...

Nothing. Despite knowing what it means to do so and how to communicate with peoples of a similar language if possible, you simply, can't. Your tongue flaps around in a clunky and slippery manner, while any air **** through the throat and out of the mouth is met with little to no resistance, resulting in an unimpressive, "Ha..." Whether by awkward unfamiliarity or a genuine lack of ability, no words can escape your lips.

"No. You can't." Uldar replies. It's remarkable how his words can carry with them this strange, second-nature feeling shared by any sentient creature. Emotion. His voice is worn and somewhat raspy. Carried by his three words, he delivers feelings of depression and hopelessness. The vowels are elongated to an extent, and the way he says it is quiet. Yet, when those words themselves are spoken in that tone, it gives an air of condescension to the sentence only possible to hear in this sort of situation.

Were it possible to convey such emotions had you the ability to speak? What does it even feel like to have emotions in the first place? Could you find out? Such ponderings on the nature of feelings and emotion casually appear and disappear as buoys bobbing up and down in the sea of your mind. Questions innate and perhaps stupid if only you had experience of them firsthand.

After a while of walking down the dimly-lit hallway, the mysteriously hooded individual drags you into a room only after opening the door to it and makes sure to shut it afterwards. The room itself is cold with walls, floor and ceiling being made of a boring black stone. There is a candle in the corner providing the only source of light and a wooden dresser in the corner. Uldar steps over to said furniture while mumbling something barely audible away from you; it's tough to make out if he's talking directly to you or not. "Well, every minion needs his gear to stand even a small fighting chance against the world, so we might as well see what we can get you here."

He opens the dresser to reveal an array of cloths and buttons and other minor knick-knacks inside. "Vampires are generally more civilized than other creatures here and won't take kindly to anyone without at least some clothes on. They won't complain much, but they'll more than likely treat you as some lowlife scum for it." He removes a piece of string and a few clothing articles. "Let's take some measurements."

His hands glide over your fair skin. They are scratchy and callous and of a different, slightly more dark color than the pure white tone of yours. He moves all over with the string, encircling your shoulders, legs, stomach, everything. Eventually, his tough fingers even brush over your nipples.