Felix Caelus

Felix waits for their response, poised in cautious hope. He thinks of flying a kite again, fingers light on the cords, waiting to see which way the wind will turn.

He knows very well when they do reply, the flurry of half-formed images running through his mind. It's disorienting; if he were less experienced, too fearful of conceding any control, he might panic and reject them. But he catches himself and lets his mind run with the images. Lets himself absorb the strange impressions, feel them, understand the case the blades are making in their own wordless way. Were they humanoid he'd be nodding along sympathetically.

...Ah. Yes, he expected they'd want to know about their prize. It's a bit of a wrench to drag even half his awareness back to the waking world. He reaches down to his satchel and fumbles out the heavy cloth-covered weight inside.

He sets it on the end of the table, too far away to touch and just close enough to smell. He can certainly feel it once the cloth is unwrapped. The dark crystal glistens in the sunlight, its interior purple-black and opaque. Felix did his best to find a master vampire worth killing: the conscious soul inside is strong, endlessly hungry, touched by the Prince of Domination, fat with the life energies of its victims. Raging, no doubt. Afraid, if it has any awareness left.

It's a hideous little thing, but having seen the vampire's lair Felix can't feel more than perfunctory regret.