Iayda Iscariot. A born member of the vampiric society. A member whose blood ran cold as ice, and a mind so twisted, one feared just the look of her. Child like by nature, she had spent her centuries<em>playing</em>with people. Toying with their minds and bodies. Making pets out of men, and servants out of women. She had created quite the name for herself, the only living undead descendant of Judas Iscariot. One of the first cursed vampires. An ancient of ancients. Like any other master, she faced the tides of war.<br/><br/>Run out of her homeland by human hunters, and their holy defenders, she sought out the most wicked man of the century, Vlad the Impaler. In his palace she sought refuge. Locked away in an immortal slumber. One that would carry her through the changing times, and when she woke, it would be for the right reasons. Her power would be needed within the world. Or so that was what they claimed.<br/><br/>She had waken, three times in the past twenty centuries. Each time, to some mortal trespasser. Rousing her from an eternal slumber and attempting to slay her. Others had come to join her, in their search for rest. And finally.. they had found it. Each one hidden within the castle, their desired encasement hidden away from sight. Only the clever could find them. But there were traps ensnared at every corner, to wake them if the time became necessary.