The formal invitations were sent.
To the Cold Northern Wastes of Siberia
To the Far Stretches of the Orient.
To the Deep Jungles of Africa.
To the Painted Halls of Florence.
Dozens more penned and inked in blood.
A call to Council at the Old Abbey.
Answer the call and ruminate over the fate of vampires and man.
Purfleet, Essex the Castle on the Thames just outside of London.
A perfect place to remember that even great ones die.

Signed by Bedivere himself and sealed with his signet in wax by the tradition of old. These letters would find their way to their intended targets, the other vampiric old ones. It had been some time since the last coven meeting or at least one of this importance, but to determine not only the fate of Void who had executed an unannounced attack shortly after Magnus' own failed attempt at starting a war, but the fate of Humanity and vampire relations all together. The utmost secrecy was required, for to gather such a large number of old bloods was to certain gain the attention of the Purge and Solider but even then they would somehow manage to find out regardless as though they had a leak within their own ranks. So let them come, and rid the world of the lesser elders who are no longer relevant to the world.

"Do you think it wise?" Bedivere asked seated in a chamber of stone seats encircling a stone table. Upon each seat was a shield or sword, some arms or armor belonging to a long dead brother. A helmet or blade in vigil for the fallen knights of Camelot as Bedivere sat at his place to Arthur's right, the second seat away, next to Lancelot Arthur's Right-hand. Now in these ancient halls, they were all no more, Arthur the once and future king gone and yet to return to reclaim his spear and seat. "My agents tell me much of him, we may have even crossed paths in the Holy Lands. Is he worthy? We shall test him but will you accept his claim should he pass? Our ways are dying... And I grow weary of being the last of our Order. Arthur why have you not yet return? She promised me you will, a life as mine was given to you was it not my King? I speak out of turn, I apologize, it has been so long, forgive me my Lord. I am still loyal to you and your Queen." Well, sanity was far out of the question, although perhaps in the privy of the old castle did Bedivere allow himself to drop the shroud of composure and ask the spirits. 

It dawn would break soon, and Mithias should arrive by morning. Evidently the boy had even picked up a particular sword, no doubt from Void's own arsenal. A perfect bait to add to the collection of arms. Contagion, what a waste of a fine blade to be coated in disease and such pestilence. Maybe the Purge may find it ever more noxious to deal with in their own containment, or perhaps it was time to create a disease to make the herd tremble before them? It was time to give the last orders to move a stone to Carfax. And then once all is done, return to the waters of the font.