Black Court

The Black Court does not pretend to be human.

It does not seduce.

It devours.

They are the nightmare you thought you outgrew—the thing clawing out of the crypt, the whisper that something dead is walking behind you. Black Court vampires are walking corpses: rotting flesh, sunken eyes, dried blood around yellowed teeth. No masks. No glamour. Just death, walking on two legs and dragging your name behind it.

They are ancient—the oldest of the Courts—spawned from dark rites and fouler intentions. Unlike the sleek politics of the Red Court or the whispered indulgences of the White, the Black Court cares for only one thing: consumption. Not just of blood, but of life itself. Their presence wilts the air. Their dens are nests of disease, filth, and forgotten things.

And yet, they are not mindless. Many are cunning beyond belief, steeped in necromantic knowledge and old magic no living soul remembers. Some ruled kingdoms before there were nations. Others haunt graveyards, abandoned churches, and cursed forests, gathering followers—undead or otherwise.

Most were believed exterminated after a certain "how-to" guide on vampire killing made its way to the public… but the truly ancient ones, the Lords and Ladies buried deep in the earth, were not so easily destroyed. They have slept. They have watched. And now, in dark corners of the world, they stir again—older, meaner, hungrier.

A Black Court vampire cannot be reasoned with. You don’t make deals with them.

You don’t get second chances.

You run, and if you’re lucky, someone holy is behind you with a stake and a prayer.

But if one speaks your name in the dark?

It already knows where you sleep.