The Volantine trading post was a small fort, perched atop a hill, the lands behind it turning gradually from steppe to rolling, low hills, off in the distance mountains loomed on the far horizon.
He allowed the Dotharki to make their trade and depart unmolested back into the wastes of the steppe's and instead concentrated on learning as much as he could from the occupants of the fort and trading station. He idly wondered what fearful tales they would tell of their encounters with him, what legends would form because of his actions.
It was a reasonably large fort, more akin to a castle to his mind, and its defensive position was sound enough to his eyes, if a bit isolated. It appeared to be the edge of the territory that Volantis claimed in these lands. If needed he could gain access to the place easily enough, his metamorphic flesh allowed him to scale sheer cliffs and walls with ease, but for now he simply watched and waited.
Several nights of concentrated mental scanning told him much, but he needed to know more, the next morning a caravan was setting out to make its way to the city of Volantis itself down the paved road that led south westwards from the fort.
He decided that Volantis sounded like a place he would like to visit, and so the next night he set off along the road, ragged and dirty and all that he was. He would see to remedying that situation as soon as possible, but for now it was only of little concern to him.
As dawn approached, he spied a convenient copse of trees that looked like it might make a reasonable place to hole up for the day. The land was empty, rolling hills mostly with only the odd signs of cultivation, and nothing in the way of habitation, which was a shame, for he would sorely welcome the hospitality to be provided by an isolated farmhouse. Even if it was only an old hag and her equally ancient husband, they would do nicely, though much better would be a family with a ripe young daughter or two to entertain himself with during the day after he feasted on their parents and any interfering brothers. And after enjoying them. thoroughly more fuel for his travels under the moon light of the alien world. Though not so alien that it did not have succulent humans to feast upon.
But alas, no farms were nearby, so he made do with going to bed without his supper, finding an overhanging rock to shelter under which would keep any rain off him, and most importantly it faced northwards, so he would be hidden from the sun's rays.
After ten days travel, and with only the odd unsatisfying wild goat to slake his thirst on, he started to come across signs of habitation, cultivated fields with attendant fortified farmhouses.
He was very hungry so he scanned one of the fortified farmhouses as he approached it in the darkness, and he pondered what to do, silencing the barking guard dogs with a savage twist of mental will, inadvertently killing two of the hounds.
Their barking had woken part of the household, so he had to scuttle off a fair bit and wait, frustration and hunger gnawing at him, until things settled down once more.
This time his approach was not betrayed by the guard dogs, who had learned their lesson, willing his flesh to flow and change he proceeded to climb up the walls, his hands and feet now shaped like great suckers to adhere to the rough stonework of the thick outer wall of the farmstead, reaching the top he lifted his head up to scan the inside of the fortified structure. Several stout buildings clustered around, most abutting the outer wall, a fortified gatehouse at one side, a well central in the courtyard. He scanned the place with all of his senses, mundane and esoteric, and let a smile break out on his monstrous visage, perfect.
Moving with silent, preternatural grace he made his way along the narrow battlements until
he came to the building he wanted, the quarters of the family who owned this farm and its lands. Stalking across its tile rooftop he made it to the edge and let his flesh flow over the stonework as he slithered like some great, grey green mottled snake down its side, until he came to the window he wanted.
The window was barred but he reached in with his mind and soon the window was unbarred to him, tiny hands pushing it open for him. He slithered inside, assuming a somewhat human shape to loom over the little girl who stood before him, her face pale and vacant, thoroughly mazed by his mentalism.
Not much of a meal, a mere morsel really, but enough to slake his thirst for now, he lifted her up with one hand wrapped lightly around her slender throat, bringing her face up to his, a pretty little thing, sure to have been a beauty in a few years' time. He let his forked tongue slide out from between his fangs, it pushed past her unresisting lips into her mouth, and he let his hunger take over. His tongue lengthened and surged down the child's throat, expanding and thickening, barbs forming to tear an entrance for the extrusions that would seek her veins and arteries to drain her blood.
He shuddered as his vampire greedily drank of the child's blood, hot and sweet as he consumed it hurriedly, ravenously. Alas the snack was over far too soon, but as he withdrew the metamorphic protrusions of himself, he was as always careful to not leave any evidence of his feeding, snapping her thin neck once he was done.
So as to minimize any questions he placed the child back into her bed and quickly left via the window, creeping over the roof and down the outer walls. Now comfortably blood fueled he set out on any easy paced lope, following the road, eating up the miles as only one of his kind could. He could have transformed into a great bat like shape and flown, but that would have required more blood and would lose him the tattered clothing that he still had.
Off he went on his trek and as dawn once again crept up on him, he scanned around for some place to bed down, ironically the increased levels of cultivation made it more difficult to be sure his rest would not be disturbed.
As the first rays of the sun began peaking over the horizon, he came across a rather dilapidated looking barn, he gave it a rather through once over, it appeared abandoned and not in use. He really had little choice, and as the sun began to rise, he secreted himself inside the structure, on the upper level which probably once housed hay, the roof had a few holes in it, but he had his trusty tent leather which he used to rig up a little nest for himself in the darkest and likely safest corner.
Settling down to sleep he knew that his wamphyri senses, though dulled by the cursed daylight, would alert him to any threat.