With his curse, the exhumed Lord made us of his breed and destined us to dwell the streets at night.
And within the future
decade our race will be supreme.
With this Royal blood, given by the King,
flowing though our veins, we increase our numbers to
restart the bloodstorm.
"Hear me, breed of the Nosferatu Lord, gather and organise.
And then I give the sign, the start of war
will be in the in the past"
On the hill in the black and dying forest the thousands of our race will come together and feast for
the newborn age, the age of extermination.
On the bed of stones the King looked upon his crowd and smiled a grim deep face of
pleasure.
"Tomorrownight, when the clocks strike twelve in the mighty Carpathian mountains,
we rise from our tombs and start off
the assault.
Prepare to conquer!"
And a mighty battle will take over.
Forcing down the justified law to be replaced by the
laws of elder times.
A rage of blood and flesh to feast upon by warriors of death.
And they will blessed by nature, which will
fight along its sides.