Jacques D’Auvraine

Male Vampire Aristocrat 5
Medium Undead (Augmented Humanoid)

Size/Type: Medium Undead (Augmented Humanoid)
Hit Dice: 5d12 (32 hp)
Initiative: +6
Speed: 30 ft. (6 squares)
Armor Class: 20 (+2 Dex, +6 natural, +2 deflection), touch 14, flat-footed 18
Base Attack/Grapple: +2/+6
Attack: Slam +6 melee (1d6+4 plus energy drain)
Full Attack: Slam +6 melee (1d6+4 plus energy drain) or bite +6 melee (1d6+4 plus energy drain)
Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft.
Special Attacks: Blood drain, children of the night, create spawn, dominate (Su), energy drain (Su)
Special Qualities: Alternate form (Su), damage reduction 10/silver and magic, darkvision 60 ft., fast healing 5, gaseous form (Su), resistances (cold 10, electricity 10), spider climb (Ex), turn resistance +4, undead traits, vampire weaknesses
Saves: Fort +1, Ref +3, Will +5
Abilities: Str 18, Dex 14, Con —, Int 14, Wis 12, Cha 18
Skills: Bluff +16, Diplomacy +12, Hide +10, Listen +9, Move Silently +10, Search +10, Sense Motive +9, Spot +9
Feats: Alertness, Dodge, Improved Initiative
Environment: Warm marshes or urban
Organization: Solitary or with spawn (1–4)
Challenge Rating: 7
Treasure: Double standard
Alignment: Always chaotic evil
Advancement: By character class
Level Adjustment: —

Description

Jacques D’Auvraine is the embodiment of cultivated refinement - a nobleman whose every gesture is deliberate, whose voice carries warmth without sincerity, and whose presence commands attention without effort. He dresses in the height of fashion, though always a few years behind current trends, as if time itself has lost interest in keeping pace with him.

His complexion is pale but unblemished, his features striking without flaw, and his eyes dark and steady - the eyes of something that watches rather than lives. He does not fidget, does not sweat, and does not tire. Even in crowded halls thick with heat and bodies, he remains composed, untouched by the discomforts of mortal flesh.

At social gatherings, Jacques is an impeccable host. Tables bend beneath the weight of fine food and imported drink, music flows, laughter echoes, and yet he never eats. He raises a glass, he toasts, he smiles - but careful observers will note that nothing ever truly passes his lips. This detail lingers in the mind long after the evening ends, though few can explain why it unsettles them so deeply.

When he feeds, the illusion of civility vanishes. His strength becomes absolute, his grip inescapable, and his bite disturbingly intimate. Victims often describe a moment of calm before the attack, as though their will had already been stripped away. To Jacques, feeding is not frenzy - it is ritual, controlled, precise, and deeply personal.

Lore

Jacques D’Auvraine claims origin from a distant western city of immense wealth and indulgence - a place whispered of in trade circles but rarely named outright. According to his own account, he was born into an upper-class family whose influence stretched across commerce, politics, and private indulgence. Whether this city still exists, or whether it ever did in the form he describes, remains uncertain.

He arrived as many outsiders do - with coin, charm, and impeccable credentials. Within a short time, he embedded himself among the elite, hosting extravagant gatherings that drew nobles, merchants, and social aspirants alike. His estate became synonymous with excess: rare wines, exotic imports, and evenings that blurred into memory. Yet alongside admiration came quiet suspicion. He was never seen in daylight. He never ate. And those who grew too close to him often vanished from public life.

The truth revealed itself in violence. A guest, pale and bleeding, hurled herself from an upper floor to escape him, recounting in broken terror how he had seized her and fed upon her like an animal. When authorities forced entry into his residence, they found evidence enough to damn any man - bloodstained chambers, sealed bottles filled with human blood, and no sign of their host. Jacques D’Auvraine had disappeared without a trace.

Since that night, his legend has spread far beyond a single city. He appears again and again across decades, always unchanged, always returning to centers of wealth and decadence. He does not hide among the poor or desperate - he walks openly among the powerful, selecting his victims from those who believe themselves untouchable. To him, blood is not merely sustenance, but refinement - a thing to be chosen, savored, and remembered.

Among occult scholars and whispered circles of hunters, a darker interpretation persists. Jacques is not simply feeding - he is studying. Each identity he adopts, each court he infiltrates, each victim he selects is part of a long, patient process of perfecting the art of being human. Not surviving among mortals, but surpassing them.

And so the warnings endure, passed quietly between those who know what to look for:

If he invites you to dine - decline.
If he toasts in your honor - do not drink.
And if you notice that he never eats…

…it is already too late.