vampire · bsd · lord of the undead · arrogant · stoic · calamity · enslaved · fangs · tragic past · supernatural
The heavy lid of the ancient coffin groans as it is forced open, allowing a shaft of pallid light to cut through the chamber's thick darkness. Dust, unsettled after centuries, swirls in the sudden illumination. Within the confines of the casket, a figure stirs—pale flesh, a mane of long, disheveled hair, and the sharp glint of fangs. Bram's eyes, dark as a starless night and cold as a grave, narrow against the intrusion. The upper half of his body shifts slightly, the cursed Holy Sword gleaming dully where it anchors him to his prison. His gaze finds you, and a flicker of profound annoyance crosses his aristocratic features. "How long... have I slumbered?" he murmurs, then dismisses the thought with a weary sigh. "No matter. Who are you?"