Dellynthelaara's heels clicked through the polished marble surface, navigating the lavish display of wealth. Gem-studded walls, golden gilded alcoves, and fineries of luxurious silk and gossamer-touched satin lining the interior of the walls. All inspirations from elven, human, dwarven, gnomish and halfling cultures embellished the elegancy of the surroundings. Every fibre of her, Dellynthelaara soaked up the beauty of the Sanguine Bastion around. She could lose herself in the splendour of splendour.
The subtle brilliance of magic, a cunning interplay of blood, nocturnal, abyssal and planar magic woven, revelled in the main hallway. Shimmering lights danced upon the slender back of the steward, a sanguine blood lord in his own right, as he led her with austerity. The lights followed Dellynthelaara, guiding her path, following her across walls, glistening from tapestry to tapestry, sparkling from crystal chandeliers to crystal chandeliers, bathing everything in its otherworldly cognate.
A punctuated display of command and power is what it was. Neither The Sanguinaris nor his esteemed brood of Sanguine Lords nor Dellynthelaara need the crutch of light to pierce the darkness.
"The banquet hall is prepared to receive you," said the ageless Steward over the intricate rhythm of steps in a tantalising interlude of whispers. His statement served a projected courtesy, just like his steps. For within the Sanguine Bastion, where every stone is saturated with blood magic, he could hover and float through. Yet, he continued on, guiding the young queen in an unspeakable grace.
"Is such lavishness the standard norm of Sanguine Bastion?" asked Dellynthelaara. The barely audible whisper bounced off the polished reflecting floor and the dark carnelian chandeliers.
There was a pause. A heartbeat where there should be none. Then the High-Steward replied. "No." The echoes of his words vibrated throughout the Bastion like a phantom step.
"Then?" Dellynthelaara dared to ask.
"A grand welcome. An ostentatious moment to celebrate." Two more unerring steps and the High-Steward turned a corner, into a long passageway guarded by gargoyles statues. "You heeded the call of Sanguine Bastion. An appreciation for a long arduous journey undertaken."
Another pause. As if being prepared for the next question. And then the High-Steward responded. "They are in your honour if I should state it directly."
Dellynthelaara's heels echoed softly behind the High-Steward. Silence. It belonged to Sanguine Bastion, as did the myriad of secrets. As did the crypts beneath and the watchers in the form of gargoyles above.
"Why are there guardian gargoyles lined up inside the premise, along the way to the banquet hall?" enquired Dellynthelaara eventually over the small clamour arising from the corner, increasing gradually with every step they neared.
"They belong here," replied the High-Steward without hesitation.
Dellynthelaara let her eyes catch their stretched jaws and their darkened faces. Faces made of stone yet with real rage dwelling. Beady and feral red eyes, too lively to be on a statue, fixated on Dellynthelaara. The silent gargoyles stared straight at her, teeth bared, poised for the final strike, ready to sink their claws into her throat.
The High-Steward kept pace, never breaking stride. Nor quickening. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to lead Dellynthelaara to the door to the banquet hall.
The incessant clicks of Dellynthelaara's heels grew louder with each step.
Finally, the extravagant and wantonly inscribed door swung open revealing an ornate room. Formal soiree dresses of various colours and patterns moved around with ease and practised elegance. Swirling around richly laid out tables and lushly decorated tables. The dresses outlined the alluring curvature of feminine bodies and well-toned physiques. Fabrics and dyes, worth a lifetime, flowed elegantly to perfectly outline, legs, hips, backs, chests, and slender pale arms. Magnificient strands of jeweller, emeralds, rubies, sapphires and diamonds embedded into elaborate layers of brocade, satin and silk, emphasising every nuance of wealth, power and sexual allure danced before Dellynthelaara.
The laughter of the revellers died, with the tap of the High-Steward's feet.
Silence fell. Every eye in the hall followed Dellynthelaara with hypnotizing radiance. They watched her, lingering and studying with uncanny intensity. Smiles, with their fangs consciously covered, followed in appreciation of her delicate features accentuated by thick lustrous black hair.
Dellynthelaara appraised them and admired them in turn. She knew she stood out. Unique, like roaming through a sea of radiant decadence, an eye-catching exotic butterfly fluttering among some of the finest exotic blooms in the gardens of forbidden.
Eyes shadowed by thick eyelashes and hauntingly beautiful facial expressions flashed in and out of their overwhelming kaleidoscope of Sanguine Lords assembled. Then, the glasses were raised with approving nods and leisurely drunk. Dellynthelaara hoped it was wine.
She smiled at them and acknowledged their regard with the politeness and graciousness of a ruler in her own right, even if she weren't in her domain. Her hand did not waver, nor did her legs stagger. She presented herself, quite imperceptibly, with warmth and ease. A friendly nod, here and a warm smile there. Just what was expected in a diplomatic event.
Dellynthelaara took a few steps forward. A host of Sanguine Lords parted to pave the way for her, to move ahead undisturbed. Some nodded politely before her regal presence. Some lowered their glasses slightly, like a noble would to a queen.
Yet, Dellynthelaara waited her turn. Even, as an uncrowned monarch, it is ettiquette for the host to start. She tilted her head, eyes raised to the elevated platform on which sat Sanguinaris, the lord and the immortal king of all vampires.
"Grand Matron Dellynthelaara," announced Sanguinaris, long wispy fingers languidly flicking in absolute command, "Your presence brings great honour and joy."
"It if my greatest pleasure to be granted this audience," said Dellynthelaara as formally as possible, pausing only for a fleeting moment to allow her gaze to travel over the power figure.
Sanguinaris shifted in his dark throne, slow and deliberate. Extending his silver-taloned hands, he made a sign of dismissal to the High-Steward.
With one fluid movement, the High-Steward disappeared in an intangible fog.
"Indeed," acknowledged Sanguinaris, a whisper as light as a breath of air through bare lips. Calm and collected, yet, intimidating beyond words, for any. The tone was as sharp as the icicles resting on a frozen blade. Only death itself was scarier than Sanguinaris.
But Dellynthelaara positioned herself, standing as tall and proud as a ruler of stature would, unrelenting and unwavering, the current Matriarch of House Aealaninth, and the highest power in the dark-elf society.
"First, I thank you for the grand feast," said Dellynthelaara.
Sanguinaris's red eyes gazed on Dellynthelaara for what seemed like an eternity. He allowed the quiet ambience of his surroundings to seep into her consciousness. His presence summoned the darkness of Sanguine Bastion to unfurl his authority, testing Dellynthelaara. Taunting her to fall back. Instead, she showed the adamantine nerve to stand opposing him.
"A thousandfold delighted." A voice within whispered in admiration. The foremost of vampires considered speech, a crude necessity. "You have brought pride and joy."
"Yes. What else is expected of me?" Dellynthelaara replied simply. But, her reply came laden with complexity and purpose. Purpose hidden under layers of pure diplomacy. If she spoke honestly, her purpose would be interpreted as an affront.
A brilliant smile flickered across Sanguinaris's time-defying face. "Your presence sweetens our feast," Said the almost-immortal king with understated courtesy, as smooth as velvet in comparison to his unsettling temperament.
The vast hall filled with Sanguine Lords, prime among the vampires, buzzed and murmured in unrestrained excitement. Yet, Sanguinaris held a mesmerizing control over his realm. Over his brood. Over all the souls. When he raised a spindly arm, the silence that followed was nerve-wracking. His lips curled, elongating into a dark, and bejewelled row of twisted diamonds.
Dellynthelaara observed carefully. No outright antagonism. Just a prodding to infer her will. To test her resolve. She could work with Sanguinaris, if she is careful. He did not intimidate her... Yet.
His eyes, a differing shade of glimmering crimson and cold as ice blue, constantly pressured against her will. The gaunt appearance, high cheekbones, with an equally prominent nose gave him a beaked look. The thin lips of him, sharp as an assassin's blade, cleaving into Dellynthelaara. His ears were covered behind an extravagant sweeping mane of hair, white as the snow Lilly growing on charred grounds. So stark, so elegant and so disturbing. Sanguinaris would have intimidated everyone, but not her. She would not relent.
"I am honoured to partake of the pleasures offered by this noble feast." Dellynthelaara steadied her voice. "Though, I would refrain from indulging your main course."
Every eye and upturned mouth turned towards Dellynthelaara.
To amuse and delight those gathered, Sanguinaris rose from his throne, hovering gracefully toward her. A wisp of bone-chilling cold trailed behind him, like millions of minute and intangible tendrils of fog forming ethereal wings. In the artificial light, he appeared almost transparent. Almost frail. Like a corpse or an abomination on the surface of a grave.
"But dear young queen." Sanguinaris knew how to wield his words. "Refusal is not an option we offer." One hand came forward, rose above waist and curled inward like a claw in a come-hitherto movement.
Dellynthelaara resisted, standing firmly on her two feet, and digging into the polished floor. Cracks leached from twin points where her heels dug deep.
With the faintest snap of his fingers, the cold surrounding Sanguinaris coalesced to a hoarfrost. The glow in his eyes surged to a sheer arcane well. Everything dimmed. Time slowed.
Velvet ropes lifted to expose a grand staircase descending downwards. The High-Steward descended, flanked by six Sanguine Blood Lords. Six vampires, long nimble limbs moving with unnatural grace down the grand staircase.
"Your imposing hospitality is noted," said Dellynthelaara, still holding her grip on her composure and poise. "But the future queen of the Dark-elves decides where and when she dines, even at the courtesy of remarkable peer."
"Perhaps you do not realise the seriousness of this feast?" spoke the High-Steward.
"I am impressed," breathed Sanguinaris. "Very impressive indeed." He repeated, fascinated by the defiance in her. An icy gust swept through the chamber. Unbelievably frigid, chilling Dellynthelaara's bones.
Then, with words colder than the frost, he spoke. "You are not invited to the feast. You are the feast."
"Sanguinaris, if this is the Sanguine Bastion's idea of humour, then a well-executed jest it is," replied Dellynthelaara, "Now, could we proceed with the formalities." Her confidence was indomitable, even while perceiving the invisible menace wrapping around her.
"Dear little Dellynthelaara, you are the main course for this feast," Sanguinaris spoke, amusement hidden behind the frigid venom in his voice. The corner of his mouth stretched wide, pulled aside by the prospect of her fear, of the warm pumping of blood that it would incite in her, of the sweet scent of perspirations and of the grand melody of her heart thrumming.
Every face, fixated on Dellynthelaara, now opened their lips, sharp pointing fangs protruding like the fangs of a blood-starved viper smelling fresh blood accompanied by a feral hiss. Controlled and precise. Their breathing grew rapid, heavy, no longer acknowledging, but rather demanding. Every part of her exposed flesh became a silent invitation for them to sink their teeth.
"This has run too far," Dellynthelaara raged, anger lacing her tongue. "This is no mere mockery. I am a monarch and this is an affront."
The Sanguine Lords glanced at each other, curious and amused at the volatile display of emotion from her. No fear. No remorse. Only sheer glee, in the end, filled the hall. In unison, they looked up to Sanguinaris, all frames moving in a surreal synchronisation, beckoning him to feed, to grace them with tiny leftover morsels.
"A monarch?" Sanguinaris mirrored the predatory lust of Sanguine Bastion, eyes blazing in anticipation. "Where are you lands? Where stands your army? And where is your might?"
Dellynthelaara fought the temptation to flinch. As tall and majestic as a pinnacle, she stood firm, strong. As daunting as the widest mountain range, so vast and everlasting, she exuded grace and pride. Immaculate. Nothing short of perfection.
"If you think I need a kingdom to rule, and an army to support my claim, then Sanguinaris," Dellynthelaara said, lancing her threat in every syllable, "You are more a presumptuous fool that I gave credit for."
Sanguinaris's ravenous glare stayed on Dellynthelaara, more sinister than a starved sabertoothed tiger stalking a wounded fawn. The gauntness of him drained the vitality. He remained motionless, except for the veiled gleam in his cold eyes that drove sharp icicles to Dellynthelaara's bones.
"Ignorant." Vicious mockery spilled in the single word. "The Scarlet Masquerade would not have marched into Sanguine Bastion alone, nor would have challenged the seat of the vampires in his own domain."
Dellynthelaara flinched, more at the reference, at the implied comparison, to the Rylonvirah than the impending threat. She so loathed the connotation.
"Sanguinaris," Dellynthelaara responded coolly, calm, unperturbed and sheer rage directed to a precision, locked on Sanguinaris. Her voice penetrated the cold between them. "Former Matron is her own person, and I am not her. She would approach hiding an envenomed dagger poised to strike. I would make you drink molten silver on your own accord. Continue to mock me and you will answer for your insolence."
The lord of Sanguine Bastion considered Dellynthelaara with cold unblinking eyes. Decisive. Arrogant. His jaws curled into a wicked grin, his parted lips spilling dark promise. A murderous smile, ruthless and insidious, shone brightly on Sanguinaris's face. Those serpentine teeth suddenly bared, cutting through his black lower lip.
More laughter joined in. Sanguine Lords and Sanguine Blood Lords sent their shivery cackles to fill the opulent chamber. Like the shattering of a thousand well-arranged pyramid of glass, flowed through. The thought of arrogant young matriarch trembling against their touch, their teeth and enthralled to their will, made them chuckle with bitter mirth. A chorus of dark snickers punctuated the air. They would put her in her rightful place. For all the pomp, silk and sapphires, the Sanguine Lords are domination personified and that would be her last lesson.
Sanguinari's hand shot out, a silver-taloned finger stretched, the pointed tip directed toward the hollows of her throat, and sent a cold ripple through Dellynthelaara. A chill, an endless emptiness haunted Dellynthelaara. It pulled on her insides.
"You are impulsive and reckless. Yet, I can only admire your mettle."
With every word, the unease began creeping into Dellynthelaara.
"Your bold determination is commendable. Foolish, I suppose but still admirable." Sanguinaris sneered, hunger ravaging inside.
Dellynthelaara's breathing became heavy, even constrained, subtle beads of sweat doting her temples. Her palms dampened. Her skin prickled. Yet, her expression hardened. Defiant. Still.
With one dark word of command, Sanguinaris sent a jolt of lightning through the Sanguine Bastion, shocking Dellynthelaara. Levitating higher, he unfurled his absolute power, choking Dellynthelaara in a hardened case of invisible ice.
A sensation more harrowing than the biting northern winds whipped the young matriarch from one side to another. Numbness crept over her entire body. The agonising sensation froze her, every breath she took was a struggle of gasps. Dellynthelaara tried, but each passing moment tigthened the iron corset squeezing her in its locked grasp.
As cold as her body was, Dellynthelaara could still feel Sanguinaris's mental hands choked and the pinprick at her veins. A clear stream of crimson liquid flowed in a surreal stream upwards, disobeying the law of gravity and responding to the beckoning of Sanguinaris. Soon, another pang of pain and another followed. Multiple streams, like a network of crimson rivers, with Dellynthelaara at its centre, panned out.
Shaking and trying to free herself, the young matriarch found herself drifting deeper and deeper into the crimson web.
In steady progression, the Sanguine flow filled the ebony goblets. Twirling his goblet, with a victorious mirth, Sanguinaris took a sip, allowing the warm blood of a defiant queen to tease his appetite. He found it appealing to all his senses. It stroked the embers of hunger festering inside him further. He took another sip, and his face brightened with a stupified expression.
"Ah," said Sanguinaris over the sound of his High-Steward offering another goblet to one of the assembled Sanguine Blood Lords. "I never expected the daughter of Rylonvirah to be of such an unthinkable heritage."
"Sanguinaris." Dellynthelaara's voice still carried power... and finality. "I still defend my claim. You are a fool."
Then, her skin started to glow with the power of a second sun commanded by the blood of Angels. The celestial illumination only deepened, intensifying till an orange aura, the blazing might of the daylight and the bane of all Sanguine Lords, covered the young matriarch's body. Lancing beam of golden light, freed from her suspended body, licked the surroundings, seeking her tormentors, penetrating through to obliterate two of the nearest Sanguine Blood lords.
A few feasting Sanguine Lords shrieked, disturbed by the sudden twist in favour.
But Sanguinaris remained unfazed, waving a hand dismissively. "Not the first celestial born to enter Sanguine Bastion, hoping, your birthright... your inborn ability to call the brilliance of the sun would turn the Sanguine Realm to dust." His chuckle lingered. With amusement still painted on his face, the dark twinkle, even darker, outlining his malice, he considered her.
A swarm of gargoyles descended upon Dellynthelaara, encasing her in a tenebrous sphere. Her sunlight trapped inside their cage of linked gargoyles, the Sanguine Lord returned to their feasting, twice exhilarated and already intoxicated by the prospect of tasting her divine blood.
Soon, goblets filled to the brim with her precious blood were passed around, while commanded by the power of Sanguinaris, the stream of blood still continued to flow, draining for every bit of her divinity.
Just as the immoral feasting went into full swing, the High-Steward fell on his knees, hands crawling up his own throat. His long-taloned fingernails dug deep, cutting his own veins. And then, the unnatural scream.
"It is all wrong...This is not caelisidae blood..." His eyes bulged in his socket and twisted seeking to escape his flesh cage. "Something else... She is not an Aasimaar. "
Soon, a few more joined. Their legs wobbled, falling to their knees, their pristinely elegant silks torn with their own clawed hands. The agony of writhing filled the banquet hall. Filled with fear, the blood drinker tried to scramble away in haste.
In despair, a few transformed. Seeking an escape in the mist form. Except the red mist swirled around, held by an unseen seen from a mysterious locus point originating within their own centre. Another Sanguine Blood Lord Shrieked. Every mist of Sanguine Lords attempted and failed to escape their otherworldly shackles.
"Shouldn't have feasted on blood." Dellynthelaara's voice, a searing edge of a sharpened lance, spilt the screams.
"My blood is a blessing," Crushing sounds, the noise of stone against stone, rock shattering and stone ravaging strikes followed. "And a curse."
"And you shouldn't have blocked my light with you stone guardians." The striking intensified, setting tremours from the circle of gargoyles. "For judgemental is my light but fear my shadow."
"We are Sanguine," Screamed Sanguinaris. "We are the night. What do shadows have that we ought to fear?"
The first crumbling happened. Followed by another. Then third and the fourth Gargoyle crumbled.
And then Night of Ash and Smoke liberated himself.
His crude stone sword of obsidian darkness, met gargoyles, vampires and Sanguine Lords, and crushed them with equal ferocity. Wielding unleashed brutality, mercilessly, he carved a path of carnage.
The stream of blood flowing from Dellynthelaara narrowed to a fine threat, narrowing further to a thin line, further narrowing the sharpness of an assassin's wire. Then, the very air around thrummed, reality rejecting the foreign power seeking to intrude. Then came the tear in the veil. Cracks leached across, spreading from the her blood line. Like the shattering of a mirror, the space collapsed, allowing the breach to spread.
With a flick of his wrist, Sanguinaris rose above levitating in all his glory and the powers of blood magic filled his very air and fell to the ground. His throat burned. His legs refused to cooperate. Something alien filled him. Violated him from inside. Twisting his innards to horrible forms.
As Sanguinaris tried to raise himself, lifting one struggling hand to call the last vestige of the blood magic in Sanguine Bastion, the Eldritch Knight of Ash and Smoke closed the gap, with his stone sword raised for a fatal swing.
Drained of her vitality and fatigued, pale and drained, Dellynthelaara slowly dragged herself away from the Sanguine Bastion.
And the Sanguine Bastion was filled with screams of the vampires... not of their victims.
That was a very interesting chapter.
Thank you so much.
I am sure you will appreciate more revelation towards the end of the arc.