The Roaring Twenties were at hand, an era that engulfed entire nations in its wake. While the populace drowned in ecstasy, darker elements infiltrated the land; those who sought wealth and power at every turn.
They had escaped the Great War, pathetically coined the War to End All Wars to find refuge on a continent untouched by the horrors of trench warfare. After all, how sick and depraved could the undead be? What about fallen gods and goddesses? Or for that matter immortals hell-bent on forging a society in the fires of chaos?
No-man's-land the locals dubbed it, eerily familiar to the site of battlefields, scorched lands and ruined cities in Europe. Perhaps it was the high fences or the shadowy outlines of gargoyles that followed one's every move. Or was it how the Grand hung on the side of a cliff, casting its shadow into the souls of the locals? Perhaps there was substance to the rumours that these lands were cursed, seeing how the natives refused to set foot in the valley. Whatever the reason, people from the area knew to steer clear, especially at night.
Despite dire warnings, the Grand had plenty to offer. Rooms and suites that showcased the decadence of an era and dining accommodations that catered to anyone's palette or blood type. Clip-joints, petting parties and live bands entertained guests day and night. After all, even things that go bump in the night need a place to unwind.