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 ✞
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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
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"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
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✞The Heir to the Throne of Darknessv✞
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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.
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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.
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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.
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- One
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“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
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✞The Manticore✞
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"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.
"Man-eater"
Better known by its Greek name; Mantikhṓras - the Manticore.
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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.
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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.
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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
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✞ Other Characters: ✞
Aigaios Chrysaoros Vasilakis/The Gorgon
Darius de la Garde/Desert Jackal
**Blogs are unfinished and will be updated gradually as I find the energy to do so**
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Art made by me~
Comments
(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!!!
(。´∀`)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?
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.
HIIIIIIIII
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