The room was dark by design save for a single, half-burnt candle neatly placed on the creaky, wooden floor. Around it, a ritual circle was hand-drawn with chalk made of bone mash and decorated with weed-like flowers dripped in blood the color of coruscant crimson. It was rodent blood and it carried a horrid smell like rusted iron but the sweet, vanilla scented smoke of the candle was masking it. Mathian sat beside it, cross-legged, holding a tattered, brown book with a cracked hard-back in one hand and a palmed-sized, glass vial in the other. Inside the vial, the naked eye could discern a clump of hair, clipped finger nails, and a sewing needle the tip of which had been doused into a witch's blood. It was everything he needed to perform a spell of his own making.
He placed the vial inside the circle and whiffed out an incantation in an ancient language. Once, twice, thrice. All things inside the room, living and dead, suddenly quieted. Even Mathian's heart ceased thumping. The silence clutched the outside noise in an icy grip and for a while it felt like time itself had stopped. But just moments after, Mathian whispered, Igneme accende and as the vial burst into flames, the crackling sounds pierced the veil of silence. Mathian heaved a deep sigh and felt power creep through his skin and coil around his bones. At the same time, the contents of the vial turned to dust, letting out a dull, weakly wail. Something dark and inhuman in form flickered in Mathian's grey-colored eyes but it hid almost instantly.
The magic inside od him grew once again. He felt refreshed, powerful, and guilty. Biting down hard on his lower lip, suckling on the aftertaste of triumph, he lay on the floor, staring at the cracked ceiling. The thought of what he had done was heavy in his mind but there was comfort in knowing that no matter how horrid his actions were, he was a warlock and warlocks were known to be cruel. Alas, what bothered him more was the fact that he no longer had a viable power source. He tortured himself with that thought for a while until a single strip of sunlight peered through the heavily draped windows and hit his eye. It was daylight already and he was late.
He jumped to his feet and tidied up as quickly as he could. He donned a black, hooded coat, a pair of black, leather boots, and a pair of patched, threadbare trousers. He stuffed his spellbook in the inside pocket of his coat and once he put on his half-finger gloves, he darted out of the room and bolted the door with a locking spell so no one could sneak in.
He and his new, beastly partner had been given a sensitive mission, the apprehension of a rogue vampire, an impulsive, hard-headed creature that emanated pure, raw, sometimes overtly sexual energy. Mathian was excited. He rushed down the staircase and through a maze-like array of hallways. He was supposed to have met up with the lycanthrope well over twenty minutes ago in the main hall to receive a detailed report of the creature's past actions.