<div class="floatleft">(http://i307.photobucket.com/albums/nn313/NovemberWerewolf/Female%20Characters/Lady_in_black_by_Drakevensia.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Asaria Lao<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Frozen Hearth<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Evening, after sunset<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open, Spotting Gormr<br/><br/><hr/>The Frozen Hearth was like every other Inn in Skyrim she had visited so far; a wide open room with a giant fire boiling in the center, encased by a stone pit. Over this was a large, charred wooden beam that occasionally suspended roped meats keeping warm for paying customers, or herbs being dried and smoked. Wooden tables in the customary community style nestled against the walls for those who wished to have their meal, and decorations ranged from animal heads mounted to the walls, to hides under feet and potted Snow Berries that populated this part of the land. There was also the bar that the inn keeper leaned against, watching the patrons with a lazy contentment that indicated a steady night and a comfortable lining of septims in his pockets.<br/><br/>Asaria sat alone in a table not far from the door, content with the sounds of normal people around her; laughing, arguing, gossiping about the mage’s college or sharing the exploits of their latest fishing trip. Nearly a hundred years ago half the city had vanished from unknown and questionable means, now it was starting to thrive again, despite the rumors that were drifting from mouth to mouth. She had the means to stay elsewhere with more comfortable accommodations, but the inns where the locals frequented were her best chances of overhearing what she never stopped looking for; any mention of the Dawnguard or vampires and where she might find either.<br/><br/>She busied her hands with a metal tool fastened of steel, delicately scraping into a chunk of ivory as large as her thumb-nail. It started as a shapeless chunk, but slowly and with deliberate care, the vampire was turning it into a focal point for a broach she was working on. The white face of a wolf howling at an unseen moon was detailed and realistic, down to the hairs of his muzzle. A mage by the name of Rolus Guff had made the inquiry for such a piece; she would collect a fair amount of coin in exchange, allowing her to continue her search for information with a library of knowledge at her disposal. She just might find peace in this routine, should the results stay in her favor.<br/><br/>The chill of the evening burst through the room as the door opened, revealing a Nord who looked the very definition of gruff. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he made his way towards the bar and ordered a drink, finding the urge to satiate that particular need herself, only in a completely different way. The last time she fed was… days ago, on a surviving bandit who tried to cut her down in order to see how many septims she carried in her purse while she was traveling to the city of Winterhold. She could manage to last longer, but her jaw ached with the need to<em>bite</em>into something as soft as the flesh she was now watching. Even her fangs throbbed, reminding her constantly of what she was and what she wanted to do. While it was possible to feed on those sleeping without getting caught or the victim noticing, she didn’t wish to risk the chances and spreading awareness of a vampire lurking in their midst.<br/><br/>So she clenched her jaw tight, holding it until the muscles and bones ached and throbbed, giving Asaria something else to focus on. If she had to satiate the urge to feed she would do so on the throats of wanted men who were destined to die anyway, not on those she was currently surrounded by. She just hoped to stay so lucky.