Once upon a time, outside a little Hamlet called Paslavania, lived the prestigious and wealthy Count Tkachula. High on the mountain side, surrounded by moats, was the dark dilapidated Castle that the Count and his Disciple dwelled in. Presently the Count and his Disciple served themselves, and not any man, for their labor was not of sweat, nor tears, but of blood! The life sustaining plasma that was pumped so vigorously through the arteries of the villagers, became the life sustaining trough that the Count and his Hirelings fed from!!
Now many in the village feared these insufferable men. Some blamed the melancholy Castle and the cheerless inhabitants for all that troubled the tiny Hamlet! There was an iciness, a diminishing, a nauseousness of the heart- an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no bedevil of the imagination could contemplate.
The truth of the House of Tkachula must be known, for the villagers that dwelt here suffered hideously, like the after-dream of the reveler upon opium. The Hamlet's general practitioner admitted, although hesitantly, that many of the afflictions suffered, could be traced to an languid condition of the blood, a type of depravation only seen in the species that cultivated religion within their lives. This depravation was due to the heinous breadth of the disease, a blight spread by a prick to the jugular in which the blood was draw upon, but not to the point of demise, for the victim could be, once again, fed upon another day!!! There would be no meal for the Conqueror Worm, at least not yet!! Over the years the tiny Hamlet suffered in despair, never reaching out for the solution, but avoiding a discourse with the cognizance of consciousness!!
Meanwhile, high on the mountainside, the clouds hung oppressively low, surrounding the dreary House of Tkachula. As the shades of the evening drew on, a stirring of motion began. Aroused from a most profound slumber, the dead awoke from their catacombs, once again to feed from the trough of humanity.
Unknown to the "Consumers of Humanity," some of the villagers began to awaken from the hibernation of their former dependency. They considered the Count and his Hirelings for what they were at one time in their lives, only to realize that the blood of the villagers had caused them to grow in debauchery. They knew there could be but one resolution to this atrocity of colossal amplitude! Impale a wooden stake deep within their chests!!
However, the village Attorney said that blood sucking was a legal con game and that he could do nothing to stop them. Further more, it is contrary to the law of the land to impale your fellow man!!! "Fellow man??" they replied. "Who, these blood suckering, fiendish, demonic, crazed, callous blooded, imps?" The Attorney replied "Yes, they are your fellow man."
So the wise villagers packed their belongings and left the little Hamlet of Paslavania, taking their blood with them. Those that stayed behind spent the best years of their lives giving the gift that won't stop giving!!
As for the fate of Count Tkachula and his Hirelings..... well that is something you will have to decide. To feed or not to feed! That is the question!!
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