My name was Daniel.

Son of a former slave-turned-inventor.

An artist by trade. Skilled with a wet paint brush.

Past the very stroke of midnight

It commences—their moment of mirth

Transylvanian legend named Saint George's Night

When undead things crawl on this earth.

Far cry from the modern,

Grand, cosmopolitan

City of London,

The forested land of Blackmoor

Is always densely foggy at night