onto her feet, the stance and demeanor reminding her less of a predator and more akin to a tiny bunny who had just been cornered by a massive dragon.


"Now, now~ you shouldn't overexert yourself, although I can see your attempt at martial-inclined maneuvers, it seems that while your mind knows how to do them, your body can't keep up~" She smiled sympathetically as the lass fell to her knees. The look of defeat in the lass her eyes, the way she seemed like she had given up on life, it felt oddly familiar. Yes, she had sometimes seen it on the battlefield, during the time she razed the defiant village to the ground to turn them into an example. Even upon their defeat their leader refused to surrender, but the pride and fearlessness in his heart was not matched by his followers who fell into despair when their leader was slain before their eyes.

When facing such an overwhelming threat the thought of revenge was forlorn, it seemed like at that point it might had been easier, more logical to give up and surrender then. Better to surrender and accept the end, than to defy and resist in futility? Nay, she didn't agree to that notion, even if met with an overwhelming force she would struggle stubbornly till the end. That was the type of being she was.

"Come now~ Surely you don't expect me to conjure a lake just to make you clean your face?" She stated with a playful wink, although her tone made it somehow evident that should she find the need to do so, conjuring a lake would had been quite within the realm of possibilities.

When she finally started to cleanse the blood off her face the young woman smiled in approval. Indeed, it was much more pleasant to see the woman now she was no longer bloodied, although she did not shy away from blood and violence, she didn't consider there much appeal in it either. Violence was a necessity, and blood a consequence of it.

"Mhmm~ Much better, at least now we won't have to worry about the locals getting the wrong impression." Indeed, explaining something like this in a foreign land was something she did not desire to do. "You're welcome~ and Me? I am... hmm..." She paused for a moment, her hands gently moving as the sphere dispelled itself, the water droplets evaporating into nothing while she raised a hand to her cheek, a finger tapping it lightly in a pondering gesture. "You may call me Veles~"

A light nod of acknowledgement followed when Isobele introduced herself, a slight smile lingering on her lips. "A pleasure to meet you Isobele~" She shifted her hand back to her side and hummed softly. "Although I have no surname to provide, my kin does not really have such a concept in their society."

A soft hum followed at the comment of this being a memorable encounter. "I have to admit: It is quite a memorable one indeed, Not what I expected but that might be the appeal to an adventurous soul like my own~" A soft giggle followed, clearly amused at the thought. "And yet, I can't help but feel there is going to be more to this tale, so why don't we continue our conversation somewhere a bit more peaceful? I'm quite interested to hear more about what brought such a young maiden to such a state that she would need to go to such desperate lengths to enjoy a meal."

As she spoke her gaze shifted lightly from Isobele toward the carcass, feeling a slight pang of guilt at having soiled the lass her meal. Although she had to admit it was the first time she heard of a mortal savoring a meal like this. It wasn't like she was a huge dragon that could swallow an entire cow whole as a means to enjoy a meal. At least it would provide both milk and beef then, a pleasant meal to indulge in for sure!