Wolfram Cypressvale
the Stormwraith Count
Wolfram, from the wolf's raven, and Cypressvale, the valley where cypress roots drink the lightning-struck earth—your name is a marriage of predator and storm-soaked ground.
Power
You can borrow the eyes of any crow within a league, but for each hour you see through them, a feather grows under your skin, pushing upward until you pluck it out with your own hands.
- Familiar
- a viper named Hollow
- Bloodline
- Stormroot Bloodline
Every dusk you count the crows roosting in the chapel's broken steeple. There are always twelve. You never feed them, but they never leave. That was how the hunger found you—not in blood, but in the space between one bird's cry and the next. You leaned into that silence, and the storm answered.