Chapter 835 - Advent Ⅲ (1/2)
In the depths of the dense, murky woodland, there is an enormous gothic-styled citadel that lays directly in the middle of the snow-covered woods sticking out like a sore thumb. The gothic-styled palace is large, elegant, incredibly lavish, and heavily fortified. It had been built to remain hidden from the world via sorcery from humans and wizards alike. And so, it had remained for hundreds of years.
On clear nights, the valley would be filled with countless fancy carriages being pulled by winged steeds or droves of bats flying towards the citadel in the depths of the dark woods. Yet on this night, no such sight could be seen with fierce storm winds roaring. Not even the most foolhardy or brashest of vampires would attempt to fly through such a storm.
Typically, there would be lesser vampires, servants in dark livery to wait on the higher-ranked vampires. But today the castle was empty save for the few lesser vampires that maintained the citadel. The vampire council typically did not reside at the citadel except for the head of the coven, the Pontifex Maximus, Ambrogio Sangria.
Despite the pitch-black darkness, a very wrinkled, elderly vampire with a silver widow's peak made his way through the dark citadel with no candlelight. He was the eldest vampire in the coven thought to be two hundred and fifty years old. However, he was far older than any vampire had ever dared to live. It was taboo to consume the blood of their own, but he had found the means to extending his unnatural life by doing so.
Ambrogio Sangria made his way down a hidden stairway to a hidden doorway which led to a hidden guest room that connected to the outside. It was a secret entrance and escape passage only known to the Head of the Coven and a few select others. The elderly vampire retrieved the key hanging around his neck, before carefully unlocking the door. The door loudly creaks, before the elderly vampire enters the hidden chamber.
Impatiently waiting inside is a burly dark-haired wizard with broad shoulders. The wizard had a long, pale twisted face whose lips curled into a sneer, Antonin Dolohov. ”You are late, bloodsucker.”
Ambrogio Sangria refrains from rising to the wizard's challenge and closes the door behind him. ”I am old, and my limbs are simply not what they used to be,” Ambrogio smoothly lied. His stark white hands with dark blue veins tremble in feigned weakness as he returns the key to his neck, before taking a seat.
Dolohov's lips curl further with disdain as he eyes the decrepit creature. ”You know why I have come, blood leech,” he coldly said. ”The Dark Lord wishes to forge an alliance with the creatures of the night.”
”Oh?” Ambrogio scratched his head as if he had truly forgotten there had been such an event. ”Forgive me, my mind is simply not what it used to be,” he paused for a long time furrowing his brow. His eyes brighten in fake remembrance, ”Ah yes, I dimly recall speaking of such a thing.”
Dolohov sneers impatiently refraining from pulling out his wand and slaying the elderly leech where he stood. He sternly reminded himself of his mission. Still, it was a close thing.
Pensively rubbing his chin, Ambrogio narrows his eyes at the wizard as if clearing the negative conversation. ”Alas the Dark Lord wished to have the aid of the werewolves at that time,” he pointedly said. ”The conclave voted unanimously to firmly decline the alliance.”
Ambrogio puffs up his ċhėst in fake weakness and pride. ”We are the rulers of the night and we will not lower ourselves to work with those filthy, mangy mongrels!”
”There are no more werewolves, bloodsucker,” Dolohov scoffed in contempt of the old vampire's failing memory. ”The deceased Potion Master Belby took care of that. Though the Dark Lord did avenge himself in the end and slew the traitor.”
”Ah, yes, it must have slipped my mind,” Ambrogio murmured rather absentminded, but at out of the corner of his eyes, he slyly studied the impatient wizard, who only grew more riled with the passage of time.
Dolohov bȧrėly refrained from taking the decrepit bloodsucker's head reminding himself of the importance of his task. ”As I said before, the Dark Lord seeks an alliance with the creatures of the night. Will the coven accept the generous offer of the Dark Lord?”
Ambrogio blinked his eyes slowly and scrunched up his very wrinkled face as if in deep thought. He ponders the question much more than necessary, before slowly answering, ”We the rulers of the night have always dwelt in the shadows and so we have lived to ensure our survival all these countless centuries. I cannot deny that the Dark Lord is powerful without equal,” before arching his brow at the wizard.