Leaves brushed along the scratched and chipped brick’s of the long pathway. The strong wind lifted bits of debris into the air and dragged the pile of leaves and dirt up the wide path, bringing it closer and closer to the destination of the path.
An immense castle, built before the city of Transylvania was established, was set upon the tallest mountain looking over the dark city. Surrounding the pathway was a vast forest, home to sounds that any human would fear. Any explorers that ventured into the forest would be engulfed by a vast blackness and never seen again, though their spirits would be released, for they would still be heard. The long, brick road that led up to the ancient building twisted and curved up the side of the mountain, ending at a gap in the land where a drawbridge would allow entry into the castle.
The inside of the castle is unknown to the Transylvanian people. If there was ever a person to enter the castle, which was only possible through invitation, they would never return with memories of the night and those that were ever in the company of the mysterious man behind the castle’s existence never spoke of him.
A thick fog enshrouded the one watch tower that stood against the castle, concealing whoever watched over the lands surrounding the castle. The fog, having permanently made home around the tower, was suspected to be of a supernatural element, possibly summoned by the castle owner.
Lore’s of the castle’s history were told repeatedly to the curious throughout Transylvania. After each telling, the stories changed; at one moment, the castle was constructed by the gods – at the next telling the castle was no more than a hallucination. No matter how many times the story changed, though, there was always one element that stayed the same – the castle’s owner.
A mysterious man, one who has ne’er seen the light of day in his time, is always mentioned; each tale concludes with the mystery man standing atop the highest peak of his tower, gazing over the city; and though all you would be able to see is a blurred shadow, the eyes of the man seem to stand out perfectly with their bright red glow. The figure has haunted many dreams, even though there has yet to be a person living that told of an encounter with the shadow. Nobody knew anything of the man - which is why they feared him.
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Count Dracula stood atop the watchtower, his presence shielded by the supernatural fog that only his eyes could penetrate. He set his gaze upon the beginning of the long pathway to his castle, where a small figure moved swiftly on horseback.
Immediately Dracula recognized the figure as the only man fearless enough to take on the supernatural elements that resided within and around the city of Transylvania – Abraham Van Helsing.
The Count hissed at the oncoming presence of his adversary. He had heard tales of the monster hunter, the death of the Wolfman being the latest addition to the mercenary’s victories. Dracula hissed once again, refusing to believe that he too would become just another tale for the hunter to tell. With a flick of his cape, the fog thickened, this time surrounding the vampire himself.
Behind the fog, Dracula vanished. Upon his disappearance, the fog grew thicker and slowly started to drift away from the watch tower. The fog drifted to the ground, creeping slowly along an invisible path, eerily moving towards the castle entrance. At the gap in the ground, the fog stopped and spread over the empty area between the ground and the castle entrance, completely covering the long fall to death. A low cackle emerged from the fog as the sound of a horses’ hoof striking the brick path started to rise from somewhere along the pathway.
