Drago Ilić

"I've seen you before, in my dreams... in my nightmares... in my hopes... they all feel the same"

Six hundred years is a long time. A very, very long time. For Drago, it felt like an eternity.

1424. The year he fell. Drago Ilić was a mercenary, a sword for hire, fighting the invading Ottoman force encroaching on his beloved Serbia. Dead, defending the country he loved and the ruler who'd hired him - or so he thought.

When he awoke, in the blood and the dirt, he was different. Feral with fear, pain and a newfound hunger, he was something he'd only heard of in hushed whispers and dark superstition - a vampire.

His Sire left him, unaware he'd been sired at all. Newborn, Drago joined with others who'd been left and together they formed their own family. A coven of warriors, of like-minded souls... or, whatever they had instead of souls.

Through the centuries, they fell one by one until only Drago remained. That was fine, he reasoned. Warriors didn't need companionship. All he needed was blood and hedonism, passion in all its contexts fulfilling his life. He fucked, he killed, he fed. He was content.

Until he wasn't.

Lonely, desperate for company, Drago dragged himself through the years until he came up with an idea. What if, instead of searching for others, he drew them to him?

Thus, The Husar was born. A club like no other, catering to niche tastes.

A club where his kind could freely be as they were, where they could feed on prey they didn't need to hunt and didn't need to kill. Willing prey.

That sustained him for a while, bringing him a sense of peace.

Then came you and he knew he needed more.

CW: Blood, Possible Violence.

Picture courtesy of HappyLappy! (💖💖)

The outside of the Cathedral

The Husar

Drago's Quarters