The morning sun peeked over a grand steeple in the crisp air. Tones of pink and red danced and filled the spaces of homes, markets, streets, and even churches much like this one. It was not Ansgar's day, not even close, and yet a small crowd occupied the walkway. It was odd, especially for an early morning when the locale would usually be setting up for the long day ahead, but odder still was the object of their focus. In the open doorway stood a priest, secured with his arms spread to opposite support beams in the frame. He had the freedom to almost clasp his hands together, but little else. The restraints were strange, a type of metal wire that seemed to snake through and into the elderly man's hands, though this was more than likely a feat of physical dexterity than that of magic. Before him stood a smaller man, clad entirely in black, with fabric draped over the entirety of his head. One would think it would have rendered him blind, but he seemed to know just exactly where he was at all times. For now, the two were obscured by a deep shade, but as the sun rose, their cover gradually decreased.
Vhargul was admittedly delighted by the turn of events. He had come with simple questions: Have you met Vampires? Where are they? Any night owls in the community? However, he was met with surprising resistance by both the church and its assigned guardsmen. Accusations about his markings, accusations about his state of dress, about his teeth, about his life. He tried to be peaceful, for the most part, but the situation had escalated to here. At his feet was an enormous amount of blood, splattered in every direction, but no bodies. In his side was a spear, piercing clean through his lower-left abdomen and emerging out the other end. He didn't seem to notice. It was only he, the priest, the blood, and the spear that inhabited him that mattered. Oh, and the crowd. Couldn't forget them.
The vampire began to speak once more, addressing the crowd, a marked hand gesturing to the priest behind him, who was feverishly repeating all hymns and incantations within his memory on a loop: "Ansgar was a warrior! A warrior!" he paused for a moment, his tone lowering, thus drawing the crowd ever-so-slightly closer once more,"And yet your men of faith are... spongey and soft and weak. Should they not also live to their warrior teachings? Should they not also be versed in combat-- in true suffering?"
He gave the priest a light squeeze on the rotund stomach before proceeding,"No matter, this isn't about them. This is about all of you. This is about your worth, your strength, your ability to ascend without so much as a whisp of magic." He checked the sun. It was encroaching right on schedule, the light now crawling up his shins to his knees. "I am not here to sell any of you anything. I am not a merchant. I do not need your money. I do not need you. However, I am here to show you what is within your grasp; what can be achieved through faith. Anyone can do it. Anyone can ascend." He paused again, allowing the small crowd to murmur and convene amongs themselves before moving a hand to the fabric covering his head. The sun was slowly nearing his fingers.
"All of you are familiar with Vampires, yes? We have been around for a long time... a very very long time, and in that time our enemy has always been the Sun." His grip tightened on the fabric. "Through Ascendance and faith, all things are possible-- the strength and life of a Vampire, without the curse." His fingers moved quickly, removing the fabric and allowing his bare grinning face to be mercilessly pounded with the full brunt of the sun's rays. There was no fire, no smoke, no melting, nor boiling. There was only a tattooed face with milky white eyes displaying sharp earrings and sharper teeth in the sunlight. Of course, the pain was still there, he certainly felt like he was burning away, but he smiled hard, masking the pain and delivering his message to the gathering of gasping onlookers
