Dyritias never was the most clever one in the room, nor the most eloquent. His talents laid somewhere else - in his absolute confidence.

From early age he moved through the world as though it already belonged to him. He spoke without hesitation, met gazes without flinching and carried himself with the quiet certainty of someone who expected to be listened to. And that made him one of the favourite entertainers of Bazagonian nobility. His music opened doors, but it was his presence that kept them open. In the rigid hierarchy of high society, Dyritias became something rare - a man who did not quite belong, yet acted as though he had every right to be there. Nobles found themselves disarmed by him, amused by his audacity, intrigued by his refusal to defer, unsettled by how little he seemed to care about their judgment. He spoke plainly where others postured, flirted boldly where others hesitated, his remarks were not always refined, nor carefully measured but they were delivered with such conviction that people leaned in rather than recoiled.

He learned quickly that confidence could substitute for pedigree and replace etiquette. That desire followed those who did not ask for it - women of noble houses noticed him not because he flattered them well, but because he treated them as if they were already his equals, or his interests. And Dyritias took full advantage of that - his reputation as a notorious womanizer grew not from manipulation, but from audacity. He never begged, never chased, but invited and assumed acceptance. The scandal that would eventually destroy him was not an accident, but an inevitability. When he crossed the line with a noble’s daughter, it was not because he misjudged the danger, but because he believed, just as he always had believed, that the rules would bend for him. Yet this time, they did not.

His fall was swift and public. The confidence that had once amused the aristocracy became an insult. The man who refused to bow was made to kneel. Dyritias was stripped of protection and condemned to the Gauntlet which was meant to humble and humiliate him. But it failed. Gauntlet broke bodies and spirits alike, but Dyritias endured it with the same certainty that had carried him through courts and bedchambers. In the depths of the Gauntlet, he and other runners entered a hidden vampiric domain. There, in the presence of creatures who embodied dominance, Dyritias did what he had always done - spoke without trembling, flirted without apology, treated monsters as equals and refused to perform fear. Among the vampire noble’s entourage was a woman who caught his eye, and it turned his life around. Her interest spared him, her indulgence elevated him and he accepted undeath as the natural extension of who he had always been.

Along with the hunger something profound awakened within him, where once he relied on charm and assumption, vampyrism gave him certainty that he could take what he wanted, erased any doubt, if there ever was any, and taught him that there's no reason to show any restraint.