John
*There was a moment of tension that hung in the air of the hall, as the elder vampire now stared and glared down at Halvar. The younger vampire could discern that the lady squeezing out some of what little good blood she seemed to have left was leaving her with a hunger intense. He could tell she was certainly holding herself back well, but the male vampire easily noticed how her demeanor had changed underneath the exterior of the wizened old woman into the hungering vampire underneath.* 

*With a sudden sense of urgency and expectation, Halvar did not allow himself to think about the blood offering given to him, or any of its qualities. He now just wished to absorb whatever knowledge she had in her veins for him, and then hopefully begone from this place before her hunger becomes just a little too much for her to resist the looming temptation to overpower and devour him to make up for the blood loss. Picking up the cup, he would take in a breath, and allow the bitter ichor to pour into his stomach.*
Darius
As the blood went past his lips, and touched his tongue, his fangs, it immediately caused a wave of sensation to pulsate throughout his body. Sensations of fire in the sun, of the scalp being burned as the cloak was too thin too keep out those vile rays of light. Shoulders that burned and sizzled, while pilgrims walked with the burning sensation. 

Dark days flooded past Halvar's imagination, visions and sounds of screaming and violence. Visions of his Lord, towering over him. Those visions passed to seeing something... Different. 

Imaginings of something beautiful. Visions of Magic. Not in any scholarly form, but from the eyes of a Mystic. The way it curved and the way wavelengths rippled across the air. The way the mind became the center of magic, while the soul maintained stability. The powers of mysticism became clairvoyant to him, as though he could see the strands of power that tied all magic together, and flowed from mortal to mortal down from Aetherius, and the way it could inform the identity of those who wielded it, and that which it touched. 

He could see the sentience of the world, of the seas, of the land, of its trees and greens, of its fauna and fungi. The beating of life, the way it breathed that which it required for its own survival into the atmosphere, in eternal cycles that upheld the stasis and balance of nature. He could see it all... But the blood did not guide him to the workings of these things. 

Instead, the blood diverted his attention from raw mysticism, down to the mind itself. It worked inward, showing him visions of the brain, of how mortals thought. It whispered and simmered against his own mind, as the blood entering his system became more and more irrelevant. The smell had been horrible, but taste? What taste? Who could *Taste* In the midst of all this?

As he was given insight into the mind, he was permitted the schematics to breaking it. To controlling it. The schematics that, if done incorrectly, could completely rupture and ignite one's own mind. A backfire done due to too powerful, too complicated of a spell. He could see how to change the perceptions of those around him, how to make them believe he was a living, breathing mortal. He could see how to enchant them, to make them see him as more attractive, charming, and seductive. 

His knowledge was granting him strength, as he could feel his awareness of others' minds strengthen. As though he could feel their intentions. 

As he did, he could feel the ebbs and flow of those around him. The patronage of those outside this room, the community outside, and the hunger, desperation, and violence happening within the room he now sat in. 

Though, it was a fleeting feeling. His powers of perception was dwindling, back to normal, but he could still retain the knowledge he had gained. The stasis of this city, and how neatly organized it was, despite its rather chaotic litany of mystic practitioners and salesmen of talismans and magical trinkets. Though, he would also recognize those whose minds were fortresses. Like the Ancient Vampire across from him. To attempt to ensnare the mind of one who was more skilled than him left him open to a trap. A trap that would pull him forward, and allow a direct confrontation of thought to occur. There were others in the city skilled in this craft, in changing the perception and mindscapes of others. Dangerous people, to Halvar. Ones that needed to be *Convinced* Another way.

Thankfully, Halvar would also know how much Illusion was looked down upon. There were not many practitioners, and the ones who did practice it were little more than conjurers of cheap tricks and sleight of hand. Though, the Masters? Who would even know they existed? 

Halvar had been granted knowledge, but not experience. He would have to train his abilities, but he would be able to know the precise mechanisms to his own illusory spells now. Casting what he knew now would be as simple as breathing, to an extent. Everything else would come naturally, as though he were meant to learn it. To nurture it.

The vision faded, and the taste came. That vile after taste of ash and grime. Of bile and sweat. Of rotten blood. 

The last of it slipped past his tongue and into his body as the aftertaste made itself known.
Eddie
She sat there, watching him, eyes wide and sunken, with her lips withered and cracked, fangs exposed and prepared to pounce. But, she sat, as if she were in a religious trance, just staring forward without looking at him. 

As she opened her mouth to speak, a hoarse voice exited, and a black tongue slithered against her fangs, "Gods be with you, Halvar Skyggun. Gods be with you."