"Listen well, dear." Ravenstock whispered, glancing over his shoulder at the door behind him. "Before you join our feast, there is something you must know; we Vampires are hunters, as I'm sure you're aware."
Sofie nodded attentively. Ravenstock smiled. "And Hunters we are politically as well. Everyone in that hall, no-matter how warm and friendly they may seem, is just waiting to pounce." He stood quietly, letting Sofie digest his words. "You think before you speak, before you act, before you so much as raise a finger. Do you understand?"
Sofie shifted weight, from one foot to the other, and rubbed the sleeve of her Bordeaux dress with her fingers. "Yes, of course, sir." The thought of getting caught in the web of nobility and politics made Sofie sick. It was definitely not something she was used to, but she expected that if she were to gain power – and she was determined to do just that – it would be something she'd have to get used to.
"Good, good. You sit by me. I will show you off to my peers." He declared. Sofie raised an eyebrow, but he didn't give her a chance to question. Instead, he held her gently by the hand and guided her through the doorway. "Make yourself comfortable, dear, and stay quiet. Talk to no-one, at least not until I put you on display! I will bring us all together for a toast when I am ready." Again, Sofie nodded diligently.
Sofie was hit by a stream of chatter from those attending the feast. There were several clusters of women in eloquent, obnoxious dresses of every colour, and men in pristine suits with wine in hand. Each group she passed muttered a different conversation; I'm the best one here at horse-racing, declared one. Have you ever tasted anything better than blood? Questioned another. She manoeuvred herself past the guests and into the corner of the room, plucking a glass of Bugman's Ale from the table top in passing. If she was going to sit through this, she really didn't want to be sober.
She watched Ravenstock scurrying after everyone feverishly, shaking hands and greeting each with a warm welcome. She mused as she watched him, sweating in anxiety – she didn't know the undead could feel such a thing – and trying to make himself presentable. She was distracted from this, though, when she noticed that one of the nobles was watching her with curiosity, muttering something which made his colleague erupt into bouts of laughter. Sofie stood up and approached the man. She'd learned already not to get intimidated by these people; she was one of them after-all.
But she'd also learned from observation that courtesy and submissiveness was a fine tool. All of them had the egos of a nobleman; and not only that, but they were noblemen who were immortal, too. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir." She hummed with a slight smile.
The nobleman scoffed in disgust. "I wish I could say the same. Tell me dear," He tapped the woman next to him on the shoulder, and she turned to face Sofie with puckered, scarlet lips and a face so made-up that she looked artificial. "Old Sal's taste in blood has really taken a new low, hasn't it?" He reached for Sofie's arm, drawing it upwards for inspection. He rolled his finger and thumb over it, gasping in shock as he felt the bone-tight skin. He pinched her, trying to draw up some fat, and when that failed he relented and let the arm drop.
"My, my," the woman spoke obnoxiously, "You won't get much of a meal out of this o-"She stopped as an arm appeared, wrapped over her shoulder, and Ravenstock stood and gave each a look in-turn.
"Well, my lady Serene of Marienburg, Sir Audre of Mousillon," He cocked his head to the old noble-woman and the knight in turn, and they showed the same respect. "I do hope you're enjoying this gathering. Come, come now, and I will show you around; there is much to see, much to see!" He led them off, turning to Sofie with a scowl, as if to say; you will forget everything you just heard.
Again, Sofie tried to make herself scant. She loitered as far from the clusters of guests as possible, trying her best to stay out of the web of false flattery and gossip. She took idle sips of ale, and found that it tasted far better than it had in her human years. Maybe her taste was heightened like her other senses? She relented that, as good as it tasted, it wasn't going to match the taste of blood. She felt a sudden craving and cursed herself for it, thankful when a voice from seemingly no source confused and distracted her:
"Come to the stone that howls in the night." It spoke out. It had the croaking of a whisper, but it was loud; enough that it puzzled Sofie that nobody else even bat an eye. There was a ripple through the air, as if a creature that had swallowed her entirely was clearing its throat. "The past repeats in a circular feast. Eventually one will free themselves of the deceit. Perhaps you." It whispered again before falling silent.
There was the sharp clang of glass. "Everyone!" Ravenstock called with his usual flamboyancy. "Dukes and Duchesses, Counts and Countesses, Lords and Lordlings of Sylvania, and Blood Keep, and the true Empire!" He howled. There was a howl of approval from members of the guest-list, who barked like dogs and raised fists into the air. "Firstly, as always, a moment of appreciation for our other guests; still trapped as they are by mortality!" He sent a palm over the heads of the crowd, who had all now found their seats; it almost felt rehearsed. Sofie edged closer so as to avoid suspicion.
She saw that several figures had stood up on their chairs, all plump and lively, with that rushing of blood to rose-cheeks that marked their rising embarrassment. Sofie cocked her head. It almost seemed alien to her now. There was another round of mumbling as the closest vampire, necromancer and lich to the humans gave them subdued applause. They looked almost bored, and Ravenstock clearly noticed.
"Anyway, to the cause of our gathering!" He hurried on, shooting Sofie an excited glance. She felt herself pulled towards him as he stood atop the largest and most decorated chair, cushioned with wool and with a head and arms that were lined with bear fur. "The newest member of our family, our delightful union and," he cleared his throat and basked in the drama, "hopefully, another participant in our righteous cause; the toppling of the mortal regime!"
The cries and cheers returned now, more fuelled by bloodlust and vigor than they had been all evening. Sofie felt the energy to stand besides Ravenstock, who lay a hand on her dirtied hair and pat it gently. She met the disheartened gaze of some of the guests, as they sipped some beverage or another and took tentative bites of food which was merely there to add to immersion. She let them pass through her as Ravenstock spoke again.
"But wait, wait! This one is special!" He looked down at her. She smiled with confidence and glanced across the table. "A Sister of Sigmar, this one is!"
"Orc piss!" One of the guests declared, sounding venomous. There was a ripple of laughter.
"One of those wenches? The Count's lost his mind!" Roared another.
"I-" Ravenstock spoke, stumbling over his words so that he sounded slurred and inaudible. The laughing intensified. He bowed his head.
"Sofie Kophurst. Sister of the Eastern Chapel, Mordheim City." She spoke out. A silence fell as the men and women acknowledged this interruption.
"You're a liar. Nobody claims a Sister of Sigmar."
"In their time of weakness, you do." She pointed a finger skywards. "The comet that is falling. Not only will it fracture Mordheim; it fractures the stability of our Order as well. We've all seen it."
Some mutters of hesitance surfed the guests. They exchanged glances. Sofie swallowed, not to be put off. "And if I am lying; and you let-" Ravenstock unwrapped one arm from another and swiped at her with his clawed hand. She felt a warmth on her cheek as she recoiled. It was bleeding lightly; enough to make her look weak without making him seem barbaric, most likely.
"And as I was saying; with our new asset, we target Mordheim! We take whatever we can find; we set an example to the rest of the rotten carcass that is the Empire that we have the means and the will to take from them what they held so dear."
This time, there was no indecision; the original dissenters saw neither the need nor the ability to persist. They sat there smugly, shaking their heads, and eventually joining in with the unanimous roars of lust, and savagery; the deep, seething howls; all of which were music to Ravenstock's ears. Sofie elbowed him on the leg.
"I trust you're going to tell me about this plan?"
"Absolutely, dear! I think I better had! But first," he wiped a bead of blood from her lips, licked it, and hummed his approval. "I had better gear you up. Can't have you dying before the feast."