Virgiliu Dragomir Mihai Bathory-Draculea

Mostenitor al Tronului Intunericului

When you've lived in the darkness for so long

Your craving to feel the touch of light only grows

But once you do...

You will wish you had stayed in the dark







✞ BIO ✞


                                                           Name: Virgiliu Dragomir Mihai Báthory-Drăculea

                                                           Alias: Virgil Dracul, Virgil Tepes, Virgil Dracula, Drac Junior, Tepes Junior

                                                           Born: 1678, October, 31

                                                           Age: 343

                                                           Height: 185 cm

                                                           Weight: 70 kg

                                                           Hair colour: Dark brown

                                                           Eye colour: Brown (Naturally yellow, red when emotional)

                                                           Gender: Male

                                                           Birth Place: Transylvania













"A night with roaring thunder, furious lightning, and downpour so vicious it would drown your thoughts.
A night like this, it was, when Virgil spawned into the world through screams of pain and dying breath.
A creature beyond our realm and ken. Born from darkness itself to snuff the light.
A child of Undead Father and Undead Mother. A cancer to our world made to feed on life.
A monster, beyond even Vampire ken. A ravenous beast crawling within human skin and bone."

- extract from a handbook signed; DR. H. JEKYLL             





The Heir to the Throne of Darknessv



Virgiliu Dragomir Mihai Báthory-Drăculea was born during a stormy night on October 31st, 1678.
His mother, the dreaded murderess; Erzsébet Báthory, died in childbirth - chained to the bed.
Allegedly murdered by Virgiliu's half brother; Mircea "Thanatos" Dracula, out of jealousy and madness.
His father Vlad the Third "Tepes" Drăculea, nicknamed Count Dracula, was the self-proclaimed
King of Vampires. Ruling from his decrepit castle hidden in the Carpathian Mountains.


The child was raised as most Nobles at the time were; he learned several foreign languages,
including Greek, Latin, Turkish, Tatar, Hungarian, Bulgarian, and German.
As well as proper etiquette and how to greet guests and dignitaries -
- though there were not a lot of them during his childhood or when he grew older.
He learned how to carry himself with power and poise, and how to dress accordingly to status.
He spent most of his days in the castle reading the endless number of books in the Library,
studying intensely in hopes of living up to his father's reputation -
- and earn his place as the Heir to Dracula's domain.



Virgil’s room is situated in a mostly neglected part of the castle,
Along a corridor adorned in dust and webs.
The door is dark and heavy, laid with iron.
And behind it is a single room with a small door to the left as dark as the other one.
The room, like an Antechamber with a decorated window at the far side
- dusty in all places but one spot, kept clean,
So that one could sit on the chair and look outside,
Is furnished with only a fireplace-
A desaturated, carved, wooden bookshelf,
A chair by the window,
And cabinets along the left wall on each side of the small door.
An iron chandelier also hangs from the roof,
far above the reach of human arms.
Behind the small door is another room,
Smaller than the first and with no windows whatsoever.
At the centre of the opposing wall stands a wooden-framed bed fit for nobility,
only accompanied by chandeliers and a carved wardrobe within the wall to the right.


- One 





“To live eternal in the shadow of others, that is the fate from which I strive to escape.
Death and decay follow wherever I go, and all for a crown that means nothing - yet to me it is everything.”

- Virgiliu Dragomir Mihai Báthory-Drăculea, 1885 - Signed; DR. H. JEKYLL            










The Manticore




"Having been born from an unholy unity of two beings with no life,
Virgil is not quite a conventional vampire.
A being of pure darkness, brought about by dark magics,
Virgil is what is known as a Martya-χvāra in the Old Persian tongue.


Better known by its Greek name; Mantikhṓras - the Manticore.


According to Legend, the Manticore was part human and part lion,
With the tail of a scorpion able to fire venomous darts,
And a pair of bat-like wings.

They had three rows of sharp teeth,
And their face resembled that of an old man.
But most importantly;
They were known for their insatiable hunger for human flesh.


The nature of Virgil's transformation seems to originate in negative emotions.
Wrath, jealousy, greed, grief, irritation, and so on.
The transformation itself is painful, beyond what humans could possibly imagine.
The bones split apart, expand, and heal - all in a matter of seconds, minutes at most.
How one can amass such musculature from seemingly no-where
Is beyond even my own comprehension.
And it is musculature too. 
Strength greatly enhances, as if his strength was not already great.
Though it seems he loses part of his humanity - as ironic as that may sound.
Basal instincts take over and- no, not even instincts.
He's overcome by an irresistible hunger, and will kill anything that moves.
Controlling his urges become increasingly difficult the longer he remains in this form.

Truly a creature of pure evil.


None can truly know the true nature of the Martya-χvāra
But it is assumed that they come into being when things that shouldn't mate, do.
They're an anomaly among the supernatural
And only certain unique circumstances can create them.
How they are made or born, or why they appear, no one knows.
A true mystery among both Xenobiology and Parabiology.

If only I could understand what brings it forth, then maybe..."

- Extract from a handbook signed; DR. H. JEKYLL          









Art made by me~



1: It's appreciated if one-liners are avoided.
2: Subjects like violence, strong language, and sexual themes, may be frequent.
3: Keep in mind that many of my characters have troubled pasts that have left them bipolar and/or aggressive. 
4: All threads will fit into a greater canon. By engaging in roleplay with any of my characters you agree on having your character(s) mentioned in other threads.
5: In conflict, I control what happens to my character, you control what happens to yours - unless planned otherwise prior, regardless of what powers your or my characters may have.
6: Some of my characters are stronger than others, so be sure to ask if you prefer one or the other.
7: Some of my characters are technically not alive, and can't be killed, but if you pay attention, you might get clues on how to temporarily incapacitate them - if it comes to that.
8: Most of my characters are very very old and have very complicated pasts - due to this, some of them might remember details wrong or differently each time they tell you about them. This is not writer inconsistencies - but realistic character traits.
9: My characters have very intertwining stories, and some may appear in threads with others as side characters - or even antagonists.
10: Remember if you're playing a Norse, Greek, or Egyptian deity - or a character relating to Bram Stoker's Dracula, it is important that we first discuss the subject and the relationships as me and some of my closest friends have developed quite an extensive canon.
11: Needless smut won't ever happen unless it is important to the plot or story. However, many of my characters are open for one - or more - romantic partners, in different ways.
12: And lastly, we're all here to be creative and to have fun!


For more art, click HERE

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  • (Oooo, pretty..)

  • 8438395686?profile=RESIZE_400x

  • His nerves were meticulously trying their best in weaving back together still, muscles swelling very slowly back into their proper proportions underneath a paper-thin covering of sickly-paloured white skin, yet as the growing suddenly grinded to a halt what became of the form in front of Virgil was no monster as he was told and expecting there would be, but instead in its place was a emaciated man to the point of  it now being an actual physical handicap for him. And the maggot now crawled uselessly on the ground as Virgil moved to point at the tombstone, of the name that had been carved there, and for a moment its mouth was ajar and opened, only for it to produce no sounds except for the parting of the upper and lower lips, both equally dry as sand, so the sound was more akin to a ‘mph’ than a ‘smack’. But there was a clear hint of recognition there, a spark in those feral eyes of his that indicated some level of understanding of what was said to him.

    Perhaps as a response to this the invalid suddenly reached his bony hands upwards and towards the edge of his former prison,fine  motor controls trying their damndest to form a grasp with his fingers, likely so as to be used as leverage in order for him to gain a hold and prop himself up and onto his feet.  


    And...Yes! His fingers hooked over the edge, and he began to pull his entire body up, using the strength of his lower and upper arm to hoist himself upwards. Yet it was all for naught, as his energy left him entirely, resulting in his entire skeletal figure being spilled back down onto the dusty cavern floor in a violent crash that gave off a loud ‘crack’ upon impact, as if some bone had just snapped within. He spluttered once loudly, and his forehead making contact with hard rock coupled with a bone somewhere in his chest breaking finally caused him to sound off,  a meekly cry of inhuman origin and more that of a wincing beast, slipped from his lips. And muscles useless to his undead state contracted once, causing an involuntary intake of air that robbed with it a layer of finely layered grain from the floor, but was quickly expelled into the surrounding air as he coughed violently several times in a consecutive order. 


    Then, he felt it, as pain drove through his mind once more like the sharpest and truest of swords.

    And then it ALL became clear, it all came back to him in the flash of a second, as enough had formed within his fractured mind to allow for the supernatural part to kick in and carry the rest of his ‘consciousness’  into the forefront.  

    But it was too much, too fast and Thanatos feels a pain throbbing in his guts, and it's deep and warm, but not in a nice way. It felt to him like someone had their hand in there,  squeezing his organs first gently, and then as hard as they could.

    Instinctively he found himself clawing desperately at his throat, causing a few small scratches at his throat, and he tried to force down what was coming, but it was too late as chunks of partially decomposed flesh came out of his coughing, choking mouth. 

    His stomach kept on contracting violently and forcing everything up and out, and he heaved even though there was nothing left to go except a few sprinkles of gooey black. 

    He lay there now in a pile of his own rotting flesh, virtually trapped in his own body, barely able to move himself besides crawling. And crawl he did, as dark blood fused with dust, creating a more stable surface to allow for him to prop himself up again to lean, he now sitting against his sarcophagus, making a few involuntary gasps of air that provided no sort of relief to the feeling that he was suffocating. 


    “I am THANATOS. Who…-cough- who the hell are you?” He asked weakly as a small line of blood escaped his left nostril.

  • His footsteps pounded like the drums of war as he came when she called. By the ancestors, could he be any louder? Dolai was already loading her plate with goat meat and curry sauce, merely casting Kháos a fleeting, nonchalant look as he manifested in the doorway of the kitchen. She exhaled harshly through her sun damage speckled nose in response to his jabs, releasing the ladle in her hand to let it rattle the metal pot. 

    "No, I want you to shove it up your ass- what else do you do with food?" Dolai retorted sharply, moving to sit at the tiny folding table pressed against the wall. She gave him a look that read 'why the hell would I feed my damn self arsenic,' before stabbing a chunk of goat meat with her fork. She did take note of the suspicion lacing his every glance, at first taking offense but realizing that he was within his right. He had every reason to be suspicious of her, especially with her sudden random act of kindness. Dolai didn't think Jamaican food would convince him to give up a supernatural weapon of mass destruction, although it was quite a delicious cuisine. Rather, she knew the boy would not be leaving her side for some time, making the best of their situation seemed like the better option. She could sense his inner turmoil, it was visible with his every movement. The ancient watched idly with a fat, curry stuffed cheek as he sat across from her, only nodding curtly at his begrudged gratitude. 

    Dolai almost had an otherworldly glow about her. Maybe it was the golden highlight of bronze skin, or her amber eyes contrasting her flesh. Maybe it was the impressive, lean muscle on full display due to her skin clad burgundy tank top. Perhaps it was the neverending dreadlocks cascading down an arched back, or the array of tattoos telling of a story of many lands- Scandinavia, Indigenous America, the British Isles, India, Arabia, Egypt, and that was only her upper half. However, it seemed to be more than that. There was something old beyond words about the African, something tired, something ancient, something that knew what mankind, even the Earth, had forgotten and buried with the sands of time. 

    The silence hung between them, dead and haunting like a vengeful spirit looming below the deck. Tawny eyes remained fixed on her rice as Kháos began to speak. "I do not see the Apple itself as a threat, the threat lies with who will use it and how it shall be used, for it has been shown to me," Dolai replied. There she went again, speaking like they were in 400 bce. "You do not need to understand. If you will not make this easy, then I shall do what is necessary, even if that means facing the Gods myself. I lived through an Ice Age, I'll be damned if some God with a screw loose ends me now. Bumbaclaat!"

    Again, she stabbed at the callaloo, her brows slightly raising as she parted her lips to speak once more. "What I do not understand is, if you want to rid yourself of the Apple, why not give it up? Nobody is stopping you…" Dolai waved an inked hand, dismissing her own thoughts. "But I don't need to understand that. All I need to know is that you are not giving up that bastard fruit." Her eyes finally lifted to meet his gaze, her head slightly canting. "The ancestors are not mine. They are all. Not a soul, divine or mortal, would be here without them. Not even your-" her fork scraped loudly against the plate as she missed a stab at the meat, her grip visibly fastening on the utensil. "-mother." 

    If Kháos hadn't seen someone angrily eat curry, well now he had. Dolai would not allow Eris to have such a hold on her for much longer, leaning back in the uncomfortable metal folding chair and exhaling slowly. "But tell me. Why aren't you with her? I mean, I get it, she's-" No, she must hold her composure. "-quite the individual. But you bare no human blood. Why aren't you among the Gods? And what leads you to an art school so far from home?"


  • p o k e

  • tenor.gif

  • "Absolutely fucking fantastic…" Dolai muttered, irritation clear in her husky voice, her gaze wandering away from Phobos. For the past few centuries, she hadn't fancied company during any of her travels, ancestors forbid some ego inflated kid. Her amber eyes lifted as said ignorant child returned. His retort earned the raise of one eyebrow and the crossing of her arms, but she was not playing these games anymore with him. Besides, he had a bit of a point. 

    As Kháos was already barreling out of the front door, Dolai twisted to look at Phobos, before heading after him. Kas had no plan for getting to Greece, she knew that. "You can't run into this kind of thing blindly, boy, you don't even have a boat to get there," she said once she caught up with the young God. "Since you are too scared to fly, I suppose I shall get us a boat. We will sail ourselves, I prefer to keep mortals out of this as much as possible." At that, it was off to the harbor, unsure of what was to come.


    She had sailed across the Atlantic many times. From Iceland to Canada at the side of Leif Erikson, from the coast of West Africa to Mexico with the first Olmec, she was no stranger to the sea. There were no waters Dolai had not braved. With the knowledge gained from the Book of Thoth, a gift from an old friend, manipulating the water to speed up their voyage was a simple task. It had only been two days since she had rented the deep sea fishing boat, and they had already crossed the strait of Gibraltar. Another day's journey and they would arrive on the coasts of Greece. 

    For now, the boat was idle as the sun sank behind the waves. The sky was painted orange, pink, red as the sun sank below the sea, dark clouds streaking across the canvas of the heavens. All was quiet, anchored and floating idly in the Mediterranean, the cradle of civilization, save for the song of the gentle current. 

    Dolai was starving. Having sailed all day, she finally found time to cook after not touching a plate for hours. The kitchen on the boat was mediocre, designed for fishermen who spent days at sea. Everything about the boat was cramped but she did what she cood with it. She steamed callaloo leaves with peppers, green onion, tomato salt and an array of seasonings. Besides that, traditional Jamaican spicy goat curry and rice. Goat meat was a favorite of hers, something she had eaten around the world for thousands of years. Each nation had its own spin on it, but Jamaican had always stuck with her. 

    Over the fleeting course of the voyage, the ancient had kept her distance from Kháos, she had hardly said two words to him. His presence irritated her, and with little privacy on the boat, he was never far. But she had a feeling she had no choice but to get used to him, he wasn't going anywhere for quite some time. She might as well make some form of passive aggressive peace with him. After finishing in the kitchen, she took two paper plates out of the small cupboard, and she poked her head out to yell at him. 

    "Kháos!" She shouted, not sure if he was in the cabin or on the deck, but he'd hear her regardless. "Get in here!" After that, she wasn't going to call him again, so she picked up her plate and moved over to the stove to get callaloo. She guessed he would come in with an attitude which he seemed to never lack, but he better shut up and eat.

  • Under the water, Noita could feel everything. Every current that pushed across her skin, every goosebump that rose as a result, every wind fall that plunged across the surface of the water. She even felt death approaching like an old friend, calling to her in a creeping darkness. While she was in the moment, she couldn't even try to fathom what the future held, only living for the next second that trickled by. That's why shock siezed her as the water's currents changed, and a wave knocked her body and senses awake, washing her upon her shore. What had caused that?

    Coughs raked her body, and she shook with disbelief, her gaze casting from the ground below her, to look behind her, in the water. At first, Noita couldn't tell what was in the water, only seeing a flash of orange and scales. Initially, she concluded it was a dragon, and her thoughts scrambled to find a solution on how to handle a dragon while almost half dead. With her fixed gaze on the splashing, Noita finally realized what it was. It was a serpant, a little larger than herself, and still most likely a danger.

    Scrambling uphill to her camp, which was only a few feet from the shore, she darted around to find some sort of weapon. Her bronze sword was heavy but well made, with a sharp, jagged edge that would pierce most animals. The only issue was that her arm was still bleeding out from casting the magic circle earlier, evident by the blood that trailed behind her. Her movements were sluggish due to the self made injury, and to add to her panic, as she approached the shore again, her horse started making more noise than the water below. Clearing her head, she gripped the end of her sword so tight that her knuckles turned as white as snow. Her breathing was ragged, vision was blurry and stance was unbalanced, but she braced herself within seconds, trying to focus on the potential battle that lie ahead, coiled.

    "Show yourself, beast!"

    The challenge was shouted in a scratchy voice, followed by a trickle of coughs and sputtering. What little magic from the circle that was left would shake the ground as if to emphasize her lack of fear. Of course, it was a facade. Anyone would be scared shitless by a giant snake. But fear sputtered to a halting stop as the supposed beast would make himself seen. No, there was magic with this beast, but not any magic. Some sort of ancient magic, magic of people and gods. Her sword lowered it's tip to the ground, her blood running down from her arm onto the blade, dripping to the ground below. Noita's breathing shallowed, her eyes dilated with even more disbelief. 

    "You're not a beast, are you?" The question was muttered under her breath and carried by the wind. "What and who are you?" Perhaps this person was no threat. Reading off the bruised aura, she could see that the person had been injured by the fall, and it helped soothe her worries. She would be matched against him if a fight did arise. 

  • Thank you. I have a who slew of characters to choose from and look through. I am not sure where to begin. Probably with those with a greek affliation? >.< I would love to write. Looking for more characters with a greek foundation that i can write with.

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