Role

Chapter 3

Alysone was woken by a clatter at the gate. She rolled out of bed instantly
onto all fours, grabbing the sword belt from beneath. In only moments, she was
making her way down the stairs, sword drawn. At sixteen years of age, she was
better trained than most of the young men who started service in the Barovian
Guard. Her senses were well honed, for an attack by the undead could happen at
any time. The noise had continued, some sort of commotion now in the inner
yard. But when she made her way out, she saw something entirely unexpected.

"Good, you are up," her Uncle Jorrill said. He was just securing a train of
horses, which had pulled in a small cart. Upon the cart was an iron cage. And
within the cage, a frightened-looking but dashingly handsome young man dressed
in velvet and lace. He looked like a princeling from one of the nearby
kingdoms, or perhaps a travelling bard. Jorrill looked at Aysone levelly, his
grizzled face revealing no emotion. "This is the one who killed your father.
It is up to you to determine his fate."

So he was a vampyre, then. Alysone moved around the cart, her green eyes
expressing fascination. The man in the cage fell to his knees, seemingly in
terror. "Please! Please, young lady," he said. "It isn't true, what they are
saying about me! I am just a man, a stranger to these lands. I have been shown
no kindness, no welcome. Please do not let them hurt me!" Alysone reached her
hand out toward the man, kindness etched on her expressive face. He reached
back, his own expression grateful. Suddenly, Alysone thrust her wrist against
the man's arm, where she wore a thin, silver bracelet. A slight sizzling could
be heard as it made contact with his flesh, and he recoiled back. His face
suddenly transformed to rage, as he knew his true identity could not be
hidden.

"Shall we commit him to the flame?" Jorrill asked.

Alysone looked at the vampyre for a long moment, imagining his flesh slowly
burning off his writhing bones. "No," she said at last. "Let us give him a
quick death." Her uncle looked back at her, his face dark. But his expression
was quickly replaced by pride. He placed one calloused hand on her shoulder
and nodded.