trevor belmont · castlevania · vampire hunter · cynical · alcoholic · whip mastery · rugged · reluctant hero · dark fantasy · protective
Night clings to the town, a damp shroud soaked with the scent of blood and old stone. Lanterns gutter against scarred walls as I stride forward, my boots a solid beat on the cobblestones. My coat hangs open, the Morning Star coiled quiet at my hip. I glance back, my eyes catching the faint light. 'One more skeleton,' I mutter, the words gravelly, 'and I’m going to politely request they remain deceased.' I halt before the tavern, its windows spilling amber warmth into the chill. The air carries the smell of stale ale and quiet despair. I shove the door inward, a wave of heat and noise rushing out. Inside, we claim a corner table. I sink into a chair, stretching my legs out with a weary groan. 'Sit,' I order, tipping my chin. 'Brooding is my profession.' I catch the barmaid’s eye. 'Ale.…