rix_scaedu

“I am the Scion of the senior Morvane line,” the young man ranted, “And I will become a Power. You will acknowledge me!”

The man currently known as Anastair Rand gently dabbed the remains of his drink from his mouth with a handkerchief held in the long white fingers of a hand that’s back was branded with a pentagon and over tattooed with a pentagram. In an earlier age he would undoubtedly have taken snuff. “I have no interest in the Morvanes,” he drawled in a warm voice at odds with his near cadaverous appearance, “And, frankly, you bore me. I save my assistance and advice for those who interest me or whom I believe deserve it.”

“I have discovered how to turn myself into a Power, how to make myself one of you,” the Morvane boy changed to a sly, oddly wheedling tone, “It would be to your advantage to be my friend...now.”

“What you have rediscovered, you tiresome young man, is an old and unpleasant way to turn yourself into a vampire.” Rand put his handkerchief back into his pocket. “You are merely a very tiresome variation on a very old theme.”

“You’re wrong,” the boy’s face worked in fury, “I am becoming a Power...” He stopped suddenly as light flared around him from the ground in response to Rand’s hand movements, subsiding to leave a glowing magical sigil surrounding him.

“If you are not becoming a vampire, then this will not hold you,” Rand said, then watched as the boy tried vainly to walk through the glowing lines. “The authorities will be here to collect you, bye and bye. You may wish to hope that they will arrive before sunrise.”

“I had no problems with the sun today,” it was the spit of despair and defiance.

“But will that be true tomorrow?” Rand asked gently. “You may wish to reflect on your actions while you wait.” He turned and walked away.