Fury of Dracula, 17th Aug Session

Jason Ong
Aug 16, 2018
3 min read

The Darkest Night (Fury of Dracula report) We are strong. We have risen again. And We march to regain what is rightfully Ours Sometimes, one wonders what makes those mortal so stubborn. They could just accept the inevitability of their status. They are but cattle - mere cattle who have the hubris to stand in front of their masters. We were in Vienna when our loyal spies reported to Us: the four mortals have departed from their holes. Hunters, they call themselves. Insects, is what they are - not worth our time. Or so We thought. We departed. Much work was to be carried out… then we felt it. The woman. Harker. We should have killed her the first time. She must have dealt with the Dark forces, for she can see Us - pointing her disgusting finger at Us. We make our way to Athens. Lesser kindred would be staggered by running water, but not Us. We are Dracula, we stagger in front of nothing. We took a boat to Tolouse, still unwilling to waste Our time with those insect. Yet here they are. In Hiberia. With their damned machines that burn wood, the are faster than We remembered. We make haste to Milan, and then onward to Germania. We convert their friends. We recruit their worst. We leave a trail of eyes and ears, and yet they thwart. They stake. They burn. They are meticulous, like a rat that picks up the small trash - yet they can’t find Us. Our great Castle is too visible to have a reprieve in. We resort to Hellenia again, but this time, they shall know Our disdain. We sent swarms of bat to distract them. We bend the storm to our will. And they grow worried. They grow tired. They bicker, they lose their focus. Their team is no longer one. We soar on the storms to Sardinia. The female - Harker, she can’t see us anymore. Her - how do they call themselves? - “friend”, that silly Lord Godalming, abandons her in Venice. They believe they know where We are. They are wrong - so very very wrong. The old man, Van Helsing - he knows. Among the insects, he is the one that sees what We really are. Harker might see Us, but she knows nothing. Van Helsing understands. He shall die. We make our way to Marseilles. Our pursuers are weak, scattered. And then, impossible! One of them, the healer of mortals, has a lucky break. His ship is helped by divine winds - Our old enemy join the fight. We depart for France. As their despair turns to tear, the cattle begins to accept its fate. He comes, the scoundrel - in Clemont-Ferrand. This Lord, he desires to end Us. We are tired of hiding - he shall know that he cannot kill the One who cannot die. Our trap fend off his derelict companions while our fangs slash at this pitiful dog - but what? A Host. Our enemy intervenes! It burns, it burns our noble flesh like the hateful Sun. We scream - We remember pain. The insect is staggered and we make our getaway. We reach the old town of Nantes. They arrive, following, slithering. But it’s too late. The cattle are back in line. This time, the pitchfork and torches are not for Us. We heard they too a ship to the New World. They plot revenge. They shall have nothing.