It was a cold night in Tannis, and only getting colder.  It was a place shrouded in such tension and pain and grief that a near palpable miasma impressed itself on its mortal citizens, sapping the life from them with an even greater efficiency than the true source of their woes: the vampires.  The dark creatures had held a grip on these lands for many long centuries, and they had assured that it would forever remain a city of decadence and fear.  It was the sort of place that drew all sorts of shady individuals from parts unknown, particularly those who possessed an unusual affection for such morbid climates.  It was precisely that that had drawn the Mages from their hallowed halls across the world, as though magnetized by the hate and hunger than manifested in all vampires.  There was a power there that those with an affinity for magic could not resist.  It was that power that had drawn one mage in particular, though she was far from a typical specimen of their lot.<br/><br/>Thessaly Cluracan had deigned to observe Steven from afar, rather than go blundering in as Silva had.  Though more than enough to trick lesser creatures, the Archmage had been intentionally obvious with his spell.  The scent of helplessness was far too pronounced to be natural; even a sickly old woman with wooden legs could not give off a stench so potent as that.  For all his power he was still but a man, and to risk drawing in foes beyond his abilities would be a foolish mistake on his part.  Better to attract all the gullible bloodsuckers for culling.  Those would not be missed by the important members of their clan, and would not risk all out conflict.<br/><br/>The woman stared down from the rooftops as they made their way into the nearest alley, having dispatched a weakling just moments before.  Most mages were quite adept at concealing any oddities about their appearance, but Thessaly was something of a singular case.  Her clothes were drab, grey and made of well-worn leather.  Her cloak was far too massive and hung about her like curtains, the empty sleeves drifting idly in the wind.  A wide hat sat upon a head of long brown hair, and shaded a face of uncanny beauty that nevertheless seemed terribly off-putting.  The only colour came from the strange brooch at the nape of her neck, a crystal in the shape of a bloodshot eye.  Occasionally her robes would shift against the wind, and similar such eyes winked in and out of existence.  Horrors in the dark.<br/><br/>She pondered simply waiting awhile longer, but soon realized the Archmage had sensed her in some fashion.  No doubt the alley was meant to entice would-be predators into becoming prey.  Her lips curled faintly; she had no intention of being hunted, and though she was no longer a part of any official order, neither of them would have a cause to assault her unprovoked.<br/><br/>Her cloak writhed over her, parts of the cloth ripping free and extending into jointed, knobby legs.  Six of them all told sprouted from the fleshy fabric, lifting her own feet from the rooftop until she was suspended freely in the air at the center of them.  With arms hanging casually at her sides she would allow them to lower her carefully, silently from above until coming to a rest one foot above the ground behind Silva.  Hanging like some grotesque spider.<br/><br/>"A good night for hunting, wouldn't you say?" she remarked suddenly.