The court was alive with laughter and jeers, the vampires of Clan Volkihar crowded together, with a large space in the centre of the room, where three Death Hounds slowly circled one another. Human subjugates moved slowly around the room, weaving between their vampiric masters, their heads low, their flesh littered with half-healed cuts and scars where the skin had been sliced to allow the masters to feed. The guards at the door of the room watched the fight from the corner of their eye, pretending they weren't, whilst a single man stood apart, at the back of the crowd, not really paying attention to the fight, not joining his brothers with his cries of bloodlust.
The lone male watched with his fellows with more interest than he watched the fighting. His dark hair slicked back and his eyes flickering from vampire to vampire, taking in each little detail. Though his features were stony and cold, almost perfect, as though he were sculpted from rock and ice, the lack of colour in his cheeks and the hollowness of his eyes could not disguise his bosmer features as well as he'd have liked. It was these features, and his upbringing during his time in Valenwood that did not allow him to take part in his clanmates' 'sport'.
"If Lord Harkon was here, Drakus, you would not look on with such distaste at his favourite sport..." A voice spoke quietly behind the former mer. The bosmer vampire turned, seeing a tall blond-haired man who had once been a proud nord before he found his family here.
The mer smirked a little, "Ah yes, but Lord Harkon is not here, so I do not need to pretend to enjoy his little games... I can admire them for what they are, barbaric indulgences of the minds of barbarians..." He raises an eyebrow at the man as all the other vampires let out either cries of anger or cheers of bloodlust, depending on which way they'd bet, as one of the death hounds ripped out a second's throat. "See..?"
