A Lovely Hotel

Description: As the title would imply, it is a lovely four star hotel in the south of France decorated in warm earthy colors throughout its facilities which include an indoor pool, workout room, and hot tub. Specifically, Almos has a single bed suite on the fourth floor paid for using stolen credit cards from his latest victims.

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Feet propped up on the desk, the former monk leaned back slightly in his chair with his recently procured letter spread across his lap. With his coat draped over the back of his chair and the television softly blaring in the background, the vampire could almost pass for an average vacationer. That is, until one laid eyes upon the strangely glowing chain resting in a heap in the center of the desk. Surrounded by a circle of strange runes written in blood, the chain was giving off the faintest red glow as the symbols moved towards it of their own accord. Before long, they would completely close in on the length of iron links and become absorbed into the weapon to return the Bloodied Links to their former cursed state. By this point the ritual was essentially on autopilot, allowing Almos some free time to study his newest find once again.

Much to Lorand's dismay, the letter itself was not a map to the weapon he was seeking. In fact, it possessed no information whatsoever on that particular relic. However, what it did possess were clues to yet another potential source of information in much the same way that the scroll he had taken from that ancient monastery had led him to Rome. Based on his track record, he could only imagine that the next scroll would likewise be nothing more than another link in the chain. Frustrating yes, but it would only be a matter of time before he followed that chain to its end and gained the power to make his wildest dreams come true.

A lovely hotel, to be sure. A bit unusual, given a vampire's penitence for sleeping in a coffin in some derelict building or pile of trash, but a magic user would find this better suited to their tastes. Opening the door, a black-clad man holding a teacup walked into the room. He took a sip from the cup before exhaling, deliberately making a great deal of noise to alert the vampire of his presence. They had business to attend to.

For the members of the vampiric race who managed to survive beyond their earliest evolutionary stages, a particularly useful ability known as the "Third Eye" became available. Considered by some to be a sixth sense, it was actually more of a collaborative effort by a vampire's senses of sound, smell, touch, and occasionally even taste. When banded together they offered incredible detection abilities that could best be described to a hunter's natural instinct. The lucky few who lived long enough to truly master it could, for lack of a better term, sense a foreign presence long before it became visible.

Cautious by nature, Almos Lorand had made it a point to perfect that very skill long ago which is why it came as such a great surprise when it failed him spectacularly. One moment, he was sitting alone in his hotel room, turning his newly restored chain in his hand. The next, there was an entire ocean of power at his door. Crimson eyes widened for a moment as the black clothed man entered his room before quickly narrowing once more.

Since the day he'd taken the offer of blood in that old monastery, Almos had scoured the globe for ever greater sources of power to facilitate his campaign against god. He'd twisted ancient rituals to suit his needs, tricked lesser pagan deities into rigged contracts, and consumed countless souls to bolster his natural vampiric abilities. But in all that time, the former monk had never felt anything like this.

All that being said, Almos was not the type to fall into awe before a greater power. He simply couldn't afford such behavior when his ambition was to engage one of the most powerful deities in history face to face. Instead, the vampire let out a long impressed whistle before smoothly rising to his feet and tucking his hands into his pockets.

"Well hello there. I don't recall ordering room service," he said, flashing a fanged grin. Best to try and keep things civil for the time being, at least until he could get a better handle on exactly what he was dealing with and what it wanted.

He removed his hat, showing a shining bald head, and took a small bow. Replacing the cap on top of his head, he addressed the vampire. "Good evening, Almos. I was just checking on your progress." He casually strolled to the desk, glancing over the letter that had recently been stolen from the Italian museum. "I'd just finished looking into a couple of my men in America. One was in such a bad mood. You know how alchemists are, though." He took another sip from the cup. "The other was quite charming. Always with the sickeningly sweet attitude of his.

"But I couldn't finish my rounds without checking on my golden boy, now could I?" He was referring to Almos, obviously. Apparently, the vampire was a rather important piece of his plans. Whatever those were. "Gotten yourself in a bit of trouble, haven't you? The Vatican knows you exist now. May want to stay out of Rome for the time being." He rubbed a gloved finger against the cursed chain links on the table, smiling sweetly at it. It was seemingly quite pleasing to him.

Almos nodded in return as the bald thing tipped its hat to him. He was unnervingly cordial for a complete stranger and yet the vampire couldn't help but notice the similarities in how he treated his own prey. While interesting to see from the other side, the placating tone was going to wear on the former monk's nerves very quickly (yet another of his tools turned against him). However, there did not appear to be any hidden meaning to the creature's words. He was arrogant, but he was honest. That much, even Lorand could respect.

As the mysterious entity approached the desk, Almos could feel subtle pinpricks running down his spine. His instincts were kicking in, once again informing him that he was in the presence of an alpha predator. All the more reason to hold his ground. Retracting his grin into an amused smirk, Almos simply shifted his stance slightly to allow his visitor to pass.

"I doubt I'll need to go anywhere near there until I have what I want. So long as I keep a low profile for a while I'm sure they'll find bigger toys to play with," he said with a shrug. Rotating a bit, the vampire squared his stance to the visitor, hands still in his pockets.

The longer he remained in this thing's presence, the more at ease he felt. Whatever it was, it appeared to be aligned with his own desires but that alone was enough to keep Almos on (an outwardly relaxed) guard. Just because it was with him now was no guarantee that it would stay with him. It knew about his exploits in Rome and already knew that his plans went much much deeper than assassinating a few paladins here and there. To be at such a disadvantage in knowledge was truly vexing for a vampire who made it his business to always be one step ahead.

"Be a dear and leave the chain alone, will you?" As if responding to a silent call, the Bloodied Links immediately rose from the desk and slithered through the air to coil around Almos' bare left forearm. "Sentimental value."

Sliding the letter across the desk, Almos cleared a spot in the corner where he promptly perched himself before returning his hand to his pocket. "I'm glad I was able to provide you with a bit of entertainment. Care to tell me who, and what, you are?"

The sight of such powerful magic at work with the chain alone was comforting to him. This one would come in handy down the line. "You may call me Mister Ogreman. I'm simply someone with an interest in the various keepers of magic in this world. I have my plans for you and the others. For now, I just ask that you refrain from dying. That's not too hard, is it?" He peered into his teacup, liquid still full, looking into a reflection that didn't exist. It was warm and sweet, just like always. He never quite got tired of that taste.

"We're both rather busy, though," he finally said. "I'll leave you to tracking down that artifact. Fair warning, though. I hope you're not afraid of fire." He bowed again, but shallower. "I suppose I'll be on my way now."

Ogreman eh? It was a sufficiently foreboding name for an individual as...off as he was. At the mention of his "request", Almos tipped his head slightly to one side as if in consideration before rising to a standing position in between Ogreman and the door. The amused smirk once more pealed back to reveal a smile adorned with vampiric fangs.

"Just a moment there. To be perfectly honest, I couldn't care less what your plans are so long as they don't get in the way of what I want. I won't insult you by assuming you don't know what that is, so tell me Mr. Ogreman." The vampire advanced half a step to shorten the distance between them to something a little more difficult. Head still cocked slightly to the side, Almos trained his crimson eyes on Ogreman's features, almost daring them to betray a lie though he very much doubted that would be the case. "Are you going to get in the way of my meeting with the big man upstairs?"

Little upstart. He has, what, about 100 years on this planet? And he thinks he can start acting like that? "Foolish boy. A vampire is little more than a maggot compared to a god. I told you before to refrain from dying until I'm done with you. You can commit suicide afterwards." He looked him in the eyes, a much brighter red than his own. In an instant, all the vampire's worst memories were dug up from whatever mental vault he'd likely have them stored in, as well as a healthy dose of a constructed future where he was torn asunder, tortured, and killed by angels, priests, other vampires, wizards, paramilitary, and any number of other potential foes he may encounter on his misguided journey to fight the deity he blamed for all his failings in life.

It was over in a second, but for the vampire, the illusion would be cast so as to appear to play in real time. Every death would feel as real as if it were happening in that very room. He'd experience no physical damage, though. He was just fine. "Now, would you kindly discontinue blocking my path? I am rather busy."

There was the true nature he'd been looking for. No more false civility, no more placating compliments, just raw emotion and the sense of superiority he'd sensed in Ogreman from the very beginning. That was the kind of reaction he could work with and the vampire's smile widened appropriately. At least, until Ogreman called upon his own masterful powers of illusion through nothing more than eye contact to forcefully reinsert Lorand into all of his worst memories. For most people, emotional baggage only amounted to a few standout incidents, the rare disasters in their lives. But for others, that baggage was the accumulation of little things piling atop one another for years at a time before they all came crashing down at once. Luckily for Almos, he had both.

In the blink of an eye, the vampiric master of naether was gone, replaced with a shy child cowering in front of his parents. He'd let his temper slip and had to be punished for such an unacceptable transgression. The memory repeated itself more times than he could count with his gradually increasing age becoming the only change until he found himself standing before his parent's graves, angrier than ever before and yet shackled by the indoctrination to civility at the hands of his loved ones beneath the earth. For all his worth he wanted to scream and yet could not force the outrage from his throat.

Another flash forward and he was thrust into the chaos of the dock near his family home. In the distance he could hear his child screaming but his eyes were locked on his wife quickly disappearing beneath the water's surface. Why? Why was he losing the only thing he had? Why didn't he have the privilege of happiness? Why couldn't he scream?

Yet another jump into the future and he finally got his chance, straddling a sick priest with his hands around the clergyman's neck and tears running down his face. The other murders were considerably more blurred, flashed of motion and blood as he massacred his "brethren" with savage violence that he knew would never be enough.

The monastery memory shimmered out of view just as the blood began to move towards him replaced with a rapidly flashing collection of scenes. Glowing parchment crushed his limbs, silver stakes tore through his body, blades and bullets hacked his body to pieces. Sealed into the earth to rot, submerged in liquid fire, incinerated by angelic fire until nothing remained but darkness...and the hotel room.

The vampire's relaxed stance had been utterly shattered and when he returned to his senses a layer of sweat covered his entire body. Though his left hand was clasped down on his knee to steady himself, the vampire's will had prevented him from bending knee to Ogreman's mental attack. Regardless of the trauma that he might suffer, kneeling to another was one thing Almos had refused to ever submit to again.

Teeth clenched and brows furrowed in concentration to steady his own breathing, Lorand's mind worked furiously to find a way to use that pain rather than give into it. All those memories, all those regrets, he couldn't afford to think of them as weights around his neck. No, they were fuel for his inner flame, they were the reason he'd fought as hard as had.

Another deep inhale and a herculean effort brought Almos back up to his full standing posture. Though he managed to put on a small smirk, his face was still covered in sweat and his shoulders had sagged ever so slightly. Still, he made it a point to meet Ogreman's gaze once more. Now more than ever, he simply couldn't afford to back down.

"The funny thing about maggots is that no matter how big you might be, they're the ones who go home with a meal once you're dead. Moving his hands back into his pockets, the vampire shifted his stance to open a path to the door for Ogreman. "Bring a bottle next time to celebrate me finding my relic."

Taking a sip from his tea, he walked out without another word. He had no time to waste on someone who amounted to little more than a knight, if that.

He kept himself upright just a moment longer than Ogreman was visible, waiting for the moment when that ocean of power outside his room disappeared entirely before the vampire abruptly collapsed into his desk chair with a sigh of relief. He ran his fingers back through his hair and forced himself to calm his racing thoughts. Whatever Ogreman was, he had the power to force a vampire as powerful as Almos to relive an entire lifetime of pain and then some. He'd put up a strong front while the dark stranger was still here but if he was being perfectly honest with himself, it had taken just about everything he had to keep himself up and conscious after that assault.

The vampire shook his head while trying to work out just what Ogreman could be. Between that vision and his knowledge on Almos' hidden agenda, Lorand's initial guess was it was some sort of divination magic but even that was a stretch. Never in all of his travels had he encountered anything close to Ogreman's power.

Having caught his breath and visibly recovered from the visions Ogreman had left in his head, Almos pinched the bridge of his nose to try and banish them permanently. Transforming regret and pain into power was possible yes, but it was mentally exhausting and he'd decided long ago that it was better to simply avoid those thoughts altogether.