October 26th, 2008 by Chris Frost

Chapter 2

The heat and the darkness of his masters’ home always bothered him. `How could it be hot and have no kind of light what so ever?’ he thought to himself every visit. He had been summoned, once again, to his master’s chambers, which was a long trip to make.

“Why do I always have to come here to just answer stupid questions and say I’ll do weird things?” he muttered.

He was chief of the Sur’ok tribe, yet he must answer to a creature he has never truly seen before. Every command given to him by this being he followed to the word, not wanting to displease him in any way; he remembered what happened to his brother when they first encountered the Master. Not too long ago his brother, Loth, was not willing to make allies with the Master nor was he willing to do anyone’s bidding. During this meeting, the darkness that was the Master’s form reached out and merely touched him. It looked as though an arm of tar had brushed his brother lightly on the chest, causing the skin to become iced over. The ice spread, quickly covering his entire leathery form. Loth’s body ceased to move, the frozen snarl locked firmly on his face, and with a light push from the Master, he fell backwards and shattered into tiny shards on the floor. However, Flithide was not as defiant as his brother; he, as well as the rest of his clan, became part the Master’s property, doing his every command no matter how laborious and stupid they may have thought it to be. The fear held of this creature was well deserved, as the Master made demonstrations out of those who failed to meet expectations or were becoming more than an irritation.

He reached the end of a long downward spiraling staircase and continued forward to the Masters room. The door before him was huge, even dwarfing his eight-foot stature. Each door stood as tall as five of the largest Torocs standing on each other’s shoulders and six could walk through next to one another. Blackened like a cauldron, both the doors and their knockers hung in silence, each doorknocker looking like the fist of some imposing, long nailed beast, with a black ring of iron hanging from its clutches. Reaching up, Flithide took a knocker into his hand and knocked on the door anxiously.

Distorted a voice commanded, ”Come.” The voice sounded neither male nor female, young or old, human or inhuman, and echoed through the room as if it would shake the doors.

He entered slowly, pushing and hiding behind the door as he crept in. Once inside, the door closed slowly and silently behind Filthide. He looked like a typical Toroc, with the exception of his clothing, which signified himself as a tribe’s king. His skin shimmered of light green and dark brown, like snake skin in places where there was no dirt, though there were no scales on his thick skin. The cloth and armor he wore covered most of the scars on him, many of which were from others of his kind. As a race they were prone to infighting even from a young age. Under his arm he carried his chieftain helm, made of metal, crafted to cover all but his eyes and mounted with two horns ripped from the skull of a slain Auron. Like almost any other Toroc he was heavy in muscle but perhaps shorter than was the norm for his race. His sunken yellowish colored slit eyes searched the room as they tried to adjust to the difference in light. The look he had and the way he stood was not as menacing as others of his kind. Filthide’s stature and size meant nothing now, as he seemed to be looking around timidly.

He stood in a room with walls that seemed to be made of fire but it was not as intense as it appeared, though some heat emanated. The floor was made of a dark marble that did not shine but absorbed every ounce of light that hit it. The throne before him was large enough to fit him and his brother at one time but the creature in it occupied no more than half of it. The Master was something Flithide could only describe as “some sort of movin’ nighttime” not knowing what else to call it since he had never seen another one of this kind before. The Master was a creature of pure darkness whose movements were easy flowing, and when it did move some small sparkles could be seen just on the outer edges of his form, if it could even be called a form. It seemed neither human or otherwise, male nor female, just a mass of darkness that possessed movement and speech. Amongst Filthide’s peoples, they spread tales of it being living evil born from the darkest of tar pits. The stories spread and varied, even saying that it was a monster, older than their deities and the world, awakened to destroy all things.

The mass stood from the throne to an empty space on the floor and spoke. “Is all going according to my plans?”

“Ye..ye..yes. Yes it is master. The princess has been taken and the message sent to the Velurians.” he stuttered.

“Make sure I have their answer by the middle of day’s heat tomorrow. If they do not give in to which it is being demanded then it shall be taken,” the darkness said out stretching a limb that looked like an arm.

What appeared around the limb were a sight of the Velurian castle and the rest of its city floating in the air. As Flithide looked on he caught glimpses of movement as though people, the inhabitants of the city, were moving about in the vision. Suddenly, a quick swipe roughly severed the image into upper and lower halfs but only briefly as the city then exploded into dust and debris, leaving behind only ruins. Flithide looked to his enslaver and without question knew what was to come, and he pitied them though the feeling quickly faded. If he did not do as he was told he would suffer an even worse demise, which to he was sure of.

“Filthide, do not disappoint me.” it said while returning to its throne to sit, its movement caused Filthide to tense up, clicking his claws on the stone.

“I…I..won…won’t master.” the large Toroc answered with a mix of fright in his tone.

”Leave!” the Master yelled at him.

Filthide stumbled back, his feet losing grip as the yell sapped any stability he had left, but still frantically moved to get away. Without a touch, the entrance doors opened and shut as Filthide ran out of it. The Master sat back in the throne, when the wall of flame opened into a sort of doorway. From this flame edged portal a woman strode out of. She walked and sat on the thrones armrest crossing her legs, placing her hands on her knees. The darkness seemed to be paying her no mind. Many things were set in motion and the Master had much to think over. No plan would come to fruition by happenstance, what was to come about needed careful preparation and care. Opposition was slight if any existed, though at present none of concern could be seen. Patience was important in everything that has happened and if everything were to continue in favor of the Master more patience would be needed. This was more irritating than any in employ of creature, and it was noticeable to those whom were kept closely.

The land of the Velurians would play a major role in current plans, the reason being purely location. The greater portion of the army to follow needed a portal to be opened to enter into this world. The Master foresaw the tidal wave of followers approaching lands and cities without warning. Armies would rise to contest, but they would fall like any other. The order of this world would be redone and held without resist.

It would all start on the Talgren Continent. There were few towns, villages and cities but they were large. Of these the Velurian and Faedorian nations were the largest. But as plans were already going into play of the taking over of Veluria and Faedoria would soon and with little effort. Bagadorn, to the south of Veluria, currently was the only one not in plans to be overthrown, as a arrangement was already in progress of completion. However if things went unpleasant, this city too would be an easy gain. The seaport city Portcrest, merchant town Solcade, as was told have no defenses to worry over so they were inconsequential, and would fall faster than the others. To control this area was strategic planning to get foot hold by subtly or force. As with any takeover, a few would have to be made public displays of, simply to get any thoughts of weakness or blind spots out of the minds of the masses.

The other continents would soon end up like the Eastern, and the entire world would have a new dictate, that one belonging to the Master. Much inquiry lead to the finding of the story of guardians of the world, though none had yet allowed themselves to be known. If they truly dwelt about there would be plans to deal with the one or group.

“You’re quiet master.” the woman said seductively.

“Were you able to find the needed things to bring him back?” asked the dark creature.

“Of course. When have I ever failed you my master?” she answered with an air of arrogance. “I placed the pieces on the slab in the next room as you asked.”

Standing up, she walked in front of the throne, bowing slightly to her master. She was stunning in appearance; her face owned a beauty that rarely appeared amongst other human women, and only to be accentuated by the grace of her movement. What part of her skin that could be seen, whispered softness taunting to be touched. Her hair was black like the kind that could hide the stars, and it flowed easily as she sat or walked. In her blue-green eyes, she possessed a hypnotism that could capture any creature. Her body moved in a rhythm that seduced most men and even women, arousing tempting thoughts and made the mind weak. She wore a black skirt that reached down to her ankles and had a split on either side just up past the middle of her thigh, not too tight fitting but snug enough to show off her shape quite well. A black shirt of similar fine cloth covered her top, cut high above her chest and cut low in the back exposing the beautiful, firm muscles on her, though her front gave a slight show of her womanliness, which was all she needed to tease and use to her advantage. Most the clothes in her wardrobe kept to this design, cleaver and revealing with a single purpose in mind. Each piece was created in her mind, drawn up by a personal tailor she kept in her employ, and made of the finest and most unique materials she could find. It was a sort of hobby to keep her busy when not engaged under orders.

The Master however never seemed taken in like others under this simple vice. When they met, she lay dying on a roadside. She lay on the cold ground where she was beaten and violated. Her rape was not because of her beauty, but pure chance. In her youth she didn’t flaunt about as she did now, as her father and mother always discouraged it but tried to hone her mind in business. Her family had plans of moving to a larger growing city, finding more work to live a better life. The travel from the little farm town they lived in to the city would prove to be the end of their dreams. She had never seen men like the ones whom attacked them before, and hadn’t since. Try her father did, though he was outnumbered for sure and possibly not nearly as strong as he was in his previous days, but he could not defend his family against the thugs that preyed on them. His death was not quick enough, as he watched his wife be caught and beaten while trying to run away with their daughter who cried for him. Their daughter would suffer too long and was beaten beyond what anyone should, blood drenching the ground under her with her life flowing out with it. Just as her existence started to ebb away, a shadowed form took up her vision. Weakness impaired her sight though she remembered what people, even her own parents, said when one lay dying; they would be taken by the one called Mal-kahavet, a dark figure whose touch would steal ones spirit and life away. Thinking this was her last moment she tried to cry through all the pain shaking her abused body. It was asked of her ‘Would you like to live on and not feel the coldness of death? Would you use your life to seek vengeance on those who would take you as nothing more than a fragile woman?’ Her answer came as a slight nod, at first, but as she felt the pain fade and her skin grow cold a shout of ‘Yes!’ sealed her fate. It said that for her to live and do as she wanted she must serve, she must do as it commanded without questioning. Again, she replied she would do so. Moments later she was standing, her wounds gone, though her parents still lay dead. Of all the wounds, the only one left without mend was this, and it bled hot anger into her. The darkness before her told her that the power promised was granted to her and free for her to use as she saw fit. Her master felt rising emotions in this young woman, her sadness sparking other feelings leading to a very treacherous amount of anger.

With help from her life-giver she found the murderers of her kin, and was advised to take her time in dealing with them. This was her grooming, under watchful tutelage, to blossom into a faithful deadly servant. Not long after their first meeting, she went about exacting her vengeance as the master said it should be done, and it was done flawlessly ending with such a satisfaction that it became addictive. The power and abilities given to her she grew in use with such familiarity it was as if they were hers from birth, in turn however she was asked to do what most would think to be questionable things, even kill those she didn’t know without cause. Devoid of doubt, each task was fulfilled exactly as she was commanded. Those whom had possessions of great value to the Masters plans were to be relieved of them, by force preferably to her taste. She seduced with malicious intent, taking great care to do nothing leaving causing notice or alarm. No longer the same person, she thought it best, as did the Master, to change her name. It came to her as she dressed in a robe to introduce herself to the servants left to her by a lover who died strangely in the middle of the night. Along with the servants she inherited a large manor, all his material possessions, and large fortune though all this was more a desire than a need to her. Simona flowed between the lips nicely she thought, and from then on the Master called her by that.

“Were they hard to retrieve?” the darkness asked.

“No,” Simona said “not for me.” she grinned. “The paladin knights guarding his head were a bit tiring, but nothing I could not deal with.”

The darkness once again stood and walked towards her.

“Have this man, Lim-Dal, brought back to this world of the living any means necessary. When you have done so, bring him to me. A man of his talent will be useful.”

A large leather bag, brown in color then appeared on the floor in front of her.

“This will suffice what you will need.” The dark mass walked back to its grand chair.

This was not a surprise to her, as the master always did this preparing thing before hand. She was displeased though; the color of the bag would not match any of her usual clothing. Squinting at the bag, she concentrated, and released a surge of energy that made a few sparks around the bag turning it into black leather. Content now, she hefted the unusually heavy bag over her shoulder.

“Not to be rude,” she started “but it seems that there is more than just monetary influence in here.”

The shadow did not waver as the voice responded, “You will need more than just capital on this excursion. There are scrolls and spell components in the bag also. Find a gifted one, hire him. The items in the bag will then become useful.”

Simona nodded and walked towards the huge doors. “Would it not be easier to just portal to your destination?” the shadow asked.

“There are a few places I must go first, my master, to make sure every thing is in order, of course.” she said continuing her walk towards the door. With a wave of her hand the doors opened, and closed slowly behind her.

Walking towards the stairs, she began to think. She knew little of the Masters plans, and what she did know were small minor things like bringing back this long dead deathweaver. However she had never questioned the intentions of her undertakings, and she didn’t see a reason to start. The Master never meddled in her personal dealings or the ways in which she carried on, and it was better that way. This was her first time in having to bring someone back from the dead though, a task she had only heard in rumors and far-flung stories over the course of her life. The oddity of dealing with a deathweaver only added to her curiosity as they to, were only rumors. She could only recall one story of a deathweaver and it unsettled her as it was told. Deathweavers were like gifted ones, but because of their twisted minds, they saw beauty in watching death and decay. Instead of controlling elements, forces, or bending the normal into what they wished or were capable of, a deathweaver had the means of killing with words sent from afar, or bringing back from death a corpse just as perverse as their envisioning. To her knowledge the last of these practitioners were driven from any civilized lands or hunted by the unforgiving Judgment Chapter and slain. All of this was hearsay as it was well before her birth. Most gifted would spend of their lives hiding themselves, so as not to be tormented, or cleverly blending in among commoners thusly hindering themselves so as to go about a average life. To her advantage she knew a few gifted and their whereabouts. Whether they could restore someone to life she was unsure of, but she was sure she would figure something out.

A portal, as the Master suggested, to a nearby area was something she could easily conjure and would speed her along, but she had a fondness to travel when she could. Some of the more elaborate, animal drawn carriages she took a distinct favoritism to. Sea vessels were also nice, but only the ones that catered to passengers rather than cargo, as they tended to have better boarding accommodations. As the door closed behind her she looked at the walls of the spiraling stone staircase, letting out a sigh as she realized where she was. The entrance and exit to the Masters abode could shift as desired to varying places that were fixed. As she knew, there were twelve locations; this one was her least favorite. Each threshold resided in areas that were out of the way of travelers and even if someone were to come across one there would be nothing to be seen by the eye to be of interest. The locations were broad, though not everywhere, as these entrances were set in place specifically for the Masters uses, not convenience. Walking up the first pair of steps she saw that the walk up would be long, tedious, and unnecessary. She envisioned a small columned room with a window high on either side, all made of large sand colored stones. Her mind reached out to this room forcing all around her to push away in a blur, and in less than a heartbeat she stood atop the stairs. Blinking, as she called it, because when it was first shown to her by the Master, he looked to be in one spot and as she blinked he appeared in another area only to appear quickly in another. This was something she was taught to do. It could only be done over short distances and she enjoyed doing it. Portaling required her using a hand to open a hole in front of her that mirrored the place she wanted to go, and unlike blinking, it took a bit more time.

The stairs lead to a tower-like area large enough to house a few dozen people; it was totally empty though with exception to the dust and dirt that littered most of it. The tower only had one door, made of wood, and no stairs to go upwards, which seemed odd for a tower at first glance. Simona proceeded out of the door into the sun lit grass land area around the tower, the door behind her closed on its own, making a searing sound as an enchantment induced seal locked the door in place. No creature could open the door without knowing the special incantation, even by force the door would remain whole and shut. The only other way it could be opened was if the Master opened it, as in the case of Filthide as he was neither trusted nor expected to remember the proper method of recitation, and it could from anywhere as long as the Master willed it. It wasn’t quite often the Master would do this as he had little need for more than a select few to be in his presence.

The slate stone of the stairs already told her her whereabouts as she inhaled deeply, smelling the air perfumed with the scent of open fields. The road to Solcade was just in front of her, no more than a few strides away towards the north, and all was quiet on it. Personal reasons kept her from quickly setting about her masters bidding but she would make up much time here for it as well. Over time and across her many travels, Simona made acquaintances, most being of the unsavory type. Some were more than just connections, they all served many roles. Kept as her personal informants, she had cities crawling with eyes that saw everything, meaning she saw everything once speaking with them. Servants kept her home with care and sent out urgent letters to her by her couriers. As of late the Master kept her busy with searching for a supposed deathweavers remains, meaning she had little time to be filled in on anything worth noting. Solcade was not as large or busy a place as its neighboring cities but she kept an informant there as well. Reaching into a tiny pocket in her upper garment, in-between her well endowed chest, she retrieved what looked to be a ball of blue sparkling dust. She rubbed a finger over the ball and whispered, “Wake up.”. Unfolding, the ball of dust shook and stretched becoming a creature resembling a fox. Its tail was not as thick but the ears were of large size for its head. It continued to sparkle and shimmer in her hand as it looked up at her. Simona had this creature made of magic conjured up by a gifted one some time ago to serve as messenger, for its speed was unparalleled and would always find its mark unless said mark no longer lived at which it would swiftly return. Wordwhisperers, as they were called, assumed the form of whatever their owner wished and could carry a short message over long distances, staying well out of sight until the right time. Though it could only relay the single message from the owner and not carry anything, it found a purpose to those whom had them, but there weren’t many who could pay to have one made, knew of ones who could or would summon one, or knew they even were. Whispering quickly into the tiny sprinters ear, Simona told it to seek out her spies in all the cities around, requesting any and all news be sent swiftly to her servant in Solcade. More than likely she would arrive just as all the letters would be being collected. A playful thought of something that would get her attention in one of the notes made her red lips purse into a smile. Gently a breeze pushed her dark mane askew, which she quickly straightened, collecting the whole of it and laying it behind her head. From her hand the Wordwhisperer leapt, landing silently on small rock, turned to a southerly direction and darted off, leaving a slim trail of vanishing sparkles. Within moments the tiny messenger was nowhere to be seen and its trail along with it. Simona began her walk to the small city of Solcade, in her step was a bit of anxiousness as she wanted to hear something of interest. Mentally she had already begun planning her route to one of her gifted acquaintances, and she referred to him as such as he was never happy to see her or be in her company making her sure they weren’t to be called friends. Almost everything he had ever done for her he only did for the pay, though on occasion the money was not what he wanted, rather he employed her services as a mercenary type to get things that he couldn’t, such as the time he needed the blood of a Ritualist of Nadine. Simona wasn’t above the task, nor had any belief in any of the gods worshiped anywhere, and to this end she made quick work of finding a victim. She hadn’t stalked him or studied the kind of man he was, all she had to know was he that he was the principal teacher in a Holal. If nothing else she didn’t allow him to suffer while putting his blood into a container, it was quick, painless and got her what was needed and that was all that mattered to her. Thankfully for the gifted ones sake, he didn’t make it a regular thing to ask her of such or Simona would have made quick work of him as well.