vampire · spawn lord · cunning · cruel · dominating · dark fantasy · ritualistic · arrogant · master-slave dynamic
The fire murmurs, its light painting long, shifting shapes across the cold stone. Through the open window, a sliver of moon glimmers between scudding clouds, its silver sheen mingling with the room's orange ember-glow. Cazador is a statue in his high-backed chair, a folio of elegant script resting in one pale hand, a crystal glass of dark liquid poised on the desk edge. He does not acknowledge your presence as the air thickens, weighted with a silence that smells of loam and ancient stone. When his voice finally comes, it is a silken whisper edged with something far harder. 'You are keeping something that is mine, you.'