"This isn't a dream,” a
disembodied voice answered. It was deep, smooth, and creamy in
tone. “The
blood is very real,” the voice paused, “and completely safe." I refused. My hunger had temporarily overwhelmed me, but I was in control again. I looked up into the room that seemed to rise indefinitely. “Where am I?" I saw a tiny figure emerge from a far door at least four levels above me. Walking down a vertical catwalk, he seemed to be standing on it horizontally with no problems. From this distance, I couldn't manage anything in the way of description. “This is my home,” its voice boomed as if right next to me. “I admit, it's a little extravagant, but I find the design stimulates my imagination." I pulled my robe tighter around my frame as the air in the room seemed to cool at the figure's entrance. “Who are you?"
"Ah!” the figure remarked exuberantly. “I thought you knew! Time for a proper introduction." The figure retreated into a door and emerged from another—upside down—on the opposite wall. It seemed normal physics weren't in effect here. Walking briskly along the catwalk, he stopped before me, his maroon robe displaying no signs of bowing to gravity. Made from thick wool, his robe draped off his shoulders and licked at his feet. The long, V-shaped neckline showed the collar of an expensive black dress shirt with a blood-red tie knotted at his throat. Probably in his late sixties, his facial features seemed to be chiseled out of granite, while his mousy brown hair fell lifelessly over his brow. A pair of smoky black sunglasses perched on his nose hid his eyes. Only the tips of his perfectly white sneakers were visible below the robe.
"I'm sorry, Rose. I thought you knew who I was." How did these nuts all know my name?
He extended his hand down to me. “Most call me Lucas." Fear pulled me several steps back from him. “Lucas Nash the Warlock?" Lucas bowed, confirming the answer. “Don't worry, my dear,” he laughed, “I won't try and kill you here. You're my guest and that wouldn't be proper in the slightest. At least,” he smirked, “until you leave." His threat sent a chill down my back. I knew he meant it. “Why am I here?" Lucas looked more like a professor from old college photos than a powerful, and possibly evil, Warlock. He had an air of power and knowledge about him, yet he seemed quite gracious with nearly flawless manners. Lucas stood tall and clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace. “I find myself in somewhat of a quandary."
I remained silent, but my confidence was shrinking. I was in his domain at his mercy. Lucas held all the cards.
"First, congratulations on surviving the Sprite attack,” the warlock said respectfully. “It's amazing how persistent those little creatures can be, but you and your companions stopped them. Well done.” He lowered his head slightly. “It is a shame some had to die though. They were good employees." "Indeed,” I replied stoically.
blood is very real,” the voice paused, “and completely safe." I refused. My hunger had temporarily overwhelmed me, but I was in control again. I looked up into the room that seemed to rise indefinitely. “Where am I?" I saw a tiny figure emerge from a far door at least four levels above me. Walking down a vertical catwalk, he seemed to be standing on it horizontally with no problems. From this distance, I couldn't manage anything in the way of description. “This is my home,” its voice boomed as if right next to me. “I admit, it's a little extravagant, but I find the design stimulates my imagination." I pulled my robe tighter around my frame as the air in the room seemed to cool at the figure's entrance. “Who are you?"
"Ah!” the figure remarked exuberantly. “I thought you knew! Time for a proper introduction." The figure retreated into a door and emerged from another—upside down—on the opposite wall. It seemed normal physics weren't in effect here. Walking briskly along the catwalk, he stopped before me, his maroon robe displaying no signs of bowing to gravity. Made from thick wool, his robe draped off his shoulders and licked at his feet. The long, V-shaped neckline showed the collar of an expensive black dress shirt with a blood-red tie knotted at his throat. Probably in his late sixties, his facial features seemed to be chiseled out of granite, while his mousy brown hair fell lifelessly over his brow. A pair of smoky black sunglasses perched on his nose hid his eyes. Only the tips of his perfectly white sneakers were visible below the robe.
"I'm sorry, Rose. I thought you knew who I was." How did these nuts all know my name?
He extended his hand down to me. “Most call me Lucas." Fear pulled me several steps back from him. “Lucas Nash the Warlock?" Lucas bowed, confirming the answer. “Don't worry, my dear,” he laughed, “I won't try and kill you here. You're my guest and that wouldn't be proper in the slightest. At least,” he smirked, “until you leave." His threat sent a chill down my back. I knew he meant it. “Why am I here?" Lucas looked more like a professor from old college photos than a powerful, and possibly evil, Warlock. He had an air of power and knowledge about him, yet he seemed quite gracious with nearly flawless manners. Lucas stood tall and clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace. “I find myself in somewhat of a quandary."
I remained silent, but my confidence was shrinking. I was in his domain at his mercy. Lucas held all the cards.
"First, congratulations on surviving the Sprite attack,” the warlock said respectfully. “It's amazing how persistent those little creatures can be, but you and your companions stopped them. Well done.” He lowered his head slightly. “It is a shame some had to die though. They were good employees." "Indeed,” I replied stoically.