But beyond such whimsies, he has killed, crippled and driven men insane, plotted and destroyed nations in a calculating fashion and in the heat of terrible rages. Drachenfels 'repented' only so that he could strike down his unwary, trusting enemies. When he allegedly 'repented his sins' before the court of Emperor Carolus, a less trusting man than the Emperor would have seen through his new-found goodness, or at least have had the sense to listen to those who did have such doubts. For example, his plots have a certain directness about them.

His actions have never been kind, just or noble, although they have a quality that some might consider purity. Д«y any human standards, Drachenfels is evil given physical form. He is a dark figure who stalks the dark corners of history, emerging into the light and committing some gratuitous, bohemian atrocity, almost as a reminder to Men that he exists and should be feared. Certainly, for as long as anyone can remember - and for as long as histories have been written and folk tales told - there has been Constant Drachenfels in his Castle. The Enchanter is a creature of living legend.

No one has seen his face and lived long enough - or remained sane long enough - to tell of it. His face is hidden behind a mask, his hands covered by soft gloves and his body draped with fine robes. Castle Drachenfels? Castle DrachenfelsД¬onstant Drachenfels, the Great Enchanter, is well over six feet tall and a physically imposing man - if, of course, he actually is a man. While the conscious mind looks in vain for the source of the unease, neck-hairs rise in response to it, and the stomach churns and flutters. A noiseless sound, an odourless smell, an unseen sight, and indefinable Something. Sensed somewhere below the thinking mind, somehow older and wiser than consciousness, there is. Д«eyond the winds, beyond the cawing of the unclean birds along the crags, beyond the scrabbling of a rock lizard or other hopeful, hungry brute, beyond any sound a mortal's hearing might detect, there is something else. Its seven towers claw toward the grey skies like the fingers of a mutated hand, and the bitter mountain winds howl around them like souls damned to torment by the foul sorceries of the Great Enchanter.

Д«ut Castle Drachenfels still stands, shunned even by the most desperate and corrupt inhabitants of the Grey Mountains. The nightmare of his existence has come to an end. Man, beast or daemon, Drachenfels lies mouldering in a filthy sepulchre. A life of unknown thousands of years, if legends are true, is over. The very embodiment of horror and evil, he was slain by a Vampire and a humble mortal man (possessed by a force anything but mortal) in a way still sung by minstrels and extolled by poets and playwrights. Drachenfels, the Great Enchanter, is dead.

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