"And who might you be?" the guard asked him, as he sat atop his horse, dusk having fallen a few hours ago.
Volantis did not shut its gates during the night, but it still maintained a check on all persons and good entering and leaving he city round the clock.
"A traveler, keen to see the first daughter with his own eyes for the first time" he replied. He had heard tales of the city as he had gotten closer and had stolen more from the minds of many passersby as the traffic had thickened along the road as he got ever nearer to the city.
This increase in traffic, which often also traveled by night, to avoid the heat of the day, prevented some of the more delightful pastimes that he had come to enjoy on this journey from the heart of what he now knew of as the Dothraki sea to a bastion of so-called civilization
But he still managed to sup as he needed, just not as often as he would have wanted, likewise he was not able to entertain himself with the regularity he would have liked, though a few tavern wenches and farmers daughters along the way were honored as only one of the wamphryi could honor them.
He extended his mind and the guards simply nodded to him and let him enter into the bustling city, whose humid heat lay heavy in the air, promoting, nay, demanding a certain lethargy due to its oppressive weight.
He had enough information from the mind of the merchant he had feasted on several days ago to know something of the layout of the city and of its customs and heritage, so he was not surprised much by what he saw,
He felt something almost thrumming in the very air itself, calling to him, stimulating all of his senses, mundane and esoteric.
He arranged for someplace to stay in a tavern that catered to the commercial trade and set about finding himself a position in the city from which to grow and expand his power.
He passed several months slowly amassing coin and influence, before he felt secure enough to buy a small villa in the eastern side of Volantis, which he had modified to suit his requirements. Chiefly that shade from the sun was paramount, not that this was not already. taken care of, but he had to be careful after all.
His business, such as it was involved maritime insurance, his powers of precognition allowing him to always pick ships whose voyages would be successful, and he largely kept himself to himself, learning as much as he could about this new world that was to be his home.
Volantis had great libraries, some of which were open to the public, others of which were private, and he made it his work to gain entrance to as many of them as he could, to better learn the history and cultures of this so called Planetos.
He was fascinated to learn that magic, true magic was a thing here, and that dragons were not mythical creatures, but real and only apparently recently extinct.
And magic, yes it did exist, and it could potentially harm him. A case in point was his attempt to scale the Black Walls one cloud dark night to sup upon the refined blood of the snobs of the so-called Old Blood. Approaching the Black Walls, he had become increasingly uncomfortable, as if something was itching at his skin, and as he came into view of the towering walls themselves it had felt as if invisible flames were crawling all over his flesh. As he drew closer and closer the sensations had increased until he had actually felt pain, a pain as if he was actually burning. He had tetreated swiftly and a few blocks away examined his skin, reddened and roughened and sore to the touch. Back at his villa he had stripped naked and discovered that his entire body was affected, his flesh sore and sensitive, as if he had been burned. It had taken several days, even with him drinking very deeply of the Blood that was the Life to heal himself.
Equally strange, and frankly terrifying was his first encounter with the fabled substance known as Valyrian steel. He had seen a ring of the material on the finger of one of the so called Triarchs. He had only observed the man from quite the distance away, but the ring on his finger had blazed with an uncomfortable light that apparently only he could see. The light had hurt his eyes and even at the distance he had been he could feel a vague heat upon him, that seemed to be emanating from the ring even through his clothes.
Though terrified by this he had set out to learn all he could about this material, and the Black Stone, for both seemed to be capable of wounding him without even coming into contact with him. He read all he could and was greatly relieved that both materials were vanishingly rare and that the art of their construction and forging was lost to the mists of time and the Doom of Valyria.
But apart from this he was well provided for in Volantis, it was after all a thriving port and a huge slave population. He perfected his arts of mesmerism and mental domination while residing in Volantis, making sure that his domestic staff were all completely enthralled to him and thus thoroughly reliable.
For his pleasure there was always a ready supply of bed slaves to be had, though the price of those specially trained in Lys was exorbitant to his mind, though the silver haired beauties that often graced the flesh markets were certainly alluring enough.
For the purposes of feeding and nourishment he purchased the cast offs and the unwanted, those who were the cheapest of salves, often older men or women well past their prime, but they served well enough to slake his thirsts at a decent enough price.
But of course, he would let his vampire indulge itself on a regular basis, for there was no point in being one of the wamphyri if one could not exercise those powers and talents that were instinctive to a creature such as him. Oh, he was careful to cover his tracks and not be too indiscrete, for even here, longevity was associated with anonymity, but a city the size of Volantis provided more than enough diversions and entertainment for even his specialist tastes.
Still, it was something of rather sedentary life for one such as him, but for now it suited his purposes, and he had little complaints in truth, but the restlessness of the wamphyri, their incessant need to prove themselves, to measure themselves against opposition and destroy that opposition utterly, was regularly at the forefront of his thoughts and desires.
He considered mercenary work, until he investigated it further, and what he learned turned him right off that idea altogether. The type of mercenary work in the disputed lands was a joke, no rape and pillage, no glorying in the sheer wanton destruction of one's enemies? Instead, some sort of stylized dance and a type of warfare that reminded him of a courtly love dance? No, that was not for him, never for the likes of him.
If he was to go to war, he wanted blood to be spilled, towns to be pillaged, women to be raped, true war, not this lily-livered imitation of war!
It was in Volantis that he first learned of Westeros and the recent overthrow of the dragons of House Targaryen, and the more he learned about Westeros and the events of the so called 'Roberts Rebellion' the more he thought that he should take himself off to Westeros, for there was a kingdom for the taking, for someone with the right skills and ambition.
And he believed that he was the very one with that combination of skills and ambition required. And he had been planning a move to Westeros when events had forced his hand.
The Red Priests of the Great Temple had started to take an undue interest in his affairs, despite his caution and circumspection. Though maybe in hindsight some of his more enjoyable exploits had probably been ill advised, and maybe he had gotten a little too comfortable in Volantis, maybe he had let his guard down just that little bit too much. And one in particular, called Melisandre of Asshai, he had come to know was taking an inordinate interest in his public affairs, such as they were. Not that they were in any way suspicious, well apart from the fact that he never lost money, but all of his business was handled by intermediaries and factors, he rarely, if ever had to deal directly with the means of making coin. He would merely project his mind into the future to see if the particular deal he would be insuring would be successful or not.
But as this had been very profitable, he had come to need somewhere to invest his wealth, and flesh was as good an investment as any as far as he was concerned. So he had branched out a little, becoming more involved in the slave trade, and this had required his presence, if only to take a purview of the stock he would be investing in. And to on occasion to sample some of the delights to be had, and by this he had probably become too prominent.
This flame haired and eyed bitch had taken a much too close interest in him and his and for months he had the very strong suspicion that he was being watched, even while he was alone. His mental scans had turned up nothing, but still the feeling had remained, and if anything, it had gotten stronger.
Until one night Melisandre and a party of the Fiery Hand, accompanied by a small, but vocal mob, brandishing burning torches had turned up outside his villa. The very fact that they had
come at night led him to suspect that they either did not know what he was, or that they did not fully understand what they were confronting
For the night was his element, and like all of his kind he had an escape plan ready to go. He had a hideaway ready for him down by the docks should he need to flee his villa, stocked with coin as needed to enable him to book passage and flee Volantis.
He conjured up a fog, a clinging, slimy mist that swirled around and distorted sound and vision, and which as an extension of himself he could both control and sense who was within its area. Escaping through a secret passageway built for this very purpose he abandoned his home of nigh on a decade, flames visible through the fog as the fanatics torched it.
But he was not going to just flee, oh no, he was going to extract some small measure of vengeance for this disturbance of his lair. He sent his senses out into the fog, tracking down who he wanted, the bitch leading the assault, who was screeching at the top of her voice about how they had to burn all the abominations they found inside the villa.
That was unfair of the bitch, he had not turned any of the staff who had attended to him, as per his rules of not wanting the bother of dealing with any of his own kind, even if they would be just a pale imitation of him and his powers and lusts.
He loped back towards the villa, emerging from the fog to snarl at the Fiery Hand and the red witch, who screeched frantically at her guard and the frothing mass of fanatics to pursue him.
Which was what he wanted, thickening the fog behind him he let them plunge into the mist after him, using it to distort sounds and sight, to lead them on a merry chase that separated them out into various groups, who rapidly became detached from each other.
This was what he was waiting for and he doubled back around to surprise Melisandre and three of her guards, he barely paused as he slew the three guards with his bare hands, his speed and strength overwhelming when fueled with his rage and that of his vampire.
He had intended on feeding from the red witch, but up close there was something wrong about her to his senses, something smelt.....off about her, despite her flawless beauty that was alluring and captivating. He would have liked to have fucked her red raw before draining her, but he recoiled from her as he approached her, for he saw through her glamour to glimpse the wizened crone beneath the obfuscation of the image she was projecting
Deciding that he need not tarry he instead smashed a fist into her head as she tried to scramble away, reaching for something within the folds of the sleeves of her gown. The blow caved in the side of her head and the ruby in the chain at her neck pulsed brightly once and then dimmed, the flawless beauty gone to be replaced by a withered hag.
With that he spun on his heel and retreated into his fog, making for his hidey hole and thence onwards to Westeros.
A few days later he had gotten himself a cabin on a Westerosi ship, a cog docked in the harbor, and one with a comfortable enough cabin for him. He met the ship's captain and handed over the necessary coin to book his passage, he was taken out by a rowboat to the ship where it lay at anchor the evening before it departed.
This he had insisted on to the captain, who had shrugged his shoulders at this strange request. As the boat carrying him approached the stern of the ship he noticed its name, 'Demeter',picked out in white letters and let a grin flow over his face, yes, this would do well enough would it not? Ignoring the little voice that said Dracula's voyage had ended in his eventual
destruction.