Lorimer slowly gazed into his master's eyes. The Master could sense the others watching, listening, waiting for the general to speak his mind.

"It is nothing, my master - only that... " Lorimer shook his head and again looked away. "Perhaps now is not the time."

The Master chuckled, a low rumbling sound that came from somewhere deep in his throat. "Faithful Lorimer, now is as good a time as any. Please, share with me the cause of your grief," he cajoled. "What upsets you also upsets me."

Lorimer pointed to the three dead children sitting in the chairs upon the altar. "This, this is what displeases me - the waste of it." Lorimer's stomach gurgled. He clutched at his belly and looked to his master with embarrassment. "We are starving, and here sit three delicious morsels whose lives were snuffed out not with fang but with a feather pillow as they slept. I know they are an important facet of the ceremony but surely the Old Ones would not deny us sustenance as we prepare to restore them to power."

The Master shook his head and clucked with disappointment. "The youth of today have no appreciation for ritual." He placed his hands behind his back and began to pace. "The fast that I imposed upon the Order is to purify and cleanse your spirit, for you are soon to be in the presence of gods."