Eric was Eric, dressed in black on the stage at Fangtasia. He has the same bored expressions as he looked out over his realm filled with empty shadows. It is the same face he wore as he stood on a snow-covered battlefield. His Viking sword and arm was covered in blood and blood splattered over his chain mail and face. The blood on the snow was bright and smelled delicious as it oozed out from his victims: Nazis, clergy, women in gowns, whores, business men, and military soldiers.
Behind him, stands a chieftain, a woman with flowers wreathed in her hair surrounded by six children, but they fade quickly into the snow. A flash of something or someone and they are gone as well as the small village where they stood.
A young woman in a beautiful nineteenth century, black and white gown took his arm. A young, blonde modern girl in a modern, southern waitress outfit took his other arm. Over him, a beautiful, brunette vampire smiled down on Eric. He had the same bored expression as the blood rose. It didn't touch the waitress, but it passes Eric's ankles. It soaked his leathers as it soaked her gown.
He pushed, leaving the women behind. He glamoured Harry and aimed it at the solid shadow at teeth. He reached for it.