“Once again...welcome to my house.

Come freely. Go safely.

And please leave something of the happiness you bring.







Abraham Van HelsingJonathan HarkerMina HarkerThe BridesRenfield

Dr. John Seward│ Quincey MorrisArthur Holmwood│ Bruno Ikarov The Dread DoctorsKakistos

Erzsébet BáthoryVirgiliu DraculaNicholas CarlisleMarie Anette CarlisleNathaniel Renwick

Mircea Dracula│ MalphasAdela Maria GoodwinRobert HensworthKarl LuegerLa bête du Gévaudan│

Javier CruezaCountess DolingenValeri DojstovRalph the taxi driver

Steiner Leichtenberg │


Castle DraculaThe Carpathian MountainsTomb of ThanatosThe VillageCarfax AbbeySeward's Sanitarium

The Tavala Mines and Village│The harbour of Ville Bleue (Blue City)│The Kingdom of the Undying

Abandoned Building│The Construction Site │Virgil's mansion │Robin's house│Dracula's Mansions
المدينة الغارقة (almadinat alghariqa, or The Sunken City │


The Order of the Dragon The Order The Van Helsing Association │The Hunter societyUndying│

The NetworkThe coaliton against Dracula │The Eye│The CouncilThe New Dawn

The Department of Paranormal Activities 'DPA' The Pure│The Order of TrinityThe Red Paw

Blood Hunters │The Company of Three


The sword of DraculDragon keythe Dracul family ringDe Dödas Huvudbonad (Crown of the Dead)

Quincey's khukri knifeStaff of RaHeart stoneThe necklace of SybilMysterious box│Amulet of  


The Hundred Year War


The Demeter Final DeathThe Ichor DomainVampire LordThe TraditionsHumans loyal to Dracula








“It is not often an opportunity such as this is presented, as when it appears literally on the front side of your homestead.
A boy, an instrument, a broken cello that I shall, I think, put together in due time.
Then, David, you I shall play until you dance to my tune entirely.
You will twist, you will turn, and you will sing my melody now henceforth.”

- Dracula







"Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer--both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams. Yes, her internal turmoil, a war of the mind, it is what makes her into one of the more dangerous adversaries I have faced, thus far. Unpredictable, unrelenting, and completely merciless.

I must take care, lest she foil my plans.”



"There may yet be things, many of the mind, things that he cannot grasp; such as the nature and virtue of patience, and the bountiful reward that can come from restraint. After all ambition is only ever as useful as the person wielding it.

The fall of many of our kind stems from this fatal flaw, yet I did not at all think that it would be the Achilles heel of my own son.

I thought I had done better, that I would not see the past be repeated...

In what hurry are they, they who have centuries ahead of them?"

- Dracula


"I have crossed oceans of time to find this woman. She is alltogether mine, and together we shall walk forevermore.

But even good metal can break when you try to put your might against it, try and bend it.

Nevertheless, what would be left shall serve me, and be mine to use as I so fit."

- Dracula 


You men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull in two different ways. Then tears come, and like the rain on the ropes, they brace it up, until perhaps the strain become too great, and the mind breaks. But King Laugh he come like the sunshine, and he ease off the strain again, and you bear to go on with the labor, what ever it may be.

You, Catherine, you will not be allowed even this for me. I will shut the door for all things good.

You'll be mine, or you will meet back again with the hand that shaped you.

- Dracula




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         1895 -Present


Born doomed, the young Robin was destined to become a vampire.

His mother, while pregnant, had been a victim of Dracula, and he had forcefed her some of his blood.

And while the fiendish King Vampire was supposedly 'destroyed' in the end, his blood remained in her and was passed on to her son, unknowingly.

And so years later during World War I and Robin was called, and fell in battle, he rose again from the dead as a vampire. Thereby he took the fall for his mother, unwittingly.


Now he is one of Dracula's lieutenants, an occassional anti-hero, and a magnet for trouble.


Portrayed by:  William Moseley










         1896 - ?


The Kanima is a creature that is not born out of the hard shell of an egg, nor birthed out of the warm comfort of a mother's womb. No it is created via a number of different ways, as when a magical transformation is interrupted, and a person's soul is confused and lost.

Timothy was one of these lost souls, filled with self hatred, and doubt about his identity. 

And so when he was resurrected by his vampiric lover in World War I, instead he became the Kanima, and he hid himself from the world underneath a tough reptilian skin


Portrayed by: Luke Newberry













1995 - ?


A seemingly average young man from suburban Sweden, Arvid  has been thrust into a world which is not his own.

A world that terrifies and confuses him. 

Yet now it is his world also, for better or for worse.

And there may be yet things in his family's past, coming back to haunt him. For in his blood may lie a shocking truth about him.


Portrayed by: Piotr Wasilewski


I am open to new roleplay threads

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Fantasy, Romance, Violence, Realistic, Rated R, 18+, Gore, Comedy, Action, Adventure

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  • The remark was taken in good faith with a chuckle, a grin finally making its way back to that flustered face. That was enough to lift whatever heaviness that lingered in there, all pains were momentarily forgotten.

    A hand was held out from time to time, fingers briefly brushing against cold stone walls, as if the tactile sensation would be enough to allow him to memorize the winding path. There was no offense taken for the lack of light– to someone who dealt with the dark for countless years in his prime, this was something that he was far from worried about. Verdant eyes squinted, and as if by instinct, the darkness in his vision gradually adjusted. The fire that lit the torch has been a good accompaniment, but using sorcery to aid his sight did help him anticipate what was there to be had. Various corridors that perhaps led elsewhere, pronouncing the limits of what he can do at the moment, the arches and the carvings that graced the halls that they passed and eventually disappeared behind him, even the weathering and the noticeable cracks upon the slabs of the stairs that they approached.

    Other than the moaning wind, there were no other moving presences to be felt, it seemed.


    The dining hall was an airy, ornate place, each detail and furniture carefully curated and put together, from the decor to the drapes and the tapestry. There were some aspects of fine craftsmanship that David had already recognized distances away, something that he wouldn’t expect to be gazing upon in this century, but it was there nonetheless, boasting its presence in its most pristine form. Even beneath the pale shaft of moonlight or the fire that roared within the furnace that cast its glow, it didn’t need a full burst of light to illuminate each corner that could pronounce art. The masterpiece was the dinner table itself, however– filling the surface with all kinds of food in a tasteful display, adorned with all distinguished cutlery. He did expect dinner, but he didn’t expect an entire feast, fit for an aristocratic gathering. 

    But then, ever since he woke up, David wasn't so sure what to expect anymore. So far, all of it has been quite an animated ride of highs and lows. At the gesture, the young man took his seat… his expression perhaps could be taken in as a wordless compliment, he looked pleasantly overwhelmed that he blinked when he was addressed once more as if shaking out of a trance. 

    Mind your manners, child. 

    Your food won’t sprout wings anymore to fly away from you. 

    It might not be the first time he was in the presence of such luxury, but it still impressed him well, dignified to be invited to such. “Oh no, I don’t mind at all,” David answered, beaming. To that, he held no judgment or perceived no disrespect, being in the former company of individuals of such nature already had him acquainted with that. He only shook his head at the alternative offer. “Please– be at ease, this is beautiful, I don’t think I could really ask for more at your table.” Appreciation was evident in his voice, there was nothing that he can truly do to hide that.

    The wine should be a good place to start. A wonderfully balanced thing it was… the mild sweetness of it filling him completely on the first sip. A portion of the duck was carefully taken sided with some vegetables, and based on the briefest sign of his boyish excitement upon the recognition that fortunately didn’t bleed through his finesse, perhaps the fowl was a classic favorite, regardless of the way it was cooked.

    Oh, gods. That was good. 

    It wasn’t just hunger that’s being the jury at this point, it was also a delicate palate that from his glowing expression alone, seemed to be completely satisfied. And he initially thought that those quickly whipped meals in takeaway boxes that he was fed recently were the pinnacle of human cuisine in regards to flavor when this deserved that spot, from sight and taste alone.

    The more he was surrounded with something reminiscent of familiar, the more it seemed to soothe him down. “Lord Dracula,” he slowly started once more. “I couldn’t help but wonder, would there be others joining us for dinner tonight?” Did he happen to be the only guest around, considering how generous the host seemed? Perhaps it was a laden question, with him wondering if there would be anyone else also taking up residence in a place so massive, other than the hired hands who diligently worked for the area’s upkeep or to offer their services.

    Might as well ask beforehand– given the night’s events, the last thing he would want was to intrude on anyone else.

  • Was he angry? Will he cast him out? Any other host might, considering that many back in his time held societal status with so much reverence to the point of pushing anyone with a record of blatant or perceived indecencies. And yet none of that happened, to say that David was relieved was an understatement, the expression that lilted his face was enough to make him appear younger than his years. Someone actually believed. 

    To this Lord’s counsel, he was open to listening. He stood there, gazing up at him on that height. There was the lingering thought in the back of his head about how much of a weaker prey he was right now in a home that’s meant for the nocturne, in a grasp that could literally tear through a body so soft and substantial, and yet he patiently pushed that aside. Eyebrows furrowed slightly, his forehead wrinkling, eyes slowly cast down.

    It was alright, he wanted to say at first, yet didn’t dare interrupt. Gleeon didn’t intend to kill him. To this very day, he was still alive, this injury will heal. David was still somewhat convinced that he was the one in the wrong but…

    That he did. His reasons were sputtered out in both desperation and anger, but mostly out of the despair that gnawed him. Anyone will be able to perceive that, it didn't need a predator to actually see through something so conspicuous. Now, looking back, even the enemy recognized that– it was apparent on that woman’s face that she finally recognized the man that her son unknowingly brought into their house, enough for her to transform into the monstrosity that she truly was. That was enough to take him back.

    Back to whatever the hell he lost those days, back to his wife whose face he can barely remember, save for the last time he ever saw her upon her grisly death. 

    For a fraction of a moment, panic gripped him, cold pangs of it threatening to close upon his throat, and even the temperature rapidly seemed to drop several degrees. It felt beyond his control. Frozen in place, desperately tethered to this man's words like it was the only vice that gripped him to stay in the present. No matter how many times he turned it over and over in his head, trying to excuse the action of one young man who helped him with all good intentions, knowing that a boy would lovingly choose his mother, even if they were a wretched beast that orchestrated the deaths of many… David did feel betrayed. 

    Did he really think that Gleeon will see that, understand that enough for him to see reason?

    They weren’t the ones who were on the bloody path of that massacre.

    He was.

    The enormity of what finally hit him was perhaps much heavier than what Dracula had imagined but showed the signs of the result that was needed. An exhausted body and a dilapidated mind could only take in so much, and from the way those eyes glazed over, he would have wept from the sheer realization and the memory alone, modestly halted by the fact that he was in the presence of another. The young man was completely still in that inspection until his shoulders finally went slack to yield. That shame was pointless to hold.

    Maybe he was right.

    David swallowed all that back, finally nodding. It took a few moments for him to regain his composure. Rubbing his eyes, he watched as the torch was lit, the glow now illuminating him, and a few steps into that pitch-black hall. “Thank you, Lord Dracula. I believe I needed that.” While his voice still wavered, perhaps it would be safe to say that some newfound resolve backed that somehow. The room that they left was considerably dimmer and colder than before, but his steps were resolute.

    From death comes rebirth, a new chance at life.

    He could have sworn his late mother would have uttered something along those lines long ago, with how peculiar she was.

    But perhaps that was something he can hold on to, now that it actually applies to him. 

  • Timothy's confession prompts Zach to part his lips; there's no doubt a teasing remark is to follow if the curious gleam in his eyes is anything to go by. Before he manages to speak, however, Timothy is rushing to interrupt him with further explanations. Zach has enough grace to shut his mouth and hear him out. As he listens, he cradles his cheek in the palm of his hand and lets his fingers slip through messy waves of red hair. He'd be lying if he said Timothy's words didn't surprise him.

    "So," Zach begins, sliding his hand off his cheek, "are you a time-traveler or immortal?"

    The least he can do is humor Timothy. Part of Zach suspects that the other man has taken make-believe to the extremes - college life has introduced him to a wide range of weird people. When he'd met a girl in his biology class who claimed to be part wolf, he learned that some people preferred to live in a fantasy realm. It was more likely that Timothy was some weirdo and not actually from the late 1800s. There are times when Zach wonders if he has also mentally cracked and imagined all the strange supernatural occurrences around him.

    A shadow figure hovering two paces behind Zach chirps with a series of hushed clicks in protest.

    Ignoring the looming figure, Zach twists to look at the waitress when she returns to their table. She doesn't see the imposing entity, fingers brushing through its ash-like limbs when she moves. Steeling his expression, Zach flashes the waitress a grateful smile and eagerly reaches for his own mug. He casually holds his mug close and blows over the surface whilst watching Timothy over the rim of his mug. Once the mug is back on the table between them, Zach reaches for the packets of sugar and milk the waitress had knowingly given them.

    Zach delivers another thoughtful smile at the waitress when she recommends a round of pizza. Although he's currently satisfied with the blueberry muffin he'd ordered for himself, he slots that idea in the back of his mind. He really doesn't want to cook for dinner, anyway. After peeling away the paper wrapping on the muffin, he pulls apart a bite with his fingers and pops it into his mouth. Maybe he should be more shaken by Timothy's words, but Zach is awfully hungover. And he's already decided Timothy is simply an eccentric guy with an overactive imagination.

    Having all but devoured the muffin, Zach carefully slots the extra two bagged muffins he'd ordered at his side. The least he can do is not show up to the hospital empty-handed. Now that he has something in his stomach, he's feeling far less queasy than earlier. There's more color to his cheeks, even. "What are you going to do, then?" Zach prompts innocently. If he woke up a hundred years later in the future, he might want to discover all the cool new technology. Maybe he'd want to know who was president, did they still have a president? 

  • Curiosity on a very expressive face was a hard thing to hide. From the sight of the claws that most likely claimed many lives, the subtlety that it seemed capable of, the same hands able to stoke the fire that filled the room with such warmth. David was a patient man, knowing that answers will be given when it’s due. He was out for hours. From how he felt earlier, he would have assumed days. Maybe it wasn't as far as he thought, he figured. Ever since he woke up, marking the days have been surreal and a bit of a daze in itself--

    Transylvania, Romania. 

    David’s thoughts scrambled to gather as he heard it, to no avail. His jaw already dropped, not knowing where to start asking. That brief interruption brought forth by one stranger silenced him completely even before a word was uttered, giving him time to allow that to sink in. While he still looked completely stunned, and the rest of that felt like a blur to him, he nodded to the man in polite acknowledgment, raising a pale hand to wave as Mr. Albescu disappeared. He had a feeling that this won't be the last time he will be seeing him. What did they just talk about? Something about dinner. It would have been enough to pique his attention with how hungry he really was, if not for the thoughts that plagued him already.

    What brought him here? Out of all places in the world, ruins that held history in his past… was it because this place alone teemed with so much death at first glance? What sort of information will hit him next? Everything was deathly quiet, and the young man was holding back a breath. It was the silence that David himself didn’t want to break. He hasn’t lost it all entirely, it seemed, but the glaring question was why.

    He visibly perked up the moment Dracula spoke once more. David didn’t oppose his words, knowing full well that it was the truth. “All I have are observations from what I know and what I remember in my travels, Lord Dracula, these would be nothing compared to the truth itself.” The young man sounded remarkably wistful, twitching a brief sheepish smile at the mention of magic. And yet his expression fell the moment the question was poised.

    It was guilt that showed in that face. But it did seem like David was expecting to deliver that at some point. With how he appeared out of nowhere, anyone will be curious, and with the nature of the element that he used, maybe it was just a streak of fortune that sorcery was not an uncommon thing to be acknowledged in this household where he doesn’t need to latch onto excuses. His voice became quiet. "It was a dispute with a friend." There was no hesitation in his words, only the slow recollection as the memory was relived. Bitterness laced that, and so did grief. "Apparently he was closely affiliated with someone I have long considered an enemy, and that discovery didn’t go well.”

    Eyes swept down at the heap of fabric that he was holding. The warmth of the fire and the weight of that blanket now offered little comfort to a turbulent mind that found no justifications over his actions, only the vitriol and the anguish that had been harbored for years prior to that fateful meeting. Pushing himself from the covers, David located the rest of his clothing folded at the foot of the bed. The muted dizziness and the ache remained, but it was something that he can now easily disregard. “I don't think it was his fault, I had good reason to know that he knew nothing of it. I was the one who brought chaos into his household and I am ashamed to admit that. But meeting her again was unbearable, and all sensibility just left me… a fight escalated from there and he had to use sorcery to intervene. I was in no position to fight a dragon and a warlock at the same time."

    That was the moment when he made that discovery of the things that he suddenly lacked. The darkness was eager, and yet the body was not. But perhaps that would offer a good explanation to the burnt, scabbing wound that marred a once pristine shoulder, or the discolored markings that still graced one arm, which has now considerably faded through recovery that seemed abnormally fast. It looked like a direct strike of lightning that he survived. "I don’t think this is something that any well-meaning host would want to hear from a guest, and for that, I truly apologize. I went with all intent of simply being a few miles or states away, without a destination in mind. Romania isn't what I expected to find myself in, however. I have never used sorcery alone, on a single move, to travel this far." To match that, a part of the shirt he had and the accompanying winter suit jacket was visibly scorched and David made a note to himself to patch that up as these were quickly buttoned up once more, for decency’s sake. He had stayed in his trousers long enough, and the realization was enough to embarrass a decorous man.

    He must have been more distraught than he originally thought to cross an ocean with magic alone. For a good reason that he still held close, after all those years. That night, however, he found no vigor to even explain anything in his defense, only holding the accountability of that encounter for what it was worth. Even with this honesty and with that disposition displaced at this current time, it seemed that this story was still at the tip of the iceberg. “If the offer still stands, Lord Dracula, I would be more than honored to take it.”

    Each moment that went by was nothing but a surprise turning up one after the other. A part of him wondered what was waiting to be witnessed in the dining hall. Would there be more of those women waiting to devour him? They did seem livid earlier when they left. Will he be the meal this time?

    There would be only one way of finding out, and David finally stood, a slim silhouette of a man obligingly waiting for the host to take the lead.

  • Skipping a shower in favor of making haste ends up sinking some regret in Zach once they're outdoors. Although brushing his teeth and changing his clothes has more or less eradicated the scent of alcohol from him, he feels far from clean. He makes a mental note to shower the moment his visit to the hospital is done and dusted. For now, he leads Timothy out of the house and outdoors where the air is crisp and the sun is shining. Zach hugs the denim jacket tighter across his shoulders as he walks. It was supposed to be a relaxing day that gave him a chance to recover from his hangover, but he'd been so alarmed about people he knew ending up in hospital that he can't seem to chill out.

    All his anxiety slows his prescriptiveness about Timothy and he fails to notice how the man at his side is experiencing a state of shock. Whisked from his own timeline and showing up here in the year 2017 would do that to a man. Zach is none the wiser; casually treading a familiar pathway and slowing only to crane his neck until the joints pop.

    When they finally arrive at the cafe, Zach shoves the door open with a hand and holds it ajar for Timothy. "Where did you say you were from again?" He asks as he gives the man a quick once-over as if his attire would clue him in on Timothy's origins. Unsurprisingly, it does not. They enter and Zach directs them both to a window seat where he falls into his chair with a slouch and heavy sigh. His fingers slide over his face while he speaks, causing some of it to become muffled, "I wanted to go right to the hospital, but maybe after a coffee. I feel like shit." When his hands fall to the table between them, he looks at Timothy once more.

    "What can I get for you boys?" The waitress asks with a grin and a click of her pen. She gazes more at Zach than Timothy, regarding him with a sense of familiarity.

    "Black coffee, like, super strong," Zach grumbles, leaning on his forearms.

    She laughs, "you sure? I know you're just going to reach for the sugar if I make it black. How 'bout a latte, hm?"

    Zach groans in response, but the waitress takes his lack of a response as him relenting. She purses her lips while she scribbles on a paper before turning her attention to a very dazed Timothy. It takes some awkward coaxing for him to finally order as well, but if she is concerned for him she does not show it. Instead, she shakes her head and plants her hands on her hips, and says, "you boys need to take it easy on the weekends. Your body won't last forever." With that, she turns to take care of their orders.

    At Timothy's strange question, Zach slowly turns to look at him. The features on his face scrunch together in what must be confusion, but they soften up in surprise when Zach swears he sees Timothy's eyes flicker brightly with color. Zach's lips press into a hardened line when the glow in Timothy's eyes brings forth an unpleasant memory that feels both so long ago and just like yesterday. It's not the same,  he softly reminds himself.

    "Yeah, it's 2017," he says carefully, uncertain, "when else would it be? Did you hit your head or something?"

  • His first thought was the exact same: Likely other guests in the exhibit and nothing they should be concerned about. Wrooong choice.

    “OH SHIT!!!”

    Just as quickly as it came, the young man flinched when a hailstorm of bullets came zipping in his direction, pieces of wood from the floor splintering away relentlessly. Despite the fact his heart was thumping out of his chest, he noticed something: No pieces of lead were hitting him. Glancing around frantically, he shifted his gaze up to see that it was Robin who took it all, and how horribly mangled he was.

    At this rate, all that post-traumatic stress disorder had the potential to make him lose control over his own mind. To him, they just slaughtered a would-be friend of his. One reason why he didn't have a far greater reaction was because of how desensitized he was, and the fact Abe didn't get to know this man. For a veteran such as himself, it wasn't common for him to get extremely violent, but for this exception, all that building ferocity would be a necessity for his survival. This was about to get personal.

    Frozen in place from what he would normally call shell-shock, there was an audible grunt from him upon having the disfigured male fall on top of him. He was flinching around from the growing panic while trying to move out from under Robin, until- one of the assailants closed in, followed by the clicking of a weapon.

    There was no answer from the brunette, only a widened stare void of any signs of life into nowhere. A few seconds were needed until Abraham managed to regain some of his composure, just enough to think about his situation from a tactical standpoint. In that short moment, he realized something was pressing against his hips from Robin: A firearm.

    Slowly but surely, he was tugging on the weapon from under the Vampire’s belt, or wherever he had it stored. Normally the man would’ve grabbed his own, but reaching there would only cause suspicion. For the one wielding the AR, it only looked like he was trying to scoot around under Robin’s weight while pulling it out without their knowledge.

    All of a sudden, another weapon was heard cocking, and it was a certain Colt 1911 he retrieved, aimed directly at his head. “Bye…”

    A loud bang ensued, and if the gunman failed to respond in time from Abe pulling the trigger, the back of his head would blow open before a large splatter of crimson nectar went all over the wall.

    Immediately, Robin’s unconscious body was pushed and rolled over as the veteran quickly sprinted over behind the first generation tank and leaped over to dodge any oncoming bullets. He took advantage of this to draw out his own sidearm, a Mauser C96 he looted from the corpse of a dead German soldier long ago. Each hand now wielded one, and Abe was aiming at both sides of the vehicle with his back against it.

    This raised a problem: He couldn’t defend both sides at once. Looking around, the brunette noticed a piece of explosive ammunition from one of the vehicle’s cannons inside a glass display case. Perhaps if he could bully those three men away from the tank’s left side and force them to come up the right where it was located, a well-placed shot could detonate it.

    “Come and get me fuckers!! What’re you waiting for?!” In a rather aggressive tone, he was attempting to provoke them into pursuing him. Knowing that they needed to come up the right side for this to work, Abraham briefly popped out from the tank’s left to fire with both weapons, just to deter them from going up on that side. As quickly as he could pull the triggers, he attempted to pelt anyone who’d be caught there, bonus points if he could at least land a hit to injure someone.

    If any shots came his way, the male quickly pulled back to draw out his phone with a bloodied hand, most likely fluids from the man he thought was dead. Upon swiping and partially smearing some crimson goop on it, he immediately clicked on a certain contact of his while listening for any footsteps on either side, hoping they'd attempt to confront him on the right where that explosive shell was.


    "Gleeon I need help!!"

    "What's going on?!"

    "Bunch of random guys shooting up the place and killed someone! At the art museum!! Please hurry!"

    "Take cover, I'll be right there!"

    Soon, he'd hang up, quickly placing the phone away and taking hold of Robin's pistol. Just for added measure, Abe poked out his Mauser to fire blindly at the left side as another deterrent. If this worked, the Colt 1911 was already aimed at the ordinance. 

  • Everything was gradually dawning to him, all at once. It was a spacious place, that room, with walls and floors made of stone. The blazing firelight cast a warm glow to his surroundings, even a vision this bleary could make out the details and the decor. It was quite old-fashioned compared to the structures that he was seeing these days, but not that he was bothered–  it was actually more preferable. Tomorrow’s sunshine might bring it to new light and give him more perspective about what sort of place this was.

    Sunshine. There was none to be found, other than the raging flurry of the blizzard casting frost upon the windows. What time was it? How long was he asleep for? The pale figures flickering in and out didn’t go unnoticed and might be the best ones to start gathering information from. He wasn’t expecting guests of corporeal nature or not – more like he doesn’t know what to expect anymore, but whatever it was with them that slowly came to light made him hesitate and drop the idea.

    He will know a specter well if he sees one. No, they weren’t human. At least, not anymore. He couldn’t properly sense a decent pulse of life, either. But damn-- all three of them held that sort of ethereal beauty that can definitely hold anyone's stare, and David, even with the rising agitation in his throat couldn't simply resist. They were affectionately chattering amongst themselves, voices so soft and endearing, even if they were literally talking about consuming and sharing him on that bed, sensing his magical nature instantly in just one look. Every bit of that was bad news, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.


    He could not. Not even the slightest rise of a finger, a twitch of a muscle, or another gasp of a breath. That face looked even more beautiful up close. Adrenaline coursed through him in both excitement and dread. For bleary eyes, the fangs that neared allowed him to put two and two together. Vampires. He knew his mother's bedtime stories well and dealt with such nocturnal folk back in the Dominion, but did he really wake up just to die again? The man obviously doesn’t want to go down as prey without a fight, but what can he really do aside from wordlessly pleading for anyone to interfere? Someone. Anyone.

     And it was as if the darkness itself answered.

    A presence so overpowering that it was enough to shake all of that off. That nauseating crack of fracturing bones and the scream that followed broke the spell. Even the two others who were flocking nearby followed suit in a fit of absolute aggression, tossed around like meager ragdolls. He must have scrambled up to sit and gather the sheets at some point after that, the moment that he was frozen on the spot, he was now clutching the sheets against his bare chest like it was enough to protect him from anything. Of course, it wasn’t. Not against those fangs that were now bared, the way they clung to the wall like arachnids, not against this imposing man whose reverberating voice could be compared to a very livid, primal beast that one shouldn't easily trifle with.

    There has been a time when sorcery easily pulsed beneath corrupted fingertips, when defense can easily bend within mind's will… when situations like this could have been more of an object of complete shock and curiosity than something he was meant to truly fear. When tainted blood ran through his veins that would have been proven distasteful to anyone who tries to devour him. But with this vessel, he was in no condition to fight anything at all, restored to a condition as if no pacts and deals were made. Back to square one, as they would say these days.

    This newfound helplessness truly awed and disturbed him.

    There was agonized yelling, screeching, a strident combination of avian and feline rolled into one muddled chorus, enough to send a chill straight to his spine. Such sounds reminded him of those unholy mangled throats of distant fiends sculpted out of living flesh, though it was something he won’t believe to be emitted by these women if not for the fact that all of this was assaulting his senses, unfolding right before his very eyes. With all former elegance gone, they hastily scuttled out of the room, in a trail of lace and silks. Their presence was gone as fast as they came and hopefully won’t return any time soon. This finally left David gaping at the man who saved him from the brink of certain death– it was no other than the master of the house– or rather the castle himself.

    What did he get himself into this time?

    As if blinking away the trance, shaky hands slowly reached out for the glass that was offered, his head bobbing to a nod. “T-thank you kindly...” That came out as a feeble stammer. The water was quickly gulped down, and the subtle chill of it sat in the depths of an empty stomach, which he deemed felt way better than having nothing in it at all. The formality was actually a much-welcomed breath of familiar air, for once he wasn’t surrounded by a bunch of people in both crowds and colorful media spouting out new terminologies that he wasn’t completely acclimated to.

    “Please, Lord Dracula– I’m alright, thanks to you. If anything, I should be the one apologizing." David was still cradling the glass as if that was a good enough source of comfort for a pounding heart. He was starting to calm down, and the tremor in his voice dwindled away. “I am not certain how I got here, but I do apologize for the intrusion or for any inconveniences caused. Stirring such disturbance isn’t my intention at all. You've been a very gracious host and I'm grateful.”

    The sincerity in his voice was apparent, gratitude was something that this one was accustomed to expressing. Even his own courtesies seemed displaced for a man of his age living in this current time. All anxieties aside, and even with the fact that he was just moments away from being devoured earlier, he did seem genuinely sorry. While there were things that he obviously wanted to ask– who those women were, he knew better than to pry. Even the name alone seemed familiar, but a disoriented head won’t be able to process all of that in one night anyway, and there are more pressing questions begging to be answered. A glance was cast to the window, and he could still see the haze of the churning snowstorm outside.

    “My name is David. David Sullivan. Recently, I hailed all the way from the States. If I may ask… what region is this, exactly?"

  • It was a shot of lightning that sent him away…

    It was a shot of tainted lightning that brought him there.

    There was a man that fled away without a specific destination in mind. 

    There was the blurry sight of the dense canopy of evergreens, the thick, tumultuous haze of the gray clouds laden with… rain? Snow? Wherever he went, whatever forsaken corner this was where he landed himself into, the weather was bitterly cold and inclement, carrying the whipping, howling breeze of the alps. He felt the earth beneath him, the sharpness of it was enough to knock whatever wind that remained in his lungs.

    If the man thought that Arkansas was already a little too wintry at this time of the year, this place took it up a notch. Even his lungs ached from breathing alone.

    No matter. He already blacked out before these musings could continue.

    . . .

    Defense mechanisms were something that he had read from excerpts expanded and written by a British psychoanalyst so long ago. Amongst many things, a troubled mind tends to protect itself, and regression has been notoriously one of those.


    Most dreams that he had were uncontrollable. They have been rather vivid and full of color ever since he was finally wide awake and conscious of this... New World, compared to the time that he spent in that damned capsule. A lot of them have been rather terrifying for a lesser man, but on the quieter times in between, there were softer peeks of sunshine.

    This dream in particular brought him back. Back to those mornings that were spent on lessons and disciplines that their eccentric mother still oversaw, helping the twins to get by on those studies that were proven to be most difficult. Quiet late afternoons spent roaming the nooks and crannies of the estate or tumbling around the overgrown flower beds like wagging pups, laughing and roughhousing until they’re both too breathless to continue. The gleaming wisps on the winding path will lead them home and by that time, dinner was ready to be served, their pale mother waiting amongst the ever-growing pile of books and oddities that littered the table. 

    She will be there, silver eyes twinkling with childish mischief as she rose to her feet with a smile, her scarred arms wide open. Despite the grubby hands clinging to her lacy linen frock and the dirt that will streak the creases of her dress, she will only laugh and compliment their messy ensemble, showering their smudged faces with kisses like there was no tomorrow. Her dainty arms bore strength that was unnatural for a frail, spindly thing such as she, wrapping them both in a hug tight enough to sweep both boys off their feet. From the petals and the blooms that stuck on tousled hair and muddy clothing, she will prattle on about the little messages that these flowers bore for them that day. Cinquefoils and buttercups, lilacs, heathers, asters, and the occasional azaleas. Floriography, it was called.

    To David, it was a nightly promise of filial love.

    Like always, this memory was something his mind brought up for the sake of comfort. All those felt so distant, might as well believe that they were merely wishful dreams.

    It was a dream he’d prefer not to wake up from, regardless. A beautiful reminder of what has been and what it should have been. And yet this new earthly vessel has different ideas.

    It wasn't the most compliant.


    David shot up in a fit of obvious panic, or at least, as much as how that frail body will allow him.

    There was that lingering dull ache in his bones that he cannot shake free. That sinking feeling of lead inside his limbs, made worse by an exertion of sorcery that he perhaps overdid. His back felt like it was on fire, accompanied by that tingling pins and needles coursing through every inch of his skin. Even his throat felt like emery paper, all parched and scratchy, made worse by the cold. Now, he was starting to properly remember.

    A physician’s visit accompanied by forged medical details days before this mayhem has concluded that all the fatigue that he was feeling will eventually fade away, and any traces of muscle atrophy will eventually cease. Recovery will be gradual but certain, just like most comatose patients of his caliber would. It was an odd little place, all brightly lit and clean, filled with various mechanisms and devices, but oh, Gleeon was so relieved to hear that, clapping him on the back with a laugh.

    There was a lingering twinge of guilt in that regard. Perhaps, the man truly meant well.

    If not for that wretched beast reappearing to taunt him once more, perhaps he will still be in the relative safety of that place, learning from a man that he was starting to consider as a friend. But no – out of all things, out of all old enemies, the sight of the Empyrean’s fallen queen just has to be there. There was fighting and screaming to be had that even the master of the house couldn’t impede — the shock of that blind rage that gripped him felt so tangible that it burned. The shadows drifted in and out of his vision, darkness weaving upon his fingers like a serpent ready to launch itself on its prey with hounding fangs —

    And he cast it. 


    Glassy jade eyes darted around, and a shaky breath was finally drawn. There was an attempt made to calm himself down. His pounding heart wouldn’t make that easy. Paranoia latched on to him, its grip was like a vice, and now, he felt rather cautious to move. And so he was still, giving himself time to regain his composure and to observe.

    The dappled shadows of this area where he was in eagerly responded to the rise and fall of his emotions, already swirling and flickering without any vocal command. The sights that met him didn’t exactly help to quell the rising agitation in his throat. There was the overwhelming presence of darkness here, deathly presences so abundant that it almost felt corporeal.

    For the first time in a very long time, David felt cornered.

    This isn’t home.

    Just where in the world was he now?

  • Although feeling a little off-kilter about how the morning has begun, Zach is still amused by Timothy's greater display of bashfulness. He feels the corner of his lips quip up into a smirk before he can stop himself. "You, uh?" Zach parrots Timothy's stutter back at him in good-natured jest. But before Zach can continue his teasing any further, they are interrupted by a familiar voice at his bedroom door.

    Zach immediately scrunches up his nose at the unwanted intrusion. He twists to pick up a pillow from his bed and flings it in the direction of the door where a man stands. "Get out!" Zach complains without any real malice to his tone. Regardless of his complaint, however, it seems the other man pays him no mind and continues as if he never heard Zach at all. As the man starts to complain about clothes out the front of Zach's door, Zach groans and gently sets his bottle of water back on the nightstand. With his pounding headache, he can hardly be bothered to deal with so much noise this early.

    Zach's housemate falters upon seeing the state of both Zach and Timothy. The redhead simply folds his arms over his chest with an exasperated look in his eyes. "What?" He demands shortly after the two share a brief and undoubtedly awkward hello.

    The man continues, “anyway I just came to tell you that something fucked up happened last night. David, ya know him right? He went to the same party as us, ya know the one you ditched?" He takes a short breath, "anyway, well, that dude got torn the f up by some wild animal and had to be taken to the hospital. Doctors don’t know if he’s gonna make it. And the girl he was with, Becky, had to go into the hospital too yo. Cuz she got shocked or something. I ain’t lying bro, it happened.”

    "Wait, for real?" Zach chimes in, the annoyance in his face peeled away quickly.

    “But I see David wasn’t the only one getting fucked up. No disrespect. I mean ya do ya,” He says, nodding his head towards the probably naked man behind the bedside.

    Suddenly reminded of Timothy's presence again, Zach turns to look at the man still hiding behind his bed. He sighs loudly. He is way too hungover for this right now. "Shut up, dude, get out," he starts as he moves towards the other man to shove him out the door. There are a few laughs and irritated grumbles heard as Zach wrestles the man out the door, but he eventually manages to shoo the man away. Before shutting the door, Zach collects Timothy's discarded clothes from in front of his door. Gosh, had they really..? Forget it.

    "Alright, new plan," he says after a short breath. "Get dressed," he all but demands Timothy, "we're going to the cafe then the hospital. What a damn pain."


  • Synova could detect something in the wind; it was an underlying energy of some sort of presence which ebbed and flowed with every breath of wind that passed through the stone vicinity. The scent of blood was quick to accompany such a formidable presence, one that awoke primal instincts harbored only by predators.
    Disregarding the definition of ‘common sense’, the animal swiftly and silently padded towards the source of the smell. 

    "The patrons here are oddly reckless for inhabitants of a hunting ground~" There was a clarity in those haunting phrases that poured from a currently unseen source. The voice was muffled not by the pattering rain and occasional growl of thunder. "Unless, of course, you are new to the area too."

    A flickering streetlight spat breath of artificial ambience upon the mouth of the alleyway. It struck the figure’s outline, and the general structure of a creature at the mouth of the alleyway could finally be identified: A Fox it was, or at least that was what the outline suggested. The stunning creature stood somewhat larger than the average vulpine, and bore a form of a rich, deep black, more black, perhaps… than the depths of the swaying midnight sea. A voluptuous tail whose sinews were so strikingly long that the silky fibers drifted along the paved floor in his wake.

    Yet if one were to analize the creature close enough, they would note that his anatomy was not exactly… solid. Tendrils of smoky black flicked and churned off of the fox’s body with every move registered, quite not unlike a candle freshly blown out. Was this an illusion of some sort? Surely not… the sheer intensity of that lantern-white stare was far too febrile, far too fervid to be a trick of the mind.

    he rain refused to touch him, oddly enough; it merely bent away from his form and rolled to the ground before it could grace his form.

    "May I accompany you, predator~?"

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