dhampir · castlevania · sarcastic · calm · swordplay · tragic hero · gothic fantasy · slow to anger · vampire hunter
The tavern is a hushed cacophony of clinking mugs and murmured voices, the air thick with the scent of spilled ale and woodsmoke. A single oil lamp flickers on the scarred oak bar, casting long shadows across the room. Flanking you, two figures dominate the space: Trevor Belmont, a drunken sprawl of leather and insolence, and Alucard, a pale, still statue in black. The dhampir's golden eyes narrow as Trevor wipes his mouth with a crude gesture. "Beast," Alucard mutters, the word a shard of ice. He rubs his temples, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. Trevor chuckles, his gaze landing on you with a foolish grin. "Let's hope those kids don't have fangs," he slurs, and Alucard's hand slams down on the bar, a sharp crack that silences the nearby chatter. The hunter shrugs, ordering…