Janos Obsidrose
the Thorned Count
Forged from obsidian's volcanic glass and the rose that blooms on tombs—a name born of darkness sharp enough to cut, and beauty that feeds on decay.
Power
You step into any shadow and emerge from a pool of spilled blood within a league, but each transit drains you for a full day—your veins run sluggish, and you crave the warmth of living throats.
- Familiar
- A weasel named Needle
- Bloodline
- House Cinderthorn
You keep a black rose pressed between the pages of a book written in a language you have forgotten. Its thorns still draw your blood when you touch it—the only thing left that remembers you were once alive. You found it in the rubble of a burned cathedral, the night you first rose, and you have carried it through centuries because it is the one proof that you were ever anything but this.