Dhampir Stalker

From his perch atop the dock master's building, Vilak observed the commotion below. There on the docks, crooked and bleeding among the fishing boats and merchant ships, was the corpse of a male. Tanned skin. Brown beard. Dirty clothes. Lifeless eyes staring up at the night sky.

Surrounding the victim were four of the city guards, each stumbling about, peering behind crates and waving their arms. Clueless idiots, all of them.

Vilak did not move, but simply breathed deeply. The scent of salt, kelp, wood, ale, piss, and...ah. There it was. Blood.

Although only half vampire, his ability to track even the faintest hint of blood was as dependable as that of a full Nocturni. His crimson eyes slowly moved their gaze to the southern district where the blood scent led.

His target had taken a black-fletched arrow to the gut. Vilak had taken care to avoid major arteries. It was critical that the target survived long enough to answer a few questions. Unfortunately for the lone dock worker who rushed to help, the target was not eager to be the subject of scrutiny. The flash of steel and a quick slash across the neck sent the dock worker sprawling backwards, clutching his throat.

The target had then stumbled away from the docks and into the city.

Vilak shouldered his bow. Pulling his hood low, he smiled grimly and slid down the side of the roof.

It was time to hunt. Half-vampire, the Dhampir are faster and stronger than normal humans. Most have taken to a mercenary lifestyle, never quite welcome with vampires or humans. The Stalker is adept at tracking their prey, then dispatching the target with a silent and perfectly-placed arrow from the shadows.