#hildoor

Moonlight filtered down into Falkreath through the commonly seen blanket of fog like some ghostly omen foretelling grim occurrences. The restless vampire, having left his bed at Lakeview to wander down the mountain into the village, cut through the cloak of mist with his more casually dressed figure, drifting aimlessly until sleep would nip at him again. While making his gradual descent through his forest home, a song of wolves could be heard somewhere off in the distant pines, and a hungry owl glided on silent wings overhead.

He reached the town, unsurprised to find that most inhabitants were sleeping.

And yet, as Rowan passed just near the monumental graveyard, the sound of digging pricked at his ears. One of the groundskeepers, maybe? Who else would be loitering around the stones during that hour of the night... if not a graverobber?

Curiosity refused to leave him be. In a way, the cemetery had always placed some veil of comfort on his shoulders. Simply, the presence of the dead was welcomed at the behest of his cadaverous nature, and so he inevitably decided to go wandering into the thickened vapor to linger among those buried and gone. They were kindred, in a way. Family. He’d been one of them, before his rising from the grave at his sire’s wicked volition.

Closing in with unhurried steps, he could not yet see the only other being present through the foggy haze, though he greeted them so as not to frighten them out of their skin.

“I see I am not the only one content to traipse among the dead.”