Dura climbed the steps slowly and deliberately, making sure each step was on solid footing before taking another step, her steel boots crunching softly in the snow. Even with her ability to see in the dark, the storm impeded visibility heavily, so she focused on one step after another, each one taking them a little further to their goal. High Hrothgar, home of the Greybeards, masters of the Voice. When the Khajiit's spell spilled the conured voice into her ears, it pulled Dura from her reverie. So the cat knew that the spark of natural life had long since died in her. While it irked Dura slightly that she was found out so easily, by a cat of all things, she was not as surprised as she probably should have been. After all, it was a magic cat, and were cats not full of tricks? The orc started speaking, loud enough to be heard even in the din of the storm.
"Dura gra-Shurk, and as you apparently know, not one of the warm-blooded living. I am vampire. Have been for over a century now. I do my best to keep it a secret, so I would appreciate it if you didn't revel it to others."