His name is John and his existence is a true mystery to almost everyone in this world. In 1929, with the advent of Steam Technology, great warships fly the skies alongside slow moving dirigibles and air trains hauling freight in long lines of box cars. The Protectorate, a single national force composed of the Army, Navy, and Police guards our borders and skies. Magi walk among the populace, wielders of great energy gifted to them by their Weavers, and Sky Pirates fight among the clouds on wooden man-of-war ships. Yet the man in the black hat is just a rumor, a myth people whisper with a shake...

The Paracletus, the fabled warriors who came to the aid of the Five Races of the Lands when called upon, were long departed from the world. They were a mix of the Races these grand protectors who came from the walls of the castle Pallator, a fusion of Primate and Dae, of Ursi and Burrower, and the Equines from the plains of the West and even Humans. All Five Races of Anthros, an infusion themselves of animal and human kind, had come to see their Paracletus as saviors till the night it all came to a nightmarish end behind those high walls of Pallator. Now the protectors were just tales told to...

He once ruled all he surveyed, all that fell under his gaze. He sat at the head of all tables. He was called King, The Great, and a God, but that was before he turned his back to everything he had won and conquered. Now Alexander is a vampire, a Nosferatu, and all he wishes is to sleep and leave this new world of the 21st Century he was so rudely woken too behind. Only an old debt to a mysterious woman and a chance meeting with a little girl changes his wish to be left alone and before he can do otherwise Alexander must fight all the evils that fate has deemed to be set on Wilma Jackson. Now...