Land of Romance! Land of Passion! Land of...

...well, in 1792, it was a land of a lot of ticked-off peasantfolk, actually. And when the peasantfolk get ticked off, two things happen: it gets a lot harder to find somebody to launder your stockings for cheap, and people's heads start popping up in weird places.

But hey, if you're peasant-folk, rock on. Who doesn't wanna slam back some ale before brutally crushing l'ancien régime? So times are busy for publican and bar-wench alike, especially at the Red Ferret Inn.

Things are a little stickier if you're a member of the Hordes of Darkness, though. It's hard enough going about your (un)life under normal circumstances, but now even the sturdiest of covers are getting blown by frenzied revolutionaries out to get anybody who wears lots of black and has nice taste.

So what are you going to do? Drain off a few pints and go into hibernation? Start wearing big hats? Call Satan collect and cry into the phone?