[It's probably better if the profile for Tarquin is read first before a reply is posted.]
Deep in the Draconi Forest, resided a graveyard, long forgotten and no longer in use for centuries. The weathered granite and marble headstones, roughened and unpleasant to the touch, were sprawled randomly and without any organized order. Some statues, of deities or household guardians, stood dormant and broken, the candles beneath them having gone out years ago. As the web-like mist blanketed the small graveyard, it did not manage to reach the heights of the massive stone mansion that stood guard at the furthest reaches of the deserted, lonely cemetery.
The house, too, was just as dead as its surroundings. Upon its look bespoke the lineage of an age old family now long dead, every last descendant and its remnants remained locked within the gentle facade. Every room held the same furniture it did before it was so recklessly abandoned the only difference being the dust that covered everything. From the building's upper four floors to the basement lied another area, held deep in secrecy, protected by a maze so complicated to would take decades to remember every passage way to get to the center. This secret area was to be the family crypt, the maze used to discourage grave robbers.
Even though the mansion no longer belonged to anyone legally, it was owned by the creature that resided in it. Tarquin, had lived in this mansion for the past three and a half centuries, more than a substantial amount of time to memorize each intricate passageway of the meticulous maze. Suffering, seduction, anger, hatred, revenge were all that ran rampant through the vampire's blood. Tarquin's bloody history was like a book to be read by the amount of scars on his skin, most of them covering his back and a few sporadically scattered across his chest and abdomen. Had these wounds been delivered before his transformation they would have disappeared along with useless memories, but there they stayed as a constant reminder of the pain he suffered. However he focused more on the purpose of his existence, why Gathor had saved him in the first place, to kill Angelus once and for all.
The mere thought of that feigning king angered Tarquin beyond measure. Yet there was nothing he could do now, he had to wait until he was strong enough to take on someone as powerful as him as well as find a way to get back his realm. But as the vampire locked up the gate to one of the maze's pathways and waltzed into the darkened mist, something in Tarquin's soul cried out in desolation. There was a yearning in him, a desperation that seemed locked up for too long, and causing him to leave his domicile for a jaunt into a village or perhaps a hunt. However, none of these things seemed to satisfy his need. If only he knew what it was that was unquieting him, perhaps he would find it on this trip into the forest.
Wrapped in a brown, double breasted long coat, Tarquin brushed the hair the wind had freed from his face and continued out of the graveyard gates. He felt no need to lock up, who in their right mind would want to rob him anyways. For starters he had no real valuables other than the glove-less bracer that covered his entire forearm, not that it could be taken off by anyone other than him anyways. And secondly, they surely would have heard the rumors about Dagon Field, the name the locals dubbed the cemetery and it's surroundings. To them it was a danger zone to be avoided at all times lest they anger the monster that watched over the place like a gargoyle to a cathedral.
Tarquin indeed acted as a gargoyle to his domain and was pleased that hardly anything dared to threaten it. Gazing up at the moon, his eyes almost twinkled for tonight seemed like a nice night for a hunt, he could use the extra food. However his visage immediately altered as a scream from the distance reached his ears.
