(Untitled)

[vojvode]

London, 1899.  City of a million souls.  An endless series of diversions, sacred and profane.  He could spend years alone just exploring her underground tunnels and passage ways, not to mention her drawing rooms and publican houses, her parlours and the twisting labyrinth of her streets and alleys.  It is a strange and wondrous place, teeming

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[ostro_goth]

Not far away, by the fireplace, there is a tall, dark-haired man in black, playing a small harp that he holds in his lap.

[vojvode]

Vlad removes his hat, tucks his gloves inside, and settles back, eyes drifting closed as he listens to the oddly familiar melody.

[ostro_goth]

It is sad and quiet, and seems to sound like every old folk ballad that you might know, at times.

[vojvode]

The music is a welcome diversion. It allows him to listen to the quiet murmur of thoughts from the bar's patrons. The bard himself seems a little off to him.

One of the walking dead, but human still.

This place is so very strange to him.

[ostro_goth]

Yes, it is a strange place, and the harper is surely not the strangest thing in it.

The music ends as the harper reaches out for his cup, to sip some of his well-watered wine.

[vojvode]

Ah yes, now that his head rises, the Prince recognises him. Hunter. The one who raged against the storm.

He can't help but smirk at the thought.

[ostro_goth]

"Rarely does my play evoke merriment in any," the harper remarks, in a quiet, dark dry voice.

[vojvode]

Vlad lifts his chin, meeting the man's gaze. When he speaks, his accent is thick, but his English is flawless. He speaks slower than a modern man, each word chosen carefully.

"And equally rare, those who share my tastes in merriment. You have a gift for the harp."

[ostro_goth]

Teja's dark gaze does not waver.

"I have ever had it," he says. False modesty is for mealy-mouthed Christians; and Teja son of Tagila is not one such.

"So what amuses you in the songs of sadness and the pondering of fate?"

[vojvode]

"The human will," he muses, taking a sip of his port.

"And the ever present desire to rail against Fate, even knowing that all must eventually crumble into the dust from whence they came. It amuses me to see the dead railing still, even in such a quiet form as your music."

[ostro_goth]

"It must all crumble," Teja says, "but we need not go quietly. We have nothing to offer to fate, but we can make our enemies remember us."

Pause.

"You are not human, then. Are you deity or predator?"

[vojvode]

"Such a forward question, from a man who has not even given his name or his lineage."

It has been many centuries since Vlad has sat a throne overlooking a court, and his demeanour hasn't changed one whit in the interim.

[ostro_goth]

"The manner in which you speak of the human will as if from on high," Teja says, "tells me you do not count yourself among them. If not god or monster you would, at the most, be an elf or fae?"