Secret Society - Episode 010: The Five Houses

 

Secret Society – Episode 010: The Five Houses

In the shadowed halls of the Veilstone Bell Tower, Holmes and his companions uncover the legacy of five vampiric Houses—each ruled by a Count Vlad, each vying for dominion in the dark. Secrets unfurl as the mysterious Jonathan Harker reveals ties to the Watchers and warns of the dreaded Crimson Hand. But when debts are paid and alliances shift, the hunt for Count Vlad becomes a game no one can afford to lose.

Scene 1: The Bell Tower Meeting

A bitter wind curled around the twisted iron gates of the Veilstone Bell Tower, the five companions standing before it—Holmes, Watson, Agent Buckle, Gregory, and Sorina, silhouetted against a starless sky. The structure loomed like a sentinel of old secrets, jagged stone spires rising to meet clouds that refused to drift.

Holmes stepped forward, raising a hand to knock. But before his fingers could touch the weathered wood, the door creaked open with unnerving grace.

Standing in its frame was a figure older than the hills and quieter than the grave—Bătrân Simion, the bell keeper.

His skin was like aged bark, cracked but sturdy, one milky eye glowing faintly beneath the moonlight. His robes rustled like whispers, bone-thread stitched in geometric spirals that danced with old magic.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (voice like wind through catacombs):
"We have been expecting you, weary travelers. Please… come inside."

Watson threw Holmes a sidelong glance.

WATSON (uneasy):
"We?"

Holmes answered only with a slight tilt of his head and stepped through.

The Sitting Room of Shadows

Inside, the bell tower was more cathedral than sanctuary. Cracked murals lined the walls—scenes of eclipses, blood rituals, and celestial geometry. Flickering sconces lit the circular chamber ahead, where seven ancient chairs waited beneath a chandelier of bone and tarnished brass.

Simion gestured toward them.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (calm, courteous):
"Please, rest. The night favors those who prepare."

Each companion took a seat with varying levels of suspicion. Simion moved slowly to an empty seventh chair, pausing at a small decanter station beneath a faded painting of five indistinct crests—likely the Five Houses of legend.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (softly):
"Would you care for something to drink? Perhaps something... clarifying?"

His return was quiet—almost unnoticed—until a second figure appeared, seemingly conjured from shadow.

The Arrival of Jonathan Harker

He was impeccably dressed—a black tailored suit, high-collared coat dusted with frost, and a blood-red silk tie that seemed to pulse faintly under the lamplight. Jonathan Harker emerged with slow poise, eyes scanning the group with something between torment and tact. His presence was surgical—measured, deliberate.

One gloved hand rested on a silver ring etched with an ancient Latin sigil. His face was pale and slightly gaunt, with streaks of silver in his slicked-back hair and a stare that spoke of decades spent watching ghosts.

He nodded once.

JONATHAN HARKER (voice calm, distant):
"I understand you are in search of Count Vladislav Dragomir."

The name dropped like a stone in a still lake—ripples of tension spread through the room.

Sorina subtly shifted. Buckle leaned in. Watson folded his arms. Holmes remained unreadable.

Harker’s Persona Unfolded

Though Harker wore the skin of a diplomat, his soul was torn—still bound to Mina, still shackled by Van Helsing’s decisions. Beneath the sharp phrases and civil demeanor lived a man consumed by a dangerous kind of love.

He smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes.

Holmes could already sense the precision behind his presence—the tactician of masks, the haunted stoic who stared in mirrors not to admire himself, but to question whether anything human remained.

Watson whispered under his breath:

WATSON (to Holmes):
"This man… he’s stitched together by secrets."

Holmes nodded silently, eyes locked on the silver ring.

HOLMES (low, calculating):
"And the truth lies buried beneath every rule he’s learned to exploit."

Scene 2: The Legacy Revealed

The air within the Veilstone Bell Tower seemed to settle into reverent silence as Jonathan Harker sat tall, the firelight tracing shadows across his haunted expression. Bătrân Simion, stoic and silent, remained by the window like a gargoyle of time itself.

HARKER (measured, commanding):
"There are five Houses born of ancient blood. Each bearing its own philosophy… each led by a Vlad. And each clawing toward dominion in its own way."

He turned to Holmes with a faint nod, as if inviting scrutiny—knowing it would come.

House Văduva – “The Hollow Heart”

Count Vlad Văduva was once a man of healing—a physician of repute, until grief hollowed him. Now, he is a master of necromancy, his domain the Withering Vale, a place where breath falters and silence is sacred.

• Appearance: Pale, spectral, always barefoot; wears robes that look stitched from parchment and bone.

• Philosophy: Death is pure. Emotion is distraction.

• Specialty: Psychological warfare, poisons, disinformation.

HOLMES (leaning in):
"A man of medicine turned merchant of decay. What drives such an inversion?"

HARKER (quietly):
"Loss… and the conviction that death never lies."

House Țepeș-Corvinus – “The Iron Fang”

The traditionalists’ war god, Vlad Țepeș-Corvinus dresses in blood-soaked armor and commands like a messiah of blades. His followers chant legacy and loyalty like gospel.

• Domain: The Bloodbound Marches

• Doctrine: Strength above all, history as proof

• Specialty: Brutal tactics, martial supremacy

HOLMES (curious):
"And his claim to the name?"

BĂTRÂN SIMION (softly):
"A reincarnation proclaimed… but belief is a dangerous vessel."

House Daculescu – “The Whispering Flame”

Elegant, cunning, invisible in plain sight—Vlad Daculescu wields charm as blade, using spies and illusions to draw bloodless victories.

• Domain: The Silken Labyrinth

• Specialty: Political seduction, misinformation, magical disguise

• Personality: A diplomat who never stops smiling

HOLMES (arching a brow):
"A web woven in velvet. Tell me, Harker—does he lie, or simply omit?"

HARKER (shrugging):
"With his truths… omission becomes theater."

House Morenov – “The Eternal Gloom”

The most quiet, the most chilling—Vlad Morenov speaks rarely, but each word carries centuries. Obsessed with entropy, prophecy, and fate.

• Domain: The Umbral Sanctum

• Specialty: Rituals, temporal sorcery, psychological decay

HOLMES (calmly):
"Is he mad or merely patient?"

BĂTRÂN SIMION (gazing through the candle flame):
"In this realm, those are not opposites."

House Dragomir – “The Revenant Strategist”

Vladislav Dragomir, the man of the moment—he neither vies for crowns nor courts glory. He watches, he studies, and he strikes when empires blink.

• Domain: Castle Noapte, hidden in fog

• Specialty: Tactical supremacy, psychological manipulation

• Motto: From the Shadows, Dominion

HOLMES (thoughtfully):
"He seeks not the throne but the game itself."

HARKER (nods):
"He does not play chess. He designs new boards."

The House of Dracula – “The Blood Remembers”

At last, the torch passed to the name that trembles history. The House of Dracula, the source… the myth… and perhaps, the truth.

• Domain: Castle Drăculea, wrapped in perpetual night

• Specialty: Blood rites, resurrection, dominion by fear

• Rumor: The Crimson Hand, secret cult sworn to revive the original Count

WATSON (uneasy):
"So… Dracula sleeps?"

BĂTRÂN SIMION (somber):
"Not sleeps. Waits."

HOLMES (leaning forward):
"And one of these five may be his second coming?"

HARKER (quietly):
"Or all five… fragments of what he once was."

Holmes absorbed the names, the doctrines, and the legends—not for belief, but for pattern recognition. And in every whisper of blood, he saw pieces of the puzzle begin to align.

Scene 3: Secrets in the Shadows

The fire crackled quietly in the gothic chamber, flickering off the etched stone walls of the Bell Tower's parlor. Shadows danced along velvet tapestries and faded portraits of long-forgotten nobility. Holmes sat forward, his fingertips steepled, his gaze sharpened.

HOLMES (deliberate, intense):
“Tell me more of Dragomir. Vladislav Dragomir. He’s not just a player in this blood-soaked chessboard, is he?”

Batran Simion stirred from his quiet stillness, his blind eye glinting faintly in the firelight.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (low, prophetic):
“He does not seek to be king. He seeks to rewrite what kings even mean. He is a strategist who trades in centuries, not battles. And unlike the others… he tells you what you wish to hear only after you’ve already acted upon it.”

HARKER (measured, reflective):
“Of all the five, Dragomir is the one whose maps are still unfolding. A man of wealth, of reach, of loyal zealots—but he holds his truths like a dagger behind his back. His allies become pawns, his enemies… pieces in his design.”

Holmes nodded slowly, more intrigued than disturbed.

HOLMES (softly):
“Then he is worth watching.”

At that moment, Buckle leaned forward, eyes flicking between the two elder men.

BUCKLE (earnest, serious):
“What about the Crimson Hand? I’ve come across whispers. A symbol… an old card. Who are they?”

Batran’s head inclined ever so slightly.

The Crimson Hand and Lord Velkan Thorne

BĂTRÂN SIMION (somber):
“They are the stewards of legacy. Not one of the Five Houses. Older. Quieter. Bound by the first contract ever signed in blood.”

He reached for a cracked crystal decanter and poured a blood-dark wine into a silver goblet as if offering tribute.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (continuing):
“And at their helm—Velkan Thorne, the Crimson Chancellor. Not a warrior. Not a mage. A legalist. A craftsman of laws so binding even death yielded.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow at the name. Harker leaned in with reverent caution.

HARKER (grim tone):
“Velkan Thorne was once mortal. A noble, master of oaths and betrayal. It was he who penned the document that made the Crimson Hand eternal—Dracula’s executor, not his servant.”

He produced a small folded note from his inner coat pocket and opened it carefully, revealing a depiction: a man immaculate in design—modern in his dress, ancient in his gaze. A predator in silk and tailored suits.

HARKER (softly):
“He’s a man of elegant destruction. Velvet gloves over iron blades. Where others squabble, Velkan waits. His words are contracts. His glances—clauses.”

SIMION (deadpan):
“His motto is ‘All blood is debt. And I am the collector.’”

The Cult of Resurrection

Buckle’s jaw tightened.

BUCKLE (quietly):
“And the card I found? Black... fangs etched in silver?”

Harker frowned and pulled back slightly.

HARKER (coldly):
“That… is the Cult of Resurrection. Rabid children playing in graves. They believe they can bring Dracula back through blood rituals and blasphemous rites.”

Batran scoffed lightly, a rare sign of disdain.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (disgusted):
“The Cult are fools. Reckless necromancers with no chain to the Count. The Houses and the Hand alike despise them. They understand nothing of restraint. Of timing.”

Holmes folded his hands once more.

HOLMES (calculating):
“And yet their symbols are surfacing. In cabins. In quiet villages. Something stirs.”

HARKER (distant):
“The storm gathers. Whether it’s rain or fire, we shall soon find out.”

Watson cleared his throat nervously, adjusting in his seat.

WATSON (murmuring):
“Feels like we’re standing on bones beneath a silk carpet…”

Sorina, arms crossed, glanced at Buckle with silent warning. Gregory, quiet until now, spoke for the first time since entering.

GREGORY (soft but firm):
“If the Crimson Hand is active… then our trail runs deeper than blood.”

Scene 4: The Watchers and the Warning

The hearth’s glow had dimmed to embers, casting long, whispering shadows across the stone floor of the Bell Tower’s parlor. The five companions sat in quiet contemplation, having absorbed the sinister intricacies of Dracula’s legacy. Holmes tapped the side of his chair thoughtfully, while Watson stared into the fire, his fingers clasped.

Agent Buckle leaned forward, his voice steady but laden with a question that had lingered too long in silence.

BUCKLE (calmly):
“I've heard of the Watchers. Silent guardians... scholars of the dark. Are you one of them, Jonathan?”

Harker turned slowly, meeting Buckle’s gaze with eyes that had long since weathered trust and betrayal. He smiled—thin, diplomatic, a shade more personal than his usual restraint.

HARKER (quietly):
“Yes. I am part of the Order. But you’ll find no insignia on me and no rank I’ll share. The Order’s true work is not in title—but in vigilance.”

SORINA (stepping beside Buckle):
“Then what exactly do the Watchers watch?”

Jonathan folded his hands, resting them over the silver ring pulsing faintly on his gloved finger.

HARKER (measured):
“We watch the Vale of Shadows. Not to enter. Not to interfere. But to ensure... that what lies beneath does not rise. The magic woven into the Vale forbids us passage. It will not allow a Watcher to cross.”

Watson raised an eyebrow.

WATSON (wryly):
“Rather ironic—to guard a door you can’t open.”

HARKER (coolly):
“I don’t guard it alone.”

The Missing Watcher

Buckle’s tone sharpened, urgency filtering in.

BUCKLE (quickly):
“There’s a man I’ve been searching for—a Watcher, older, quiet. I found his journal in a cabin west of here. Sorina and I have followed his trail for weeks.”

Harker’s smile deepened, eyes glinting with knowing.

HARKER (gently):
“Yes, I know who you seek. He was a colleague, of sorts.”

Everyone leaned in, the air thickening.

HARKER (with subtle finality):
“He is no longer in Transylvania. He resides now in Austria. Hainburg an der Donau. A quiet town—at least on the surface.”

Buckle exhaled slowly, relief and confusion mingling in his posture. Holmes narrowed his eyes.

HOLMES (probing):
“You’re surprisingly open with this information. And I know enough about you, Mr. Harker, to find that... unusual.”

Jonathan turned his head toward Gregory, whose gaze met his with quiet steel.

HARKER (softly, with weight):
“I settle an old debt.”

Holmes caught the silent nod between the two—a subtle gesture, almost invisible, but it spoke volumes. The Grand Manipulator’s fingerprints were here, lingering in the margins.

HOLMES (murmuring to himself):
“Ardan Vantrell... pulling threads again.”

HARKER (gazing into the fire):
“You were heading into danger, blindly. Knowledge is the only gift that doesn’t spill blood—unless you ignore it.”

Farewell from the Watcher

Jonathan stood, his coat swirling softly with his movement, like a curtain closing on a long-forgotten play. He reached for a thin leather satchel at the door.

HARKER (formal, subdued):
“I must return to England. My path winds differently from yours now—and the journey ahead is long.”

He turned one last time, gaze touching each of the five.

HARKER (quietly):
“Trust each other. But never trust the shadows.”

Without another word, he vanished into the corridor, leaving behind a chill that was not from the mountain air.

Scene 5: The Debt Paid

The flickering lanterns outside the Veilstone Bell Tower painted ghostly silhouettes across the stone walkway as the five prepared to depart. The air had shifted—heavier now, steeped in ancient truths and unspoken warnings. Holmes fastened his coat with precision, his mind racing through maps, symbols, and calculated intentions.

As Buckle double-checked his gear and Sorina adjusted the blade at her hip, Batran Simion emerged quietly from the tower’s shadow and placed a skeletal hand on Holmes’ shoulder.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (low and weathered):
“Detective Holmes… before you go. I too have a debt I must settle.”

Holmes turned, studying the ancient man’s expression. His eyes, particularly the milky one, shimmered not with madness but with deliberate focus.

HOLMES (measured):
“Ardan Vantrell?”

Batran shook his head slowly.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (with solemn gravity):
“No. The Prince.”

Holmes paused—then realization flickered behind his eyes.

HOLMES (murmuring):
“Ah. Lucien…”

Batran reached inside his robe and pulled forth a manila envelope, creased at the corners and marked with an unassuming wax seal. It pulsed faintly in Holmes’ hand, cold to the touch.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (gravely):
“Within this envelope lies a way to sting Count Vlad. To wound him—not with blade, but with revelation.”

Holmes studied its weight—figuratively and literally.

BĂTRÂN SIMION (warning):
“But tread carefully, detective. Vladislav Dragomir is not a man… he is a system. His vengeance is precise, unyielding, and patient. When he retaliates… he makes the future bleed.”

Holmes gave a faint nod, then tucked the envelope deep inside the folds of his coat.

HOLMES (quietly):
“Thank you, Bell Keeper.”

They rejoined the others. Watson stood off to the side, watching Holmes’ expression change ever so slightly. His years of observation caught the silent tension in his friend’s gait.

WATSON (soft sigh, whispered):
“The game is still afoot, then.”

Holmes didn’t respond—but the faint tug of a smirk curled beneath his calculating exterior.