posted on Apr, 8 2017 @ 07:55 AM
...The Dream of Dragul...
…Before the advent of man, were the Grigori…
Made in perfection, yet they fell…Under the sway of darkness…
As they fell, so too did their immortality. And yet they lusted after everlasting life.
To fulfill the darkest desires of their decaying hearts, they fed on mankind. For they
knew the ancient truth, that “the spirit is in the blood”
…Murdered many they did, but the few survivors became undead vessels. Vessels that
by their needs, must constantly seek the lifeblood of their former human comrades.
Living outside the human world , and of nature, they began to suss the hidden secrets
of the unseen world… Men would call it magick.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He was a creature of myth, like the gods of ancient Greece…
In the image of man, but both blessed and cursed with great talents. He was a hunter
of men. Perhaps he was Nimrod… Maybe he was Enkidu… he was certainly a son of
Hades…
For centuries he rose, then waned…then rose again, then waned…
As he faded into the legends of antiquity…
He appeared on the forgotten battlefields in the Bronze age…
He towered over the battles of Troy…
He feasted on the battlefields of yore…
He was the very father of the Black Death.
By the early Medieval of Europe he was almost forgotten… Almost…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Janis was a learned man of humble birth. Yet, in his loins he yearned to be a warrior…
He red the old tales, passed down. of the half god Heroes, and of the Champions that followed them. In spirit he longed to identify with them… And,
he remembered…
The hero always had …a fatal flaw.
It is said… The devil had a son, who hated man and fed on them like cattle. The daughters
of man were his mere playthings… His own sons and daughters …simple afterthoughts.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Before a battlefield in Germania, Janis addresses and eager horde, drunk of wine and battle. He told the soldiers, that there was once a warrior
greater than them all…
Dragul, the son of the Devil was real, he implored…
He had faded into the mists of history to regain his supernatural strength…
But, he would return, Janis continued… And those who survived his onslaught and the culling of his slaying would be worthy to drink the wine blood
as his acolytes. Janis feverishly hoped and believed that he would be among them.
Janis had studied deeply and learned the oration and evocation…
So as he spoke he sought to summon the true Dragul.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Like a hunting hawk, he flew through the air, approaching the impending field of
battle. Swooping down, he grabbed Janis with one hand, by the throat.
..”You summoned me across the leagues of sea? You summoned me through the ages of time? So, now I am here, cur! What do you desire?”
His skin was white yet ruddy, but it showed no blemish. He was tall and muscular, and his hair and beard reddish brown of color. In appearance he
seemed about thirty five. His clothing were of rough leather, as befits a warrior. A well worn tunic covered his broad chest.
Janis struggled underneath Dragul’s powerful, one handed grasp. As he struggled he
too, trembled with fear.
The Dragul could see his stark fear… and he could smell it…. he felt it intoxicating.
The Dragul knew he would taste the blood of this mortal…Yet… he may let him live…
After all, he was an educated man, this victim. If he allowed him to live, the Dragul spirt, through the blood sharing would make this physically
feeble mortal strong… Stronger than he could ever have imagined being in his deepest dreams. That strength, aided by his already great intellect
would serve him…and the Dragul well, through out the coming eons…