[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tuWvGee4T0][img]http://i.imgur.com/hPXIuVN.jpg?1[/img][/url]
[h3][color=9e0b0f]M A W E T H,  T H E  B L A C K  C A P I T A L[/color][/h3]
[color=000000][b]Palace of the Great-Father[/b][/color][/center]

The late evening was cool where Kuth stood, resting languidly on the balcony off of his personal chambers. The stone was gentle on his skin, its workmanship exquisite. Like all of his palace, it was dark granite mined from the foot of the Nightfall Mountains, and fashioned according to Old Sheolan tradition. At least as far as Kuth could remember it; he was a warlock, not a mason. The end-result was passible, but imperfect in ways that Kuth could only sense in his subconscious. So many fine details lost, like forgotten dreams. Even so, the smell of the Spring breeze had not changed. Winter had was at its end, its last vestiges visible as snow-caps upon the mountains. Mild weather had returned, and the rivers surged with snow-melt. Thus began the new season; the season of war.

His reverie was broken by the arrival of his steward, Sibari, who stepped out from the curtain behind him to stand at his side. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, though he knew her face well. Sharp features, pale skin, white hair. All features she had inherited from him. Her eyes were the only dissimilarity; green, like her mother's. She was "Second Brood," by the reckoning of her peers, meaning she was Kuth's granddaughter. His children classed themselves by the closeness of their relation to himself, the "purity of their blood," so to speak. Those that had joined the Coven by any means but birth were of course at the bottom, called "Bastard Brood." Kuth cared nothing for their internal politics; only their usefulness mattered. Thus why the competent Sibrari served him personally.

"Great-Father," she addressed him directly, as she knew Kuth hated to waste time on pomp and grandiosity in private correspondence, "Your quarters on the [i]Forever Worm[/i] are prepared. Shall you be retiring there for the evening, or within the palace?" Their ship would depart at dawn, and they would have to awake beforehand if they did not stay overnight on the vessel.

"Here," he said simply. His voice was throaty, but melodic, and carried traces of the guttural tongue of Old Sheol. "I cannot say when I shall return, and I should like to enjoy a night's rest in my homeland while I can."

"Yes, Great-Father," Sibiari answered dutifully, "I shall awaken you in the morn."

"Have Alu do it," He commanded, "The boy needs to stop acting so damned afraid of me if he'll be of any use whilst I'm abroad."

Sibari bit her lip momentarily, and asked uneasily, "Are you certain you'd prefer to take him with you? He's not yet completed his rites, and I can always-"

Kuth cut her off with a raised hand. "Enough. I've made up my mind already. I need you here, with Margaux. Were the council far enough off that I could personally see her to her duties, perhaps it would be different, but I need you to keep everything running smoothly. Treat her with the same reverence you would me, of course, but don't let her give way to ambition or any other flights of fancy. Sheol will look the same as I return as it did when I departed. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Great-Father. Pardon my outburst." Sibari answered with her head hung in apology.

"Good. You are dismissed." As Sibiari turned to leave, he stopped her momentarily, "Ah, send up my evening meal. I will need my strength for tomorrow's journey."

"Yes, Great-Father." She answered again, and left the same way she came.

Returning to his bedchamber, Kuth paced steadily about the room. His dark bedrobes swirled behind him with each step, silent upon the rich furs covering the stone floor. He had plenty of time to pace and ponder the coming council, as his bedchamber was on the highest level of his personal tower. Lower than most and set in the middle of the castle, it was designed so that it could not be scaled, and it was protected from mortar fire. At last, with a quiet knock on the door, Kuth's meal arrived. A waifish young woman, clad only in a thin, white linen dress, was ushered in by a pair of Sanguine Guards, and the door was swiftly shut behind her. She stood just beyond the door, seemingly rooted in place. Her apprehension was clear in her watery eyes, and she stared at the floor rather than look directly at Kuth.

"Well?" Kuth said, prompting her.

"I... I..." She stuttered for a moment, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, but eventually remembered what she was supposed to say. "I offer myself as t-tithe to you, Great-Father. May you take communion of me as we, your l-loyal vassals, prosper under your dominion."

"Good," he took the girl by the arm, leading her to the foot of his bed. She flinched at his touch, but followed closely along. "This must be your first communion," He said, sitting them both down. She nodded stiffly, still not looking at Kuth and nervously fussing with her dress. "What is your name, my dear?"

"S-Sheri." She said, quieter than before. Her face was flush, and she was furiously aware of the fact that he had not yet let go of her arm.

"Sheri... Sheri..." Kuth let her name roll over his tongue a few times. If she came again for communion, he would try to remember it. "Please try to be calm, my dear. It only hurts for a moment."

His face slowly drew closer to hers, as her breathing began to tighten and hitch in her throat. As he grew near enough to feel her hot breath on his face, his head pivoted slightly, and he dipped his face to rest his cheek against her thin, bare shoulder. Then, with a quickness like a striking snake, he bit into the soft flesh of her neck with sharp, predatory teeth. Her scream echoed through the palace, and the spring breeze carried it out over Maweth.