“…So there they stood, the desolated few. Triumphant were they in their fatigue, and wet with the glory of a crimson reprisal. The fortress had been seized at a great cost to their numbers, though victory had ultimately been attained. But- like all good dogs of war they knew; the rivers of blood would not dry that day. And the death knells ringing in the distance? It was only the beginning.”
Morgana lifted her gaze from the page as she finished reading, curious if her dining audience was still listening.
Visceryn didn’t appear done eating, though the priestess she’d brought for him to feast on was nearly finished, the girl quite obviously on death’s door with the last of her essence being leeched from her throat.
How pale her lovely color had become.
Morgana set the book aside in trade for a glass of red wine she’d been provided and stood up, only to wander over in casual observance to the two making no comment on her tale. Her tall black heels echoed with each step through the repurposed rectory, the marble floors catering to resounding clicks.
When she reached the predator and prey bound in death’s coil she peered down at them, tilting her head idly as the girls’ bright hazel eyes stared up at her, pleading for help where her dying blue lips could no longer. The sickening suckle and ravenous growls of the blood-thirsting fiend bent over the priestess was married with the adage of a prayer, Morgana being so merciful as to grant the girl her last rites for her sacrifice to the cause.
“Know you bleed not in vain, Child.” She told her reassuringly. “For your life is given in service of the Light on this day. May it ferry you home now, into the eternal warmth of blessed absolution.”
Heartless and hollow to the suffering, Morgana followed up with a parched sip from her wine then walked away.
The life in the priestess’ eyes came to fade along with what was left of her color not long after, the moment of peaceful transmission from living to death being defiled by the growing viciousness of the monster at her neck. Like a cat caught in the jowls of a hound she was tugged and ravaged roughly through rabid jerks, the lack of blood left in her veins making Visceryn snarl before the ashen skinned elf tore his fangs free and thrust the girl’s corpse aside.
“Bring me the other one!” He snapped to Morgana and rose, wiping the slick of blood from his bearded jaw with a gloved hand impatiently. She was already sauntering off though, towards the hall where the next sacrifice unknowingly awaited their demise in blissful ignorance.
“As you wish.” She answered dutifully, then peered back over a shoulder with an arch in her brow. “Would you like a new book as well?”
The San’layn considered the question briefly, having to find a semblance of himself through the rage of blood-thirst to respond first.
“Yes… Something Thalassian this time. No more of whatever common-tongue garbage that was.”