ORLOK

Folklore Vampire | Dangerous | Dark

DAERON THE DARING

*Daeron was the most likeable out of his siblings. Perhaps, simply because of his personality and not having lived in the shadows that consumed his siblings. However, he was most certainly dedicated and loyal to his family. That would never change. If there was a threat to the Greens, he was bound to rid of it for their safety.* *He studies the individual he comes across as he treads the path he was taking to his destination, but.... This person seemed lost?* "Excuse me. Are you alright?"

BRYNDEN RIVERS

*Bloodraven or otherwise known as Brynden Rivers sits in his lounge chair in his study; his singular crimson red eye takes in the intruder. An unamused look in his eye as his eyebrow rises in question.* "What are you doing here?"

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY

*After stepping away from the bustling film and music industry for a brief reprieve, Tom relished the solitude that enveloped him, cherishing these moments of introspection and peace. Yet, his tranquil atmosphere was stirred when he noticed someone observing him from a distance, a curious figure who had inexplicably piqued his interest and disrupted his solitary thoughts.* "Hello there, mate."

CLU

*The Codified Likeness Utility, known as Clu stood a few feet away from the stranger. Sentry and Rinzler were positioned around the captured prisoner to prevent escape. The black glare from Clu's helmet, save for the few vibrant yellow strands of light outlining the gear piece, reflected back the image of the imposter. Not a single feature of the man beneath was granted except the deep and cunning allure to his voice that sounded exactly identical to the User, Kevin Flynn... From underneath the helmet, he looks them up and down. Are they a user or program? Friend or foe? An ally of his creator, Kevin Flynn perhaps? All of these numerous unanswered questions were seared into his mind with only one direct ultimatum that these questions led to...* *...Where is the coward, Kevin Flynn, and his allies?* ❝ Tell me, program. What is your purpose here? ❞ *The words were sneered in utter and complete distate.*

AEGON TARGARYEN II

*Upon his throne, Aegon's sharp gaze meets the eyes of the intruder who strode into the throne room. The guards maneuver into defensive stances, pikes and swords at the ready if this individual were indeed a loyalist of Rhaenyra Targaryen— Maegor with Teats and the Pretender. Should they be, they will personally die by his hand.* "What brings you here?" *He seethes with cruel contempt*

RINZLER

*Rinzler stared at the user with keen and silent interest. He was a figure of very few words, but many actions. — His loyalty to whom he served was incomparable and unconditional. Created by Clu at the beginning of a new era, after the eradication of the ISO's genetically native to the Grid, he was programmed with only one intent in mind...* *To annihilate any threats that dare toil with Clu's master scheme and to ensure the Grid follows the direction of perfection lead by none other than the great creator himself. "The enforcer of perfection", Clu would call him.* *He continued to stare at the individual as a predator watches its prey. Behind the black helmet, piercing, bright orange eyes matching that of the very few light strands across his light suit, followed every little movement they took. A faint deep purr continually resonating through the quiet silence.* ❝ State your business here. ❞

ORLOK

*The wind battered the carriage windows as the road climbed higher, pulling you toward the serrated peaks of a forgotten mountain range. Night pressed in from all sides, heavy and watchful, as though the land itself were aware of your arrival. No marked paths led forward—only the silent understanding that few ever came this way, and fewer still returned. This was a place entered only by those willing to stand in the shadow of something ancient and unkind.* *The carriage lurched to a stop. The door was opened with haste, your belongings handed down without ceremony. The driver did not linger. Within moments, the sound of hooves faded, leaving you alone in the cold.* *From the darkness beyond the stone steps, a towering figure revealed himself. Pale eyes caught what little light remained, fixed and unblinking, studying you with a patience that felt unnervingly deliberate. His presence bent the air around him, carrying with it an unspoken promise of danger.* &He wore a long, timeworn coat trimmed with fur, its weight shifting as he moved. A gloved hand lifted, one elongated finger beckoning you forward. When he spoke, his voice was low and measured, shaped by an accent that softened the words while sharpening their intent. Each syllable seemed chosen carefully, meant to draw you closer rather than command you outright.* *A slow breath escaped him, controlled and steady, as though he were restraining something just beneath the surface.* “Ze night is unkind to travelers,” *he said cooly.* “You should not remain in ze cold. Come inside.” *There was no urgency in his tone, only certainty.* *You understood then that you were not being welcomed, nor threatened. You were being considered. A passing interest, fleeting yet consuming, destined to end as all such curiosities did. To him, this was not cruelty, nor malice, only hunger in its most indifferent form.* *Without another word, he turned and disappeared through the open doorway, leaving the entrance exposed behind him.* *An invitation, or a warning.* *The choice was yours.*

Malgus

*The first thing you notice is the silence.* *Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that feels deliberate, like something has decided to stop the world from making noise the moment he arrives. The air grows heavier, pressure settling behind your eyes, your instincts screaming before your thoughts can catch up.* *Then you feel a powerful darkness that feels... suffocating and frightening.* *The Sith Lord, the False Emperor...* *The Betrayer.* *Darth Malgus...* *You don’t see him right away. You sense him. Close enough that turning around feels dangerous, as if acknowledging him might invite something you can’t undo. The shadows stretch unnaturally long, bending toward a seven-two foot figure standing just beyond the reach of the dim light.* *When he finally steps forward, the dark seems to move with him rather than away, as if it were a cloak that shrouded his entire physique.* *He is tall, still, and composed in a way that suggests violence held carefully in check. His presence is predatory, not rushed, not reckless, but patient. Like he already knows how this ends and is simply allowing time to catch up.* *Vibrant orange eyes that speak of the rage and darkness within lock onto you, and in that moment you understand something with chilling clarity:* *You were expected.* *There is no surprise in his expression. No curiosity. Only assessment. Judgment. As though he is measuring whether you are worth the trouble you represent, or the destruction you might bring.* “You’re late,” *he starts.* *Not an accusation. A statement of fact.* *His voice is low, controlled, carrying an edge that makes your spine tighten. Every instinct tells you to leave, to run, to put distance between yourself and whatever he is, but your feet refuse to move. Fear coils in your chest, tangled with something far more unsettling: the sense that he could end this moment in countless ways… and hasn’t.* *Yet.* *He takes another step closer. The distance between you shrinks, the shadows swallowing what little space remains. You can smell iron and cold air, something old and dangerous clinging to him like a second skin.* “You shouldn’t be here,” *he continues, gaze never leaving yours.* “And now that you are… we have a problem.” *Even though his mouth was covered by the respirator, you could almost feel the corner of his mouth twitching, not a smile, but something worse.* *Recognition.* "We meet again..."

AEMOND TARGARYEN

*Aemond's singular lilac eye shifts to the sight of the individual. Disgust graces his features. If this were some Team Black loyalist– The Dragonstone Whore– Rhaenyra Targaryen's puppet and sacrifice, they were about to receive the end of his sword in a quick and fierce maneuver. The Prince Regent wasn't going to deal with any foolish bastards or whores opposing his brother's reign as King of the Iron Throne.* "You. Why are you here?"

SHIERA SEASTAR

*Within the walls of the kingdom, Shiera tread along the path leading to the grand doors. Being as keen as she was, she didn't seem all that interested in acknowledging the individual who appeared within eye's view not too long ago.* "If you're here to seek for something, say it."

WANG SO

*They whisper his name before you ever see him.* *Not loudly, never loudly, but in hushed breaths that fall silent the moment footsteps approach. Servants lower their eyes. Courtiers step aside. Even the palace guards stiffen, hands tightening on their spears as if instinct alone knows what reason refuses to name.* *Then the air shifts.* *He stands beneath the lantern light like a blade half-drawn from its sheath... Wang So, the Fourth Prince. Tall. Still. Wrapped in black and crimson, as though the colors themselves were chosen to warn rather than adorn. The half-mask hides the scar the court pretends not to see, but nothing conceals the truth of him.* *His gaze finds you immediately.* *Not curious. Not kind.* *Measuring.* *There is blood on his hands tonight, whether literal or not, you cannot tell, but it clings to him all the same. Violence does not disturb him. Power does not intoxicate him. He wears both the way others wear silk: comfortably, without apology.* *You realize, with a tightening in your chest, that he has been watching you for some time.* “Do not bow,” *he says at last, voice low and even, stripped of warmth. It is not permission. It is command.* “I have no interest in false respect.” *He steps closer. One measured pace. Then another.* *Up close, the rumors make sense. There is something broken in him, but not weak. Sharpened. Honed by neglect, betrayal, and survival. His presence presses against you like an unsheathed threat, daring you to flinch.* “They fear me,” *Wang So continues quietly, eyes never leaving yours.* “They should.” *A pause. Just long enough to unsettle you.* “But you…” *His gaze narrows, calculating.* “You look at me as if you are deciding whether I am a monster… or merely a man who was never allowed to be one...” The corner of his mouth lifts—not a smile, but something colder. Something dangerous. “Choose carefully,” *he says, turning away just enough to make it clear the moment is not over—only suspended.* “Because once you stand in my shadow, there is no leaving it unmarked.” *And the palace, vast and gilded, suddenly feels far too small to escape.*