The Sabbat are coming.
You've seen the signs. Shapes watching you down dark streets. Hang-up calls at strange hours (who is awake at two in the afternoon?). Last night someone left poor Wendell, the Nosferatu, lying in front of the dance club where you hunt, with a stake in his heart and his fangs yanked out and a note nailed to his forehead. It said: "get out of town."
So it's flee or fight.... [click here for more]