It began with Ruthven, the first Count of the Black Dragon Court.
At the time, the Court was led by the former Holy Emperor, King Sigismund and his Bride, Barbara.
They recruited others like themselves.
Vampires whose thirst was endless.
For a hundred years they struggled to survive in Hungary.
Hunted by all.
The King and Queen of the Court were lost, perhaps captured and killed by Matthias Corvinus who was known to be erratic in his mood. Corvinus was the first werewolf and founder of the Full Moon Clan.
For a time, the Court seemed lost and about to splinter. But Ruthven stepped into the void left behind and claimed the role of Prince.
He did not want to accept the role of King, as there was no proof that King Sigismund and his Bride were truly dead. Out of respect, there has never been a true King of the Black Dragon Court since.
Another man may not have had the strength to hold the Court together, but Ruthven had been a soldier. His skill in battle and the bloodlust it had left in his mouth were two things which served him well as he held the other counts together.
Still. It was not easy.
Eventually, a winter occurred. A winter like the world had never seen.
Starvation came.
For humans.
For vampires, it was a feast. Mortals huddled in frightened herds, too weak to fight. In this time, Ruthven built the court.
One day, Ruthven pounced on a passing troop of foreign cavaliers. It should have been a simple victory, but Ruthven found himself pressed by a mortal whose skill in battle was similar to his own.
In the end, it wasn't skill which defeated Sir Francis Varney, but sheer vampiric strength. Ruthven had to admit that if Varney had been Turned, the battle would not have been so simple.
Impressed, he offered Varney a choice.
Be Turned and serve the Black Dragon Court or die in the snow.
The choice was simple.
Sir Francis Varney was a loyal count to the Court, and his actions brought greater riches and fame. It was he who first proposed the development of a uniform method of combining blood energy manipulation with martial arts.
Before this, some vampires had small tricks of their own but no proper way of improving or passing them on.
Under Varney's hand, the Black Dragon Great Sword Art was created and refined.
It was not easy for him. He travelled across the world, as far as Asia and the Americas. Always searching for methods and tactics to improve the forms.
Eventually, he returned and announced his success to the Court.
Some considered it useless.
Others couldn't understand why the sword should be taken as the primary tool of the Court. Wouldn't a ranged weapon be more comfortable?
Already there were crossbows and small firearms had started to show up.
At this time, the Court was struggling to keep its border against the Ottoman Empire. This was not unusual. The two sides would never see eye to eye.
But the Court was losing the war.
It didn't have the power to continue fighting.
Sir Francis Varney made a promise.
He would end the war.
In one night.
The other counts scoffed at him. Even more so when he told them he would need no other soldiers.
It would be himself and his sword.
Against tens of thousands of Turks.
The counts thought this most amusing and resolved to watch the death of Sir Varney. They gathered a nearby mountain and prepared for themselves a great feast surrounded by willing Dolls who had prepared themselves eagerly.
It's said that the counts were prepared to drink all night while jeering the count's pointless death.
Only Ruthven stood apart.
The Prince, who had made no move to defend his old friend, simply accepted Sir Varney's promise to deliver them from the Turkish scourge.
The counts hooted and howled as Sir Varney appeared, flying above the Ottoman forces. They expected him to fly back with his tail between his legs.
What they didn't expect was for him to drop from the sky like a meteor and land with a blast of blood energy that wiped out a third of the Turks in an instant.
The explosion was deafening and the shocked counts forgot their sneers.
That was the end of it, they thought. Varney must have killed himself.
But a shadow rose from the crater.
And then…
It started killing.
It was there that the Court witnessed for the first time the frightening power of an unleashed count whose martial prowess left everyone speechless. He danced across the field, moving with a grace that left Brides cursing with jealousy.
The dangerous red flames of his blood energy were bright and fearsome.
The dark shadow energy sucked light from the world.
The two energies combined in ways the Court couldn't comprehend.
They saw in the afterimages of his attacks the forms of dragons. Slashing claws. Rending fangs. And then, at the end, as Sir Varney faced the last of the Ottoman elite, a truly awesome sight of a fully-formed black dragon spewed fire so hot it blasted everything in its path to dust.
Then, when it was done, Sir Francis Varney returned to his Prince.
To the man who had Turned him.
He knelt in the snow and offered his sword.
Which the Prince took.
And this is how the Art was passed to the Court.
Since this time, the Black Dragon Great Sword Art inspired fear in the world. Some tried to copy it. Never did they have the same success.
Because it was not an art made for anyone.
Only a vampire could use it to begin with.
The other vampire Courts eyed this new art with jealousy. They tried many times to steal it and failed. Because, while some things were written down, there were others which remained in the hearts of those who knew it.
These could only be passed along in whispers to those who were dedicated to the Court and skilled enough to learn.
Since Sir Francis Varney's time, the art was further refined.
Its awesome might was made more terrifying with each new improvement.
There were even rumours than some had mastered a way to cut through the world itself with one slash of their sword. Many now claim this sort of stuff to be legend. A myth created by the Court itself to frighten small courts into submission.
They wonder if such skills were truly possible, then why did the Church manage to harass the Court so thoroughly that both sides eventually decimated themselves in one final battle.
But there were stories which persisted to modern time.
Stories of the battle from a few lucky survivors.
Stories of horrifying powers unleashed in moments. Of explosive waves of energy from both sides. And the rising of a black dragon which stalked the battlefield like a living embodiment of death.
Vlad spoke of these stories.
Telling the fledglings of the impossible things the Great Sword Art could achieve if one could clearly focus on it. He spoke of the struggle to improve one's core so the dreadful strength needed to commit to the next steps could be gathered.
He told them many secrets that had normally been lightly given.
He wondered if he was doing the right thing.
Was the ghost of Sir Francis Varney rolling his eyes at him?
Was Ferenc also horrified by the words spilling from Vlad's mouth to mere fledglings?
Or did they understand that the court was useless?
That these fledglings would be the future.
Vlad had beaten them. Chastised them. Called them everything he could to break their spirits.
Yet, they remained.
Their loyalty to the Court had never been questioned.
What right did he have to keep secrets from this bunch?
As their eyes widened, he knew they would work harder now. Not out of fear.
But out of desire.
Desire to improve.
Or, as Galosh rasped; "I want that. I want THAT! I want to cut the world…"
Then spat blood as Vlad backhanded him. "You are missing the point! Useless bastard!"
To Galosh's horror, Vlad then snatched up his stick and really went to work.