A woman stood in the middle of a circular room, her face turned upward to the ceiling. The room's walls were that of an abandoned cavern, dry and barren. There was a single entrance into the room: a miner's tunnel, reaching upward into the twisted recesses of the mountain's endless passageways. However this room was not carved by human hands, unlike the abandoned mines that surrounded this chamber of worship. No, this was a natural formation, a womb of the earth herself. A lone fissure descended from the center of the room, surprisingly cylindrical and only a few inches in diameter. It plummeted into the darkness below, its true depth too dark and far to be seen.

The woman was naked, and she stood over the fissure, her sex aligned with the dark maw. With dirtied feet stanced wide and taloned fingers reaching to the stone sky, the woman closed her heavily-charcoaled eyes and sang her song.

The throaty lyrics were chanted in Old Norse, and the words dripped off her bloody lips like the moans of an enraptured lover. She swayed to the ancient ballad and brought her hands downward. She dug into her flesh with her claws and slowly raked red stripes into her nude form.

The woman bowed her head and finished her song. The shed blood dripped to her lower extremities. It lapped down her legs and pooled to the edges of the stone fissure. Then the red tendrils finally dripped and descended into the dark fissure of the mountain.

The woman sighed contentedly, and waited for the shed blood to continue its course, until a pint of the scarlet ooze had finally dripped into the mountain's depths.

Satisfied with her sacrifice, the woman bowed to the unseen presence of her deity. She chanted a few words, then stepped away from the fissure. She cracked her neck, closed her eyes briefly, and the self-inflicted wounds began to disappear from her unnaturally pale body. All that was left from the sacrifice were leftover streaks of coagulated blood. She sniffed the air and looked towards the entrance of her temple chamber. The woman narrowed her eyes and waited.

Footsteps padded down the mine shaft entrance, and darkness hid her visitor from view. But she recognized the heavy tread, and she frowned.

"Why are you here, Ashe?" Her voice was dry and tinged with mild annoyance.

A stout man with mischievous eyes and a cocky grin entered the chamber. He eyed the woman from head to toe, then lastly the pool of blood as it seeped into the fissure. "A sacrifice for the Crone? Why didn't ye invite me?" His broken Irish drawl echoed in the cavernous temple.

"Because you still have much to learn. Also, you're the new prince of this town, and there are other matters for you to attend to."

She stepped to the side, picked up her discarded garments, and began to dress. Her clothing was a mixture of animal skins, tanned leather, and linen wrappings. All were dirty and smelled of fur and earth. She dressed at a relaxed pace and showed no concern towards the man who watched her every move.

Lastly she donned her leather bracers, various rings, and numerous talismans. The talismans were old, the silver rubbed from decades of age and use. They hung from her muscular neck and fell against her well-endowed bosom. She slid into her suede boots, and glanced at her quiet pupil.

"I'll ask you again, Ashe. Why are you here?"

The man shifted his large hands into his jean pockets and shrugged his shoulders. "Can't a Kindred stop by to say hey to his Mother, Etaine? Or just ask advice of the city's former prince?"

Etaine paused, then decided to tighten the leather laces on her right bracer. "What advice can I give you as both of those titles?"

The man grinned from ear-to-ear. "Well, ye see, tomorrow is Court, and well…" he reached into his pocket. "Have ye happened upon one of these yet?" He held up an envelope. The paper appeared to be made of old parchment, and a broken wax seal marked its yellowed back.

Etaine cocked an eyebrow at the presentation, then picked the parchment from his oil-stained hand. She read the document enclosed, and eyed the artistic calligraphy.

"A party invitation? From an unknown host?" She handed the document back to Ashe. "When did you get this?"

"Tonight. Me ghoul happened upon it. Said it was placed at me shop's mailbox. And addressed to me, not to me business. First name only."

"Hmm. My advice to you as your Crone Mother would have nothing to do with this scenario. However as previous Prince and current Seneschal… send me ahead and I'll scout out the place after court is held. You know how clever I can be as far as reconnaissance." She flashed him a fanged, crimson-stained smile, and handed the envelope back to its owner.

"Aye, that I do. Its why ye never made a good prince." He took the envelope and winked. He began to stroll away.

"Ashe..."

"Yes, Etaine?" he asks, turning back around.

"Did anyone else receive an invitation? Or just you?"

"Ah. Well, Sheriff Liam did. Keeper Rick, and that Federic fellow as well." He shrugs. "You didn't get one though, eh?"

Etaine chuckled and eyed the stone walls around her. "I don't exactly have a mailbox, now do I?"

Ashe laughed heartily. "See ye tomorrow then, Seneschal!" His heavy footsteps thudded against the stone floor, and eventually faded away into a distant patter.

Etaine brought a hand up to her blood-flecked, braided hair and stroked the blond weaves in contemplation. She sighed and glanced at the chamber floor once more. The blood was nearly gone and swallowed by the mountain's mouth. Etaine stepped over to her pack on the other side of the chamber. She rifled through the leather bag and searched for her own piece of parchment. She withdrew her envelope after a minute of patient rummaging.

Gazing at a similar copy of the letter Ashe had shown her, Etaine studied her own. She eyed the ancient paper and its ink-laden calligraphy. The identical broken wax seal was stamped with the same depiction of a fleur de lis. She rubbed her thumb over the red wax, and her brow furrowed in concentration. She eyed the lines of the document and noted that its penmanship was identical to the one Ashe had just shown her.

To Seneschal Etaine,

You are invited to share in a party of my hosting. Kindred and ghouls are permitted, but this show will be in your court's honor. I look forward to meeting your city's representatives, and I hope that my presentation will be to your delight. Please arrive at exactly 10pm. Not a minute sooner, nor a minute later. I look forward to meeting you, this Friday, February the 23rd.

Sincerely,

Your Host

Etaine sighed, folded the letter, and placed it back inside her pack.

"Till tomorrow," she murmured to herself. Etaine reclined upon the floor and allowed herself to merge with the stone, her Gangrel body hidden from untrained sight.