Count. Lycan Von Balaur
The cold bitter winds of Mt. Hakobe helplessly nibbled on Count. Lycan’s ears. The Count could not really feel the cold mountain’s chilling bite, merely, all he felt was a vague illusion of what it felt like to be cold from the days that he had been alive. Nothing more, nothing less. In a manner of speaking, Lycan’s sense still worked, and he definitely could still feel pleasure. However, when it came to temperature his senses had been dulled, reduced only to memory, and vague illusions. Temperature did not affect him, whether it be too cold, or too hot, it mattered not.
The Count had been searching for a place to call home after he awoke from his deep slumber, usually, Lycan would attempt to reclaim his ancestral homeland and return Iceberg and his family back to its former glory, but at last, Iceberg had changed a lot since he had ruled. Even more importantly, Lycan was without allies and his power had significantly diminished. Hunger had pained his stomach, and Lycan feared that his enemies had grown where he had lessened. For that reason, Lycan decided to leave his beautiful ancestral home, and flee out of country so that he can either gain more power or regain lost power and attain allies to aid him in his revenge.
So, the Count left his home and traveled to Fiorie after he had heard rumors and whispers about a collection of powerful dark guilds. Out of these guilds, Count Lycan discovered two factions that pipped his interest, an organization by the name of Erring Risings and the Abyssal Fleet. Seeing that he was not a commoner and did not want to be associated with filthy pirates, with that being said, Lycan decided to hunt down Erring Rising and incorporate himself into their organization.
Lycan trudged through the snow, until at last, the vampire lord had come across a magnificent castle, the Count cocked an eyebrow upwards and held out his arms as if to lift the castle up. This is magnificent, this is a castle fit for a vampire lord and his comrades, he thought to himself, and allowed a sly grin to inch across his beautiful, but pale face. Lycan reached out to grab the round handles to the great wooden door, and then opened it twice, both times slamming the door shut so that the inhabitants of the castle would know of his presence and come to greet him.
Unfortunately, the rules of the beast prevented him from entering into the castle without an invitation, so Lycan sat in front of the door, in the snow, waiting for someone to greet him. After six minutes or so of waiting, Lycan would slam the door open and shut again, and again, an again, until at last someone answered.
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