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: 344

                                    Height: 185 cm

                                    Weight: 70 kg

                                    Hair colour: Dark brown

                                    Eye colour: Brown but with a yellowish-white glow in the dark and dark red scleras.

                                    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 the creature 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 Vampyre 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 raging tempest on the night of 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 nor when he grew older.
He learned how to carry himself with power and poise and dress according 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 by it 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 will follow wherever I travel, and all for a crown that means nothing - and 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 vampyre.
A being of pure darkness, brought about by dark magics,
I can only deduce that Virgil is what is of an ancient race,
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 metamorphosis 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          





 ✞ Other Characters: ✞

Kháos Mavros/Ptolemos


Jorah Kaldr/Máni


Vé/Wolf Father


Djiretnetjeru/The Eye


Aigaios Chrysaoros Vasilakis/The Gorgon


Talaos Anekh/Lost Prince


Nathan Aidan Samuels/Angel


Darius de la Garde/Desert Jackal


**Blogs are unfinished and will be updated gradually as I find the energy to do so**
✞ - - - - - - - - - - - - - -




Art made by me~

Who is the Son of Dracula?


As a physical manifestation of darkness - and created through the unholy union of two Vampiric entities - Virgil is in nature an incarnation of pure evil. Indeed, by human standards, he would be seen as evil. Despite this inclination towards malice, Virgil does inquire about the complexity of morality and has on occasion allowed himself to toy with the concept of right and wrong. But make no mistake, the son of the notorious Dracula is a being that feeds on the life force of others and to trust him to do what is right would be naïve indeed. 

Virgil was shaped into a being of darkness from birth with few outside influences, which in turn led to him having difficulties grasping the concept of putting worth on life itself. To him, life is nought but sustenance - a commodity, or even a resource. However, unlike his half brother, “Thanatos”, he does not strive for power so much as he strives for paternal approval. He does not go out of his way to be needlessly wicked, though malice is a natural part of his being.

Virgil was born purely of a Vampiric union, and thus have no human elements to his being. To reason with him as a man would be nigh impossible and little you’d say would impact his choices. But he is logical. If a situation calls for the preservation of life, he will stay his hand. Malice does not necessarily call for ignorance or stupidity. But be wary, cause him to build enough anger and his darkness will manifest into a beast so fearful and ravenous even others of his kin tremble at the sight thereof. 




Other Characters

The allies and rivals of the Son of Dracula:


This mysterious and ancient horned figure known only as “Vé, Wolf-Father” crossed paths with Virgil quite some time ago in the deep woods. He is an ancient spirit, far older than even Dracula himself, always surrounding himself with giant gnarly wolves capable of shifting into equally gnarly men and women. A strange aura surrounds his cloaked figure at all times, a haze that almost makes you think you were in a dream. Vé seldom mentions the past but has alluded to a time of gods and giants in faraway Scandinavia - a time that he both seems to miss and despise.

Vé is a powerful magic user using ancient and forgotten witchcraft, capable of swiftly changing form into all manner of beasts - yet no matter what form he takes, his horns and copper hair will always remain the same. Some refer to him as the Father, or Progenitor, of all werewolves, and many even revere him as a deity. He has sway over prophecy and flame, enchantment and cursing, which makes him a natural choice for stray souls who seek aid or protection. However, this ancient shifter is a known trickster. Although he never lies, his silver tongue may easily warp your perception of the truth. His mysterious and playful nature is a dangerous and unpredictable combination and all would do well to be cautious when approaching him.

Standing at around 7 feet tall with horns each splaying nearly a foot from his skull, draped in a dark rugged cloak and fur which covers his long and slender tail, with eyes that burn a frightening green in the dark, and hands black as coal, Vé may well be seen as quite intimidating. He carries a staff at all times made of mistletoe that seems to almost have a life of its own. He calls it Haevateinn. Around his waist is a leather belt that carries one item on each side. On his right, he’s equipped a hollowed horn for drinking, and on the left is a pouch full of herbs and mushrooms. His legs are wrapped up to the knee, and a dagger is pressed in between the fabrics on his left ankle. Anything else he needs is either made on the spot or fetched by one of his wolves.

Although commanding a pack of monstrous wolves that can shift into human form, he himself is never referred to as a werewolf. Instead, most believe him to be a Troll - a race of shape-shifting giants once known as Thursar, Risi, or Jötnar. But his true origins remain ambiguous…





Kháos Mávros

Encountered not too long ago during a still summer night, Virgil quickly fell interested in Kháos' war-like ways and foreign powers. With a name that means "Chaos of the Black", he tends to call himself simply 'Kas' when his darker half is not around. Even though he's conventionally attractive, he intentionally makes himself unapproachable and will do next to anything to keep people at a distance. That is, people who do not share his struggles.

Quite the tall specimen, Kháos stands at six foot five inches with hair like ebony that reaches to his waist. Golden eyes turn into fiery cinders when War emerges, his form engulfed in smoke and embers. His olive skin turns pale and sickly and terrible sickles hang in chains from his blackened wrists. When not in battle, he wears the clothes of the artful youth but when War awakens, chains and jewellery takes their place in rusting hues.

Child of Eris; the goddess of Strife, and spawn of Loki; the god of all that is Unruly. Kháos embodies his name quite well. A child once prophecised to bring about the end, he could never truly relax - lest he held a brush or pen. And once Ptólemos emerged, the Second Seal was broken. The Horseman of War and Bloodshed was born. Kháos struggles with his darker part, a constant battle over morals, right and wrong. It was in the form of War he met the vampire Virgil, and a strained friendship was created with plenty of tension. But war possesses an object the son of Dracula admires above most things. A golden orb in an ivory box. On the orb is written in ancient Greek; “For one who is more fair than any other”, and it is referred to as the Apple of Discord. An ancient artefact from bygone days of godly rule capable of influencing those around it into heated frenzy of jealousy and greed. A frenzy, not even the gods could escape.

And yet, despite his darker nature, Kháos finds solace in art and music. Drawing and Painting are his only talents aside from war and insults - and these talents are what lets him keep his senses. His sense of style reeks of sexual ambiguity a feater that helps cement his more artistic inclinations. 








The Fossegrim

The legendary Vaettir from Scandinavian folklore has been known by many names throughout the times. Fossegrim, Näcken, Nyx, Bragi, and so on. But now, he goes by the name Jorah Kaldr, meaning "The cold Autumn Rains" in a mix between Hebrew and Old Norse. His name taken from a victim loved long ago. The Fossegrim is feared for his tendency to lure people to drown in brooks and lakes, but also loved for his musical talents so enchanting that even the ancient mystical beings fall sway to it. His songs and music reached all the way to Wallachia which is where Virgil eventually came to know the creature.

Standing at only 5 foot 4, Jorah is quite petit, and weighing in at next to nothing, his barely 10 kilograms make it easy for him to move around entirely unnoticed. His eyes, blue as the brightest sky, are so bright they can be seen even in complete darkness. His skin, pale as the moon and covered in millions of tiny scales, sparkles like the very night sky itself. And his hair, blacker yet than ebony, reflects the unknowable darkness of the deepest lakes.

Bio under construction





Most often referred to as simply "The Eye", at times "The Eye of the Gods", Djiretnetjeru is the head of the organisation known too as "The Eye" which is a part of the mysterious Council of elder Vampires. As the acting Intelligence network of the Council, The Eye keeps a constant, well, eye, on Dracula and his mysterious family - of which Virgil is a member. Herusemuyahotep also has a personal interest in Virgil as the younger vampire never experienced a mortal life having been born of two undead individuals, both known for their bloodlust.

Up until the 1930s, Djiretnetjeru was completely unknown to the world, lost and forgotten, buried in an unmarked tomb. But once an unfortunate expedition uncovered his withered remains, the world was exposed to the great curse that would become The Eye. Little is known of his past, but clues suggest he might've been around during the Reign of Djoser, and may even have sat on the throne under the name: Sekhemkhet 

Bio under construction



*art unfinished







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 potentially 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 and detailed smut, in general, won't either - 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!


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  • There’s a short interim between words spoken in transactional conversation, a tiny pause - but it’s enough for the lad to become distracted. His attention is whisked away by his keen nose yet again as it turns somewhat discretely to catch the array of scents permeating through the room: a strong new habit of his and a compulsion ever since the bite. Sure, it was useful at times, but sometimes, or most of the time, it only really served to drive him positively balmy. This is because his untrained puppy brain could not process the huge amount of information rolling in yet; he could only strive to try and block it, though often to little avail. So it is no surprise that often he ended up being in a constant state of overloading, trying to distinguish between the myriads of different noxious stinks floating through the concrete jungle. Even inside the diner, here in the now, Oliver found himself slightly overwhelmed - like now, currently smelling the apple bubblegum in the stranger’s pocket in the nearby corner booth as well as the other food items around, such as the spilt syrup somewhere in the back of the kitchen. There was also an additional scent, too, one that stood out among the rest that Oliver could not place at first, at least not until Nathan spoke again and stole back his attention. Because buried underneath an aroma of coffee, it was him; Nathan was the source; there was a redolence of sweetness—something about him? It was unlike anything Oliver had ever encountered. It intrigued him a tad, and he was puzzling to place it, yet he was pulled from his brain-wracking when he detected noise directed towards him. It brought him back to the now, though he was sure he had missed a word or two. However, this was nothing new; cruising around fractured conversations brought on by forms of disassociation was somewhat of a well-honed skill of his - from before the bite even. 


    “Oi, you wouldn’t mind checking, bruv? Thanks - haven’t had a taste of home for… well, for a long while.” Oliver’s lips twitched into a pathetic attempt at a smile; he did not much care for the miserable cuisine from back home, like, at all, and it showed. Usually, he’d go for a pizza or a kebab, fuck, even Mcdonalds'. But it would be nice to jolt some old memories back to life, slobbering down some bland-beans and what have you. Childhood trauma on bread. Brrr…

    Oliver moved closer to the counter, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind screaming, telling him to change his order to something sensible. “Ye’, I’ll have a coffee, please. Caffeine-jitters is a problem for future me, I say.” A genuine jerk of lip muscle, showing some parlour whites. 

    “I’m Oliver, by the way.” He did not know why he told his real name just so; he never did, for paranoid fear of somehow being discovered. He always used an alias. But there was just something trustworthy about this Nathan character - Oliver felt it in his gut, or in his nose, or whatever.

  • (Hey sorry i missed your message. If you are still around and still wana plot lmk)

  • Detecting a familiar accent wafting through the air, Oliver is thrown off for a second, yet his curiosity is piqued through the mental haze of work exhaustion, and he promptly pricks up his ears to attention. Listening, he gathers that the British intonation of the voice speaking to him was not as strong as it once probably was, diluted by years spent chumming it up on foreign soil. Still, Nathan’s origins are blatantly apparent to anyone with a pair of working ears. And as silly as it sounds, the refined sounds of his mother tongue, hearing it, causes in Oliver a momentary bout of daftness to take hold, unfounded tendrils of paranoia reaching the forefront of his brain, an idea popping up involving Nathan being there to haul Oliver’s arse back home to England. Oliver laughs internally at the preposterous nature of the notion as it fails the sanity check and is slapped down hard. Now, what was the question again? He’d gotten a bit trapped inside himself for a moment… oh, right, now he remembers. 

    Hoping that not too much time has eluded, he scoots a bit closer to the counter, but before he frantically starts perusing through the menu like he’s deciding on his last supper, Oliver turns to greet the other male, a friendly nod and a somewhat forced smile spreading - it wasn’t disingenuous or anything, only weak. “Oh, hey. Good day, err - night, uhh–.” Was it day, night, or was it morning? An amused chuckle/scoff escapes his lips, punctuated by a heavy sigh before he speaks again, his voice hinting at some embarrassment. “Sorry, mate, heads not entirely in the game; let’s just say ‘hello in the a.m.’ for now.” 

    Now comes the part he hates the most; making a hecking choice. His eyes roll past Nathan to gaze at the menu, of which there perhaps aren’t many options listed, or maybe there are; it’s all the same to Oliver. To him, the light-up menu billboard might as well have been a page ripped from the bible. Had he read it? Fuck no. The young male is just about to start to read when he takes pity on Nathan; poor blighter would have had to stand there for at least two minutes while Oliver pondered over his chosen food. So, in a panic to lessen the stress of his waiter, the lad decides on the closest thing, the first thing he sees. “I’ll have a cinnamon roll and coffee.” A warm, more awake-than-before smile is given. Yet no less than a second passes when Oliver remembers he’s allergic to cinnamon! Or, at least he was; he didn’t know if ‘the bite’ had changed any of that, and he didn’t wanna chance an encounter with gobbling up some antihistamine pills, which he didn’t have on him or at his mate’s flat. Correcting his order, he speaks up, “Sorry, could you change my order? I’ll have the—” He cruises the menu again, “The Belgian waffles, instead.” Another smile, more sheepish. “ Sorry for my messy head; dealing with indecisive gits like me is the last thing you wanna do in the morning, I’m sure.”   

    He forgot to order the coffee when correcting his order. Oh, dear, oh dear.

  • As evening settled over the city, storm clouds began to roll in, bringing in its in downpour. In seconds, dry pavement was pelted by heavy raindrops that began to pool over the sidewalks. City lights flickered on one sign at a time, the gloomy atmosphere of the city transformed as reflections from vivid neon signs and the warmth of indoor lights bled together. Even the rain wouldn't deter the people that belonged to the city that never slept, as a sea of umbrellas arose above their heads. There was an intrinsic unity that the crowds moved in, that is, until someone disturbed said peace.

    A man was thrown outside a bar, Sundown Bar & Cafe the sign read on the door. He groaned in pain as he stumbled drunkenly to his feet, attempting to keep his balance as he gritted his teeth at the woman who did the deed. She wore a casual, comfortable raiment, a black tank top and grey sweat pants, her skin a ghastly pale tone with raven, wavy locks spilling over her shoulders, and metallic blue hues staring intensely at the man across from her with a furrowed brow. Her physique was that of a gymnast, yet could a girl of average height really throw a larger man like the one that just met the pavement?

    "C'mooonn, I wasn't done drinking!-" Croaked the man in a drunken stupor.

    "Yes, you fucking are. Now fuck off." The woman spoke in a low, booming voice that was enough to turn a few heads before she disappeared back into the building. The bar inside was dimly lit in a modern atmosphere, she found a seat at the bar, drenched despite what little time she spent outside.

  • It may not have been the most judicious use of his time, given the scarcity of said particular commodity at that point. Yet all the same, regardless of the peril, Virgiliu risked un-life and limb trying to foolishly sneak a peek during this - this the perhaps most chaotic moment thus far in the vampire’s unholy existence. In turn, it was then terribly lucky for him that the cat’s curiosity did not actually kill, as the old proverb would say, but reward. For his daredevil, borderline harebrained ways, Thanatos's half-brother is granted a scant glimpse of what manner of never-before-seen to him hellion they were fleeing. Before his eyes, a twisted form unfolds quickly, starting as a crouched, ball-like shape to a standing tall, most grotesque, long-limbed-looking monstrosity. Gaunt it was, that much he could gather from even a mere glance - to the extreme point that the pale ashen-like skin showed every dip, line, and contour of the bones beneath. In response to Virgil’s presence, the mouth of the creature opened wide, fuming rotten breath from behind ill-shapen chompers, pointed and deadly, and simply thrown into place without a shred of care. Finally, a pair of horribly milky-white eyes stared down at him from above, seemingly, to meet his own. A shriek, like shattering glass, rang through the air next, slicing through whatever slivers of what could be considered a soul within Virgil. 

    Thankfully, for his sake, Dracula’s younger son did not linger for another second to nurture his fascination. Wisely, did he follow his elder brother in tow, hurriedly diving into the wound in the rocks, vanishing into safety like a mouse evading a great cat. But it was by the mere skin of his teeth; behind, Virgiliu would feel whipping winds, pushed by desperate hands trying to grab him, pull him back. Ultimately, though, safeguarded by whatever dark force kept him going, he soon emerges unharmed and out of reach from any misshapen claws, standing now in a massive long-reaching cavern on uneasy, rocky terrain, with the ground slanting steeply down into a terrible chasm at the bottom of which could be heard a wild river. Had Virgiliu been anything but what he was, or had it been daytime currently, he’d have lost his footing there and then and tumbled like a wooden barrel straight into the precarious unknowns below. To the side, he found Thanatos sitting already, back against the wall. He looked relatively unmoved by the whole ordeal. Loudly, the elder brother declared without looking at his little brother, voice echoing into the vast expanse of the barriers that apparently rose around them, “Here, I shall rest. Take a moment of reprieve for meself. Then we will, well, exit.” Exit? Wherever could that… wait, oh. The wretch pointed down into the abyss, a smirk appearing on his lips. 

    Some time is made to pass in deafening silence, the moment filled only by the running stream far below. If ever Virgil did attempt to fill the void during this time, he was stopped by a raised hand. Whether this was because the older leech was enjoying the stillness or simply puzzling together his following sentence is unclear, but he denies his younger brother conversation all the same until well a minute has passed, at which point Thanatos’s head finally leans back against the stone behind him, a queer chuckle escaping his lips in relaxation. He then looks to his brother, a rather relaxed face showing, yet somehow no less devoid of wrath. “I gathered from that look of disappointment earlier that ‘this’ was not what you expected, was it? A lowly invalid, only barely able to maintain a stance. Well, as much as it pains me to be seen in this state, you’d be a fool to cast aside my wisdom so quickly.” A passing grin of displeasure flees across his features, and he continues, waiting not for a reply, “Let me give you a piece of advice, one that you MUST take to heart – never second guess your decisions after you’ve made them. Do so beforehand, to the best of your ability. And never doubt. Because once we exit these caves and go where we will go, you cannot afford to be in doubt. We are in this together, Virgiliu. But as we depend upon one another, we will also be vanquished together...”

    Thanatos rises, moving towards his brother, invading his personal space yet again, dominating their interaction by stealing the moment for a rejoinder and, once again, taking to words. “I say all these things because there’ll be no time to doubt once we are outside these endless caves and far removed from the castle. There, we will have our enemies take your doubts and use them against you and, by extension me. They’ll try and rip us apart. And this early, our thread together is held only by blood. Relationships must be built on more than that, don’t you think?”

  • Beyond the metropolitan horizon, a lulled summer sun vanishes slowly over the horizon, leaving leftover light to the haze of man’s putrid pollution through which a city silhouette pierces sharply the dying glow of an overdue evening, like a jagged mountain ridge against the sky, a picturesque view of the concrete jungle, if ever there was one. But it doesn’t last for long; the transition from dusk to night is over in an hour or so, during which time the skies are struck right quick about it, splattered with a painter's swift brush, issuing brilliant hues of warm reds, oranges and pinks. The face of the sun then takes a final dip, leaving an empty canvas with no stars to speak of, all of them cancelled out by the millions of light-up homes which put together, cause the dense mass of jumbled-together skyscrapers to shine brightly like a pirate’s treasure trove, turning the sky, finally, into a dull ashen grey. It was nighttime now, truly; time to get to work, Oliver. 

    The lad sighed, miffed to all shite that his shift was starting. Yet no words of complaint ever left his lips to add to an already toxic work environment; he didn’t want to make the coming night for his co-workers more burdensome than needed. After all, he came of his own free will and now fully knew the nature of his undertaking, so what good would it do to go bellyaching about it? Therefore, with the speed of practice and habit, Oliver quickly slips out of his shirt and trousers, exposing his toned body beneath. After all, the conventionally attractive male form he’d been blessed with was what they were paying him for. Thusly, he was obliged to let them drool over it whilst he played, slid, and danced wildly with pointless seduction across the stage. Of course, it was not his preferred profession, an erotic dancer, but it put food on the table. So, with that in mind, the prospect of a few scanty dosh-dollars filling his head, the young male left the backroom, stepping onto one of the mini-scenes where, in front of him, a crowd of cheering, screaming people's faces stretched as far as even into the darkened lewd corners of the establishment. Most male, naturally, but also some in between, or neither. So packed were they, like sardines, that they were practically almost climbing on top of one another. A rather colourful assortment, too. Glitter, black leather, and so much more were attached to writhing figures who, underneath blaring music and a miasma of rank bodily odours and alcohol, partied hard until some had to seek out the bathroom or be seen out by the bouncers for being too much of a plonker under the influence of booze. All the while, Oliver bends, twists, and moves grace-like underneath neon lighting, turning his fair skin a shade of wicked, sinful red. And throughout the night, the lad allowed, at times, seeking hands to claim their desires; on occasion, he’s prodded, groped, and used like a toy, to the point that if he’d not trained himself not to, he would surely gag. And when his shift finally rolls towards its end, the Englishman is so relieved he practically flies out of the establishment, driven by hunger to claim his overdue dinner. Luckily, he finds a place not too far away, a small-ish diner which serves relatively late. An hour or so until closing time. 

    The boy sits himself on the nearest chair, elbows on the counter, leaning a bit forwards to spy the menu and for anyone working there. Looking around, it’s relatively quiet. In the corner, he spots a man with his nose in his phone, scrolling through what Oliver could only guess: some reels on Instagram. Occasionally he sipped on his coffee and took an absent bite out of his sandwich. Gods, how Oliver missed Insta.

  • Remember that little tidbit that Nes could talk the talk but trip and stumble like a newborn deer when it came to walking the walk? Yeah... That sort of happened there. Her face was the picture of flushed shock. Blinking those big eyes and then snapping her mouth shut. She had no idea what to say. Flattered, nonetheless. Biting her lips into her teeth to keep herself from smiling a bit too loud for him to hear and see just how much that got her. But she was only human -- mostly. "I-uhh. You..." A finger waved in the air, once more smiling like a damn fool inside her mouth. "Yooooooou make a kind twig-free offer there, temptress." And boy was she almost tempted. Throw caution to the wind and just free-dive into it. What the hell could happen?

    You getting eaten by a fish-man, dumbass.

    "If all else fails, maybe I'll roll around a bit naked in the moonlight, but I'll resolve my puny human sources for right now on figuring out how to get her, hmm?" A gentle decline she hoped served well enough to please him. Mischievous wits against another. Safe of her being just as naked as him.

    At the campsite, she did her little tidying. Not having expected company at all. Most certainly not a whole-ass myth of a fish to show up just to wear her comfy Juicy Contour pants, that's for sure. When the chair was declined, she understood. It was alien. While a stump or the ground was better, why not make the most of it? She stayed in her spot, leaving the chair, and went about getting those pj's that she had promised. Pulling out the peanut butter and raspberry jam only to pause when she heard the first snap. Instantly her head bobbing up to catch sight of his advancing of the quint little camp. 

    Her eyes shot to each new movement that caught her attention. Each new sprout of the saplings, to the rhythmic walking of the glow worms. Any lesser girl would have been more or less grossed out. And to a degree, Nes did have some form of heebie-jeebies. But upon watching them move to their secure spots that cast the now outpost of a camp of hers. She marveled at it with glittering eyes, and a large smile. Doing several doubles takes at each thing than bringing that warm smile down upon Jorah with a chipper laugh. "Man I wish I could do that! How do you do that? Is that how you made your home on the lake? Do you even have a home down there? Or do you have a cave?" Some more rapid-fire questions that popped off one by one. She was half tempted to stand but stayed where the bread was only half out of her bag, left on the floor where she'd dropped it to take in the sight.

    Realizing her sullying of the slice upon looking down, she quickly grabbed it with a short curse leaving her lips, and shook off what little speckles of dirt had gotten on it, blowing off the rest. Looking at him with a more contained smile. "Did you want one? O-Oh! And thank you! I didn't expect this at all." This being the redesign of her camp. "It's lovely, really, it makes me not want to leave. I wish I could do something like that." Needing to do something with her hands as she--once again--rambled, she had placed the bread on her knee and taken out the jelly and a bag of utensils to smear the butter on. "All I can do is move things in the air. My abilities lean more to the... passive side, I guess? The mind reading and whatnot... I said I could do that, right?" She didn't recall, it sort of slipped from time to time with this girl. "Anyway, passive, as I said. I've done some... questionable things with the telekinetics and all that... Not that I wanted to..." She frowned, losing her train of thought, looking to him to see if he was still even staying on board with her rambling this time. "Um... so, you want one?"

  • Some time is made to pass in deafening silence, starting from the point Virgiliu finishes his speaking, this despite the obvious glaring fact that time now is such a vital and oh-so-precious commodity. But it is not at all thrown to waste, the moment of tightly laced lips as it progresses. No, in fact, in the inky and turbulent insides of the blood-sucker’s still recuperating, split mind, Thanatos is weighing the words carefully as they are given to him. He tastes them. And through this, he passes judgement on their sincerity… or lack thereof. Indeed, only after every syllable is cross-examined in every conceivable way, a fat minute drawn out, nigh painfully so, as a bow pulled to the breaking point, does Thanatos break lock on his lips and give back his say on what was spoken to him. And when he does, the glowing embers of revenge can be seen smouldering in his eyes.  Finally, he says, with a rotten breath, "Well, you shan't find no leash with me. And if ever we disagree, let it be upon my honour that I shall neither hold you back nor question your actions. Every one man is in charge of one's own destiny, I say. Except, of course, any actions that land upon my head through your actions. We are brothers, after all. Not slaves to one another."  A muted smile creeps up, and Thanatos’s tongue darn near dances across Virgil’s cheeks as he continues, “Father never understood the difference between property and family. I do, Virgiliu, my brother. I do.” 

    Distance grows again; Thanatos allows his brother back some form of personal space. However, the breath of putrescence decay likely still lingers in the air for some time after, hovering around Virgil like a dark cloud and sticking to his tattered clothing and pale skin like wet summer dew. Truly disgusting. The vampire hobbles towards the perceived exit, shambling, kicking pebbles aside in the stride towards freedom. But then suddenly, he stops, a raised hand sliding down the wall, sharp claws digging into rock on its descent. “Damn it. I almost forgot. He is still up above, is he not? If so, we cannot ever hope to go this way. We must travel the long way, lest our rebellion be stomped in its infancy. And I will not allow that to happen. Neither will you, yes?”

    With a tug on his lips, he does not wait for an answer, giving the beginning of a smile or a smirk. Who could tell? Thanatos then makes his way, with as much haste as the fallen vampire can muster, past Virgil, slowly moving it towards some previously to the eye, unseen tunnel ahead, one that appeared to the two like a small gash in the wall, enough to fit through, but only barely. With a sharp twist of his neck, Thanatos looks back. His body then follows, gyrating to stand fully facing his brother. “Luckily, and quite unknowingly to father, I spent much time meditating in the potent darkness here. This is how I knew of the monster that dwells in these caverns and how I also know of a way to escape them. It is quite a ways away from whence the original exit is and is possibly painful. But the pain is our destiny. NOW, come with me.” There was no hint of a request in that, nor denying it either. Not that the younger half-brother would have time to protest because…

    A second flashes, and Thanatos is gone, having pressed his body into the fissure in the wall. Meanwhile, behind Virgiliu, the younger vampire would hear the sudden drop of heavy feet from somewhere high above! Something was upon him…a screaming unlike anything calling out, like that or the tortured shrieks of lake Cocytus.   

  • Thanatos’s footing is disastrously ungainly once helped standing. And at first, he falls, not plummeting back to the ground, luckily, nay, but into the arms of his loving kin. There, he clings, hands grasping desperately at tattered rags draped across a pale frame. Eventually, though, he manages to muster enough strength and stability to stand all on his ownsome, but only just. Taking a few ungainly steps, in appearance, it's like watching a toddler first learn to walk on two. It almost seems the ground is an inevitable fate for him. That is until finally, some primal spark in his brain, or whatever force that drove his thought processes at this point, remembered how one properly put one’s foot in front of the other. Granted, he was still weak, but he could paddle his own boat now. He was learning to become one with his own body, becoming familiar with its flesh once more.

    Standing by his tomb, his frail hands grace the surface of his former tomb prison, exploring its rough texture and scratching it with razor-edged claws, enjoying the feeling of sensory feedback again. It was, in a way, as if everything was new to him. Or rather, it was like rediscovering and polishing a long-forgotten memory. Even now, see, the pieces continue to sink firmly into place for the unstable vampire. Whether or not they fell into the right slot, well, that is speculation for another time. For the moment, however, some confidence is granted to him. No longer is he crawling on the cave floor like some manner of a four-legged beast but walking as a man should. His head turns sharply to face his brother, and with pride not previously found in his voice, he states plainly, a matter of factly, “I would have remained in this prison had you not freed me. I’ll not hear a single word relating to any kind of failure. Of any kind, brother, for there is none to be found. The only failure here is the one that brought you here. And that failure, I daresay, does not fall upon your shoulders.” A smile spreads upon Thanatos’s lips, showcasing white parlour fangs. “You know, of course, of whom I speak.” He says and hobbles over to half-brother. “He drove you to become this, didn’t he?”

    A hand stretches out, hovering but not touching, over some changed monster-like features on Virgiliu’s face before retreating to Thanatos’s side. The forlorn vampire looks directly into Virgil’s eyes. “And then he drove you here. But how, why?” A sudden shriek pierces their conversation, reminding the two vampires of the monster’s presence. For a moment, Thanatos is in thought. He then explains and poses a question at the end. Thusly, he spoke, “The beast does not hold us as food, but it will destroy anything and anyone, dead or alive, that is moving. We shouldn’t linger, or you will be forced to face it alone. But before we move, there is that one question I need answering, and we WILL spare the time.” The vampire moves closer. They stand half an arms-length now from one another. “WHY did you really free me? Do you know what I’ve done?”

  • (Hmm Vic is more of a modern man. I have other characterzls that are easier to work into older eras, and I am not entirely opposed to casting vic back though i dont have a lot of ideas in that category off the top of my head. I didn't have anything in particular in mind, but in the modern era Victor is absolutely a Witch first. He thinks vampirism a flaw that needs fixing and has been experimenting on himself to cure it. But he is also working to build a sort of supernatural government in america, very New Money. I could see that rubbing some old money vamps wrong... 

    He is pretty easy to work in cuz he is nosy. If beings are hurting beings he gets involved, if they are super powerful he gets involved to try an recruit them. He is very much into supernatural networking so families of power are of interest anyway. )

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