The Sanctuary

Location: Unknown

She hated walking down this hallway, the pathway to the inner sanctum was once elaborately decorated with jeweled portraits and marble busts of previous Vampire lords. Now they were sparse of any decoration, except for the deep purple carpeting and eerie portrait on the walls either side of her. The illustrations were old, and retold the legend of their suspected origins. Or at least they reminisced on one version from one tale that may hold some answers to their origins. Even if it wasn’t true, there were hidden truths in the legend that taught lessons.

The old legend was spoken only in dark rooms or hidden chambers. The original text was said to be stored in the archives of the old world, and only visible to certain eyes. Because of this, the legend was told and retold over and over again until it had warped into an amalgamation of absurd stories.

It was said that in the ancient days, before the great flood, a demon prowled the world. It’s name was not pronounceable in human-tongue, but was referred to as simply ‘Old Nuck’. The creature preyed upon unsuspecting females, dragging them far away with great uproar. The women would be yanked almost as if grabbed by an invisible hand, and their clothes stripped from their bodies as they were pulled away to an unknowable fate.

However, it wasn’t the women ‘Old Nuck’ was after, but the men that protected them. Seeing their lovers seized, the husbands would rush after them. Often panicked, they would pursue the creature into the woods with no backup, or weapons. Once secluded deep in the woodlands, the demon would ensnare the fools who had so brazenly pursued it.

No one knew what happened to those caught in ‘Old Nucks’ trap, or what horrible fate had met the kidnapped damsels. It was said that none were ever seen again, although the cries of the men could be heard for miles. Their hideous screams echoed across the wind until, eventually, their last gasps would break their torment.

Only one man was said to have survived the wicked beasts lair, although whether or not he actually slayed the creatures is debated. Of the hundreds of version, several claim he somehow bested the demon, while others claim he challenged ‘Old Nuck’ to a duel of wits, and somehow won. Several variants say he merely escaped, or was bitten and survived. One fanciful version claims he was eaten alive, only to rip himself out from the things guts and found himself forever changed.

Whichever version was true, the result was ultimately the same. The man survived, and his name would be recorded as simply Lucien.

Personally, the Vampire strolling the halls of the sanctuary didn’t put much stock in the grim fairy tale. She had her own suspicions on the origins of her kind, and none of them included demons or grim fairy tales. Yet she was reminded of it constantly as she tried to ignore the colorful illustrations decorating the walls. The tale the walls depicted showed a truly grotesque creature with elongated limps, and a prolonged snout, stealing men and women.

Lucien was shown as a handsome, yet common, man with a pitchfork in hand. His golden hair, and blue eyes seemed out of place for a lowly peasant. Toward the end of the hallway, Lucien was marching from the woods with the beasts head in his hand, and a spittle of blood on his lips. Apparently, this version claimed he slayed the monster and then ate upon its flesh, thus transcending his humanity to become something greater.

The Vampire sighed, and pressed onward until she finally arrived at the end of the hall. Three all-seeing eyes decorated the overhead banner belonging to the massive obsidian doorway. Each was a different color, and each gazed down as if critically analyzing all who would dare cross their threshold. The one on the left bore a lustful shade of green, and its iris was more akin to a cats eye. Adjacent to it, the eye in the center, was a dark blue. It was so dark it was almost black as the pupil floated on a pearly white orb. The last eye was an eerie brown, it cast a yellowish glow alongside its brethren.

For some reason it was the brown eye that was the most disturbing for there was nothing nefarious or alien about it. In fact it seemed remarkably…normal. It was the most divorced of its siblings, and so very human.

It made her wonder what kind of human could stand alongside such gods as an equal? Of course the answer was none, but then again to consider that the eyes could belong to a series of gods was equally ridiculous. Each eye didn’t represent a single person, or higher being, but something more profound. To a Vampire, nothing was more important than blood, and the bloodline of their lineage superseded all. Each of the eye’s looking down at her represented one of the founding vampiric lineages, and each of them casted their gaze upon the younger generations in silent judgement.

To the young Vampire standing at the threshold, they each represented a grand design conceived in a bygone age. The symbology weighed more than the very blood they were supposed to represent. She did her best to keep her focus forward, her own eye color didn’t bare any resemblance to the three eyes above. Her iris’s were a stark purple, the product of a unique genetic quirk that seemed to cling to her own bloodline.

The obsidian doorway was unbearably smooth, and reflected the dim light of the hallway like a mirror lost in an abyss. Despite the freezing cold halls, the doorway was warm to the touch and graciously parted inward to reveal a grand chamber.

The chamber was circular, the second tier brandished a balcony all around that looked down at the center. The guardrails for the balcony were once ceremonial, but little had been done to polish the brass metalwork over the millennia. While the balcony was overshadowed, it was impossible to ignore the pressure of all the eyes peering through the shadows. There were dozens of Vampire’s overlooking the open chamber, all of them noticed her entrance, but paid her little heed. The center of the ground floor welcomed a vast carpet of scarlet embroidery, it made her mouth drool just by looking at it. She struggled fighting back a facial tick as her predatory instincts rushed toward the surface.

“So the rumors are true,” a voice echoed from up in the balcony. The owner’s voice was aged and echoed with a rasp. It clearly belonged to a woman, and her accent was definitely from the old world. Perhaps Russia, or Ukraine, or so the young Vampire thought.

“It appears so, although this only adds more problems…” The second voice was also from up above, although it seemed distant. It was a smooth voice, elegant compared to the rasp belonging to the previous one. It belonged to a man, and his own accent was likely from one of the many Spanish speaking South American countries.

Seated at the center of the first floor of the chamber, a single man had his backed turned to the obsidian doorway. The back of his chair was tall enough to hide its occupant, although his hand was visible holding a cigar on the armrest. As he spoke, the air itself seemed to vibrate, “All truths come with consequences, and we’ve ignored this truth for far too long.” The seat groaned as the occupant adjusted himself. “The question is…how do we deal with this now?”

A long pause fell across the vast chamber. The woman’s footsteps echoed in the darkness, and soon all eyes were drawn to her. There were dozens of eyes above, they all seemed to glow with a fierce potency.

Once the young Vampire was within arms reach of the chair, she halted her advance. She could smell the rich metallic taste of blood coming from the silver goblet on the small oval table next to the chair. It was still half full, looking at it sent shivers down her spine. The blood smelled fresh, she wondered if it would feel warm against her lips.

“You're late,” The man in the chair addressed her with a curious tone. He scooped up the silver chalice and it disappeared from her sight.

“My apologies Senior Magister,” She answered quickly. The eyes above her continued to glare down like ghostly specters. She did her best to ignore them, the Vampires on the balcony were the last she ever wanted to meet or have to address.

Never once had she actually seen the Senior Magister, each time she met him it was in a setting like this. His voice sounded youthful, full of life and rich, although it seemed impossible for a young Vampire to rise to such a position. She doubted the Magister was young, although his voice conjured images of someone close to her age. It was tempting to walk around the chair, and finally expose the mystery, but she valued her life far too much for that.

“Did you infiltrate the Coven?” He asked her solemnly. His slick accent was warm and refined, like an aristocrat from one of her favorite spy thrillers.

“Yes Senior Magister, they’re preparing to make their first move.” The coven was the secret organization of Anti-Vampire’s who had risen to prominence over the past few years. She had secretly observed their hidden rituals, childish as they were, and learned what they were about to do.

“It’s hardly there first move…” The Magister was quick to respond, “Although this is the first one we’ve finally intercepted.” There was a short, yet powerful, pause as the Magister took a long sip from his goblet. “You did well, Kamillah Crimsonfire.”

The moment her name was spoken, the air itself seemed to stir.