Death watched impassively as the motley crew assembled itself. Perhaps it was the whole 'her face is actually a skull' thing, but she didn't seem particularly bothered by their mannerisms.
They passed for sane in such a place.
She did have this to say, however.
"That you would believe yourselves somehow worthy of the Master's palate would be insulting if it weren't so clouded in naiveté.
No, you are neither invited for dinner or to be dinner. Were that somehow the case, you would know and willingly present your necks with a smile on your lips as you faced myself and the Master.
But it is not my place to describe your purpose."
Death's scythe hovered somewhere between and above her robes, like the weapon itself was material while its owner wasn't. It gleamed a pale blue, and wherever the light touched, not a single creature of Castlevania dared thread. The many skeletal servants and guards, as well as many animated suits of armor, both giant-sized and of the regular variety, merely stood at attention in the wake of Death's passage.
A long hallway with red carpeting later, the lot of you stood before the Lord of Vampires and monsters alike. The unliving deity, Vlad Tepes Dracula, the Count Impaler.
His presence was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The very knowledge of who he was would induce fear into the hearts of lesser men - standing before him as the group was now provoked a mix of adoration, desire and charm. Such was Dracula, a monster above all monsters, and yet something for which mere words failed horribly. The closest thing to that would be the fascination of a moth to an open flame, and even so, the moth seemed... fortunate by comparison.
"Welcome to Castlevania, all of you. Death, my faithful Rider, you may resume your duties now."
With a slight bow, the robed figure disappeared into the background.