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"Stronger than 10 battle-hardened men, faster than a falling star, more cunning than a panther. This and more will spell the downfall of your cursed bloodline when you beget a child in the way of men." These are the words prophesied by an oracle centuries ago to an ancient vampire lord who had captured the old, gods-blessed man of prophecy and kept him as a personal amusement for his court. As all beings of great power do, he refuted the augury for ages, even after he fell in love with an mortal woman of Elvish birth who gave him a son. Not quite mortal, but also not quite monster, Ezra was known for his greater than average physical and mental capabilities, as well as his otherworldly looks; his silver hair was compared to the light of the full moon, and his eyes were likened to the glowing embers of a great bonfire. Though the most unsettling thing about him were the slightly pronounced canines that peeked out from between his lips when he laughed with mirth, or snarled with rage. The boy would soon know tragedy as he entered his 50th winter, still barely a stripling in the way elves determine age. He found his mother ravaged in animalistic fashion in their little cottage on the outskirts of a well-fortified town; the walls were splashed with blood, the furniture smashed to kindling. It was at this time that he felt a peculiar sensation; a hunger that had nothing to do with food or sex. It was a need for blood, the scent of the sole person he truly cherished calling him to drink and seek revenge.

He ran from the scene, loosing a cry of such pain and rage that it silenced the town and the forest, every man and beast taking shelter as pure fear gripped their hearts in its frozen grip. He knew the smell that was hidden by the blood, and it caused his rage to mount further, driving him on until he sped on with one singular target in mind, his father's home' the necropolis in the frozen North. It took him five days and six nights to arrive there, the only thought in his crazed mind being to kill his vampiric sire, the Blood Prince in Crimson Snows as he was known. However, he was swiftly brought to heel by his father's advanced powers and mighty thralls, made to serve as his right hand. It was in this strange, secretive, almost otherworldly realm where he was forced to learn and grow the powers he'd gained from the being that brought him into this world.

300 years later, Ezra finally broke out the mental shackles that kept him bound to his father's will and again sought revenge on him for the death of the one person who cherished him above all things. He was stronger now, having gained proficiency with the powers the prophecy had foretold those many years ago, and he put every single ounce of them into this new fight, using the magicks, combat skills, and brute strength he'd amassed as his father's own personal death dealer. Thralls were drained to the last drop on both sides, spells of all schools were cast, and enough blood was spilled to flood the antechamber of the necropolis until, finally, his father was dead, speared through the heart by Ezra's own claws. After using the last of his power to draw the spilled blood into himself, he gained the knowledge of the oracle's last prediction to his father, as well as access to all the magical know-how and secrets of the castle that his late father kept from him.

Upon exploration of the castle that now belonged to him by both bloodline and by combat, he found two things; one being the enchanted sword his father kept hidden away; a monstrous blade made for the swift decapitation of those judged guilty, and a strange artifact that visibly glowed with an evil aura. Drawn to this item by some strange, unseen force, he touched the object and immediately fell upon the ground, writhing and screaming in agony as the flesh of his right arm blackened, red veins creeping out from his palm as a glowing rune branded itelf there in the center from where he'd touched the artifact. The ancient curio was in fact an item crafted by an ancestor of his mother's bloodline and known in some circles of magical learning as The Hand of The Black-blooded; anyone who is not a pure-blooded elf that handles the item is cursed to bear a soul-stealing mark upon their hand that gives them unparalleled magical capability by using the negative energy found in certain foci to utilize more primal forms of black magic, though at the cost of having their souls expunged and turning them into a monster that rivals ancient dragons or demon princes.

After fighting a great internal battle to wrest his soul from being immediately stolen by the curse that had ahold of him, he slowly crawled to the nearest coffin and slept as his body commanded, going deathly still as his body recovered. After sleeping through another century, he was uncovered by a guild of mages who swiftly brought him out of repose and shepherded him to the safety of their academy, where he remained on as a teacher for many decades, until he was cast out via false accusations because of his vampiric nature. He then took to travelling the world, looking for answers to safely remove the blight he now bore caged within his right hand.

Hey all, long time no talksies. Lucian here. I'm sorry for being so bloody absent. My PL has been rocky, all-consuming, and stressful these last 3-ish years. Been at a job for over a year, depression's been on a sliding scale, and potential health issues are now rearing their ugly heads. My writing braining brain has had some of the rust chipped away, so I thought I'd give you guys a taste of what I've made.

In short, this OC is a dhampir (half-mortal, half-vampire) blood-mage who bears a cursed right arm. He's inspired by various mages of popular media, Vampire Hunter D, and a lil bit of Miroku from Inuyasha. And before you ask, no, Ainz Ooal Gown is not one of those mages.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy the read. If you have questions, I'll be happy to answer them. Laters.

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