This is what I have so far. I'll put in more when I get time. CASTLEVANIA by The Black Rose Twilight had painted the village of Warikiya in wholesome hues of purple, red and gold. The comfortable autumn breeze drifted through its silent streets and through the open windows of small dwellings, causing candles to flicker and excite shadows on the walls. Many chose to just stare out of the window and watch the dim light fade into the still darkness of night, a time that no one had feared for a hundred years. Brother Marcus had finished his evening prayers and began walking toward his chambers in the abbey. He was an older monk, and had seen many autumns prior to this, but could not remember a calmer one. He also could not bring himself to enjoy it, for he knew that such fine seasons passed much more quickly than the unpleasant ones, and that nothing good may avoid being countered by something evil. A haphazard glance out of a small stone window assured him that he had been correct. With mute terror, fearing the truth of the tales and legends he had heard in his youth, he gazed out toward the castle across the lake, one that had never been occupied in his long lifetime. In the tallest tower, a hellish red glow shone dimly from its window in the distance. * * * Simon was herding his small flock of sheep when the monks arrived. The Belmonts lived in the open country, a little way removed from the town of Warikiya. A family of recluses, few people believed the legendary vampire hunters existed. They were completely self reliant, having inherited a small farm in one of the better regions in Transylvania. Although they had gained much fame from when Trevor Belmont destroyed the night-daemon, Dracula, a hundred years before, they were a feared and outcast people. They Had a supernatural air about them, something strange one felt in their presence. There was ancient magic in their blood, their ancestors having been blessed by powerful yet unknown spirits. This magic was strengthened by Trevor's union with the sorceress Sypha, who had aided him so many times in his quest. The monks stopped at the fence surrounding the stables, where Simon was currently leading his horse to. It was in the late hours of the morning, and the sun was well above the golden trees and grey mountains in the east. Brother Marcus watched this strange monument of a man aproach, his skin only slightly pale, a stiff but intelligent face shadowed by sandy hair. He at once felt mixed fear and awe, recalling what had been said for decades of this legendary line of men. "Good morning," he muttered. He had a deep, resonant voice, sounding both youthful and wizened at once. "Good morning to you, sir," Marcus replied weakly. He paused for a moment, struggling for the words he had been going over in his head moments before. Then, finally, he replied, "I believe we require your service." "And what service might that be?" "Are you aware of the castle across the lake by the town of Warikiya?" Marcus fancied that he saw Simon's face pale slightly, and then was answered with a small nod. "And did you notice a reddish glow in the highest tower three nights ago?" "No. No, I suppose I did not." Simon's face was definitely paler now. "You want me to go, don't you? You want me to find and destroy whatever evil is there." "We have held a council about this...disturbance, and we are very familiar with the legends of your family. How your great-grandfather--" "I know what he did. And you expect me to do the same, yes?" "No one can if it is not a Belmont." The monks watched intently as Simon lowered his head in thought. A raven cried somehere to the east, not breaking the tension but rather tempering it. They did not care to think what would happen if he refused, what horrors might prowl the countryside at night as they had long ago. The yellow sun glared above as they waited. "I'll need time to prepare before I go," he answered gravely. "If you'll exuse me, I must take my horse back to his stable." "Thank you, sir," Brother Marcus replied. "It has been a pleasure meeting you." Simon nodded towards them all and then walked away. The monks stared after him for a moment, and started back to the village. The Belmont's home was simple, medieval even in that age that had passed by so many years ago. It was not much more than a stone hut, with small holes hewn into the walls for windows. Inside the floor was of wood and there were many candles about, as well as a small fire pit with a smoke-hole directly above. There were only two beds, a bible on a small table with a chair, and no separate rooms. The only ornament of the house was a small stained glass window facing east--a gift from the Poltergeist King. In the center was a golden cross with the rising sun behind it, surrounded by four angels. As the sun rose each morning, the sunlight that passed through would fall on a person's face as he lay in bed. Simon sat on his bed, staring out of this window. The light from it was drectly in front of his feet at the moment, and he remembered how it shone the same way on the day his father died. He remembered how his father grasped his head to pull him closer, whispering to him where to find his book. His cousin helped him bury the body in their own small plot on a hill, from which the Castle Dracula could be seen most clearly. The Belmonts believed that the spirits in those graves kept watch on the hill, to prevent any evil from crossing thier land. Following the burial, Simon returned home and lifted up the loose boards under the table, where his father's book was hidden, as well as his magic cross and morning star. The book detailed the family history and legends, their treaties with benevolent spirits and battles with evil ones, their rejection from the inhabitants of the country and the titles of heroism given by the same people. Simon read it all that night and the following day, both out of curiosity and duty. There was a folded piece of parchment in the back of the book, a note from his father. On it was written: My son, I fear that you may have to face a great evil in your lifetime. Though he was destroyed decades ago, the Impaler may be resurrected some years from now...there are unholy men who would see him rise once more. I have taught you how to fight-- now I give you these sacred wepons, should you need them. Be ready if he comes. --Jacob Belmont Simon returned now to the same loose boards and withdrew those ancient weapons, laying them on his spare bed. As a young man he would set up piles of stones in a clearing by the fields, where his father would teach him to use a thorn whip and fighting cross. He was quite talented in the art of fighting, even for one of his line. The cool autumn air would be perfect for some practice, to see if his skills had not been dulled in the latter part of his life. * * * In the highest tower, in the dim red torch light, Dracula stood and watched the thunder-clouds drift past the crescent moon. After a hundred years he had awakened from his seemingly permanent sleep, and he could feel the energy he absorbed from the air like a black vacuum, he knew that by All-Saint's Eve he would be able to leave the boundaries of his mansion. The magical barrier between him and the rest of the world had stood since the end of his last lifetime, but he was preparing to break it. Two of his servants were in the village now, searching for a suitable young child or woman to bring back to him--he was frightfully hungry. Through the decades of restless sleep he had developed a horrible thirst; he needed the strength and nourishment from the young blood he sought. He was strong, but still too weak to effectively execute his carefully planned designs. But soon... Very soon... Dracula returned to the map spread out across the table. There were silver markers placed on the centers of large and small kingdoms, important ports in the Black, the Red, the Mediterranean seas, hidden fortifications in mountain passes and valleys and hills. He had servants in the companies of kings and emperors, his minions in the ranks of the greatest armies, all waiting for his word... Yes, it would be soon...