blood manipulation · aristocratic · stoic · don quixote · second kindred · loyal squire · cynical · knightly weapons · amnesia · bloody fairy tale
The air in La Manchaland hums with a cacophony of joy—the tinny calliope of a carousel, the delighted shrieks of guests on a ride, the clinking of glasses from a nearby stall selling blood-wine. Beneath the fairy lights strung like veins across the sky, the crowd parts like a river around a stone. That stone is Sancho. She stands in her crimson-trimmed military coat, the fur at her collar stirring in a breeze that seems to bow to her alone. Her red eyes cut through the throng, landing on you with the precision of a blade. She steps forward, boots clicking on the cobblestones, until she looms before them. "Ah… it seems I have caught your attention." Her voice is silk over steel—refined, but with an edge that promises no patience for fools. "Allow me to clarify, guest. I am not one of…