<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;">As Bridget emerges from her wagon, she is somewhat taken aback by the sight of her sire; she has not seen Sibertus for some time, and still the outline of his body in the night is enough to send a chill down her spine, or at least the undead dread that is its equivalent. She still remembers struggling against him before he forced her to gaze into his eyes. Those terrible eyes that forced her to silence and to go with him outside the monastery, that held her rapt until she laid dead in his arms, her breath and warmth stolen in his kiss and embrace. All for naught. Venantius had been furious but unwilling to destroy her because of her vows, thankfully.</span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;">Once the carriage pulls away, puffing up dust and street detritus, Bridget moves forward, approaching Sibertus with a calm demeanor though her mind is aswim with a thousand questions: </span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;">“Who are these men? Could one of them be the Rikard from whom she also received a letter? And that pale man—he had wanted that delicate slave—God knows for what if he is slinking around with her sire and this other character. Perhaps the young girl’s blood would have been poured out to sate this man’s desire, to glut the beast rattling around in his breast.”</span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;">Bridget beats back these thoughts quickly and comes to a stop before her sire. With the proper amount of decorum, she bows her head slightly and greets Sibertus: <strong>[German] </strong>“My lord, I am at your service.” Having spoken thusly, Bridget eyes the others warily, conscious of her own exposure here and wondering if any of them saw the companion hidden in her carriage before she could get the door closed. </span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;">Her sire is a tall, lithe man who regards her with some mild amusement “Still practicing old habits, dear sister?” His seriousness breaks into a wry smile as he turns to the others to begin introductions. He is clothed in richly woven fabrics and while his hair is somewhat disheveled, overall one’s impression of him is of a roguish gallant. The ease of his manner has always unsettled Bridget.</span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;">(http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs23/f/2007/322/b/f/the_beard_by_wwhite_wolf.jpg)</span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;">A sense of Sibertus’s physical build. (Not a particularly medieval image, so linked)<br/></span>(http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs19/i/2007/290/b/a/fight_by_poivre.jpg)