Across the stretches of a bloodied field, across grass the color of blood with a sky above that was partially brightened by a blood moon, past a village and town was a city. It wasn't exactly big, and calling it a city doesn't seem to be doing it justice, it was just a town or in proper terms a castle town. The walls of the castle were made of hand carved black rock, meticulously shaped and designed by the best craftsmen and placed by the bloodied hands of human and werewolf slaves. This was Nurmin, and it was a town of vampires.
Or as it was known, a coven. There was no concept of daytime or nighttime in the night district, but at the moment their streets were dead silent, the stench of death was in the air, but this wasn't anything new for Nurmin, death was the natural scent of its quaint atmosphere, it was what made a vampire town… a vampire town.
