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 (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          





 ✞ Other Characters: ✞

Loki Vargafathir/Hvedrungr
Kháos Mavros/Ptolemos
Jorah Kaldr/Máni
Herusemuyahotep/The Eye

Aigoios Chrysaoros Vasilakis
Talaos Anekh
Nathan Aidan Samuels
✞ - - - - - - - - - - - - - -




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 horned figure known only as “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. Vargafaðir seldom mentions the past but has alluded to a time of gods and giants in faraway Scandinavia - a time that he both seem to miss and despise.

Vargafaðir is a powerful witch, 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 of werewolves specifically, and many even rever 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 two feet 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, Vargafaðir may well be seen as quite intimidating. He carries a staff at all times made of mistletoe that can change its form into any tool he requires, though it’s most often in the shape of a staff with a crooked hand growing from the shaft. He calls it Haevateinn. Around his waist is a leaether 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. 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 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


*art unfinished



Most often referred to as simply "The Eye", at times "The Eye of Ammun", Herusemuyahotep 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, Herusemuyahotep 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. 

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 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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  • (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. )

  •  (Hey! Thanks for the invite! I would love to plot something out with yah! Victor is really easy to intigrate because he is nosey and is always involving himself with powerful/dangerous beings. Did you have any specifics in mind?)

  • Yessss, more vampires!!!

  • 10547755900?profile=RESIZE_930x

  • (。´∀`)ノ"


  • - p o k e s -

  • He is still in the process of recovery, he realizes, and perhaps he always will. Because the signals become cross-wired in his brain again suddenly, and he cannot make heads or tails of where, or who he is again, despite the previous sense of clarity seemingly returned to him.
    He shakes his head, and it takes him a moment or two, but he eventually finds an anchor back in the now again, the real world, upon which he hears the sound of the other speaking to him. And this time the volume increases from before, the words coming sharp, swift. Like a flying arrow.
    Thanatos was analyzing the pattern, tasting the letters as they came to him. Was it the sour taste of disgust? Maybe disappointment? Possibly both. Either way, that name again, the name of Dracul…it lit a fire behind his eyes. Set his proverbial soul ablaze with uncontrollable hatred.
    It trickled like potent acid funnelled right through his skull, poured through his ears as the other spoke it. And it echoed off the walls of his mind until he felt ready to scream, to punch the ground until the skin would loosen, showing parlour bone.
    The name elicited such a feeling of seething hatred, in fact, every seam of his mind was threatening to come apart - to go spiralling into lunacy.

    “I do trust you.” He says, finally, but his features tighten like a pulled slingshot, lips lifting to reveal sharp fangs. “But do not take that cursed name into your mouth. Do not." He warns coldly, spitting his words like a cobra launching venom at its prey. His fists bunch together, sharp nails digging into flesh, but remarkably, not drawing blood. He is empty, a husk on the inside still.
    He then uses the tomb beside him, and he slowly lifts himself back up onto unstable feet. His legs were weak, wobbly…like his muscles were made out of the softest of clay mush. And he feels the utmost shame encroach upon his entire being. It crushes his sense of worth like an insect beneath a heavy boot. He frowns his brows, and he hisses and snarls in violent indignation at the feeble creature he had become.
    He couldn’t remember rightly who he was before all of this, the details were hazy, like a thin veil covering the archives of his memories, but he knew that he was far more than the imperfect, pitiful thing that Virgil saw before him. He was a god trapped within a shell of a body - he was THANATOS. But now, now he was useless.
    He looks at Virgiliu, and the level of disappointment shown, speaks volumes of how he must have looked. “I know that I am decrepit. Pathetic. No need to look at me as such.” He comments, and tries to take a step forward.
    It was then that he briefly saw the image of a gangly figure appearing from behind the rocks.
    The being was gaunt to the point of emaciation, and its ash-grey skin pulled tightly over its long limbs as it moved forth, and in every way that it could, the bones of the creature pushed out against it. And from behind whitened eyes, pushed back deep into their sockets, the monster looked at the two, as then its tattered and bloodied lips began to move, opening its maw. And from behind sharp crooked teeth, a long tongue moved to taste the air.
    It leapt off into the void, suddenly, vanishing. For now…

    “We should go,” Thanatos said, warning the other about the urgency by the sound of his voice. “There’s a Wendigo here. And we cannot hope to best such a creature. Not even defeating it would grant us respite from its power.” He explains.
    “Will you help me out of here, brother?” A pale hand is given to his brother.
    Would it be accepted?

  • (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.

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Virgiliu Dracula and Tabbi are now friends
Oct 22
Virgiliu Dracula left a comment for Victor Blood
"(I have some ideas we could you with, but the details such as how, why, and where eludes me yet.…"
Jun 19
Virgiliu Dracula left a comment for Victor Blood
"-- Greetings and hello there! --
(You have a very intriguing character there, and I'd love to…"
Jun 14
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"What had he been expecting to find here, lost in the dark? An answer? A saviour? Or simply some…"
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"This is such an interesting topic because I think it applies to all forms of art in a way. And…"
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