Turning to stare directly at the older man, Jesolin's eyes were alive with the darkness and hate he was currently swimming in, and he might have consumed the man's soul right then and there had it not been for the interruption by Hurdon, "Open to you I will become. Hurdon has nothing to hide." His baritone voice resonating in the chests of everyone gathered.
"So too will I," echoed Vismorda.
"As will I," joined Mordin.
All the while, Jesolin's eyes never left Gin'ev's. "Very well, Lord Kahl, we will all open to you," he said.
Moments later, each of the eleven Warbringers accessed their individual dark fountains and opened their powers to be linked to their Lord. As Jesolin extended eleven small tendrils of his own dark liquid to flow into the fountains of his followers, he noticed that it was not his alone that was flowing into them, but the direct influence of Satan himself. Through their constructed bonds, he felt all of the malice and hate they felt for him. He knew their devotion was nothing more than the effect of his control, and as their power grew, so would their boldness; a boldness that would inevitably lead to challenge. And while he would, in time, welcome their challenge as a hungry predator welcomes the futile resistance from his prey, that time was not now.
Pulse. While he held them trapped by locking their fountain to his, he pulsed them each with a morsel of pain driven beyond where their minds ended and their souls began. But what he had intended only as a reminder, Satan used as an instruction full of painful instructions; for he imbued Jesolin's pulse with a driving torrent of pain that caused each of their backs to arch wickedly. Screams echoed beyond the chamber they were in. Even Hurdon, the great Ogre Shaman's normally subdued grunts were turned into a horrible howl transmitting the pain he was experiencing to all those who were within the sound of his considerable bellow.
And then Satan spoke. Through Jesolin, his voice turned to a hideous replica of Satan’s evil, the Lord of Hate said, "There is no justice for you now, nor hallowed redemption, nor respite from my endeavors and triumphs. I will allow no more illusions for you regarding the genesis of your accomplishments. And never again will you think possible an exodus from my instruments of hate and control. The man, My Son, He who sits before you, is my chosen weapon to wreak all the controlling domination that hate can accomplish. And it will be total. So now, while you sit and silently scheme in an attempt to overthrow his control, know this: it will not be. He is mine and falls under my protection. If there is any doubt, or will be any doubt, let this be a gentle reminder of what awaits you if you do not understand the validity of my words."
A fraction of a second passed as the words of the unholy master ended. And though it was a minor reprieve from the first pulse of pain they felt, it was fleeting in its comfort. Whatever pain he had caused before he spoke was dwarfed in comparison to what they all now experienced. All, that is, except for Jesolin. He was well acquainted with the unholy degree of pain his master was capable of summoning. So, when the torrent of tsunami like waves impounded their minds, bodies, and souls, he was the only one prepared.
When the waves finally ended, and enough time had been granted allowing those present to regain their composure, Jesolin spoke, "What you experienced is but a fraction of what I have endured. To have our Lord address us in any manner, even if only through me, is a privilege none of us is worthy of. But, because many of you are yet virgins to his corrective embrace, I will consider his words sufficient and render no further action necessary. But have no illusions, should I suspect even the slightest betrayal, there will be swift and prolonged justice. For I am not without my own talents for creating pain, as all of you well know."
Breaths were still labored; lungs were still awkwardly trying to gain the fullness required for speech. The only one able to answer his warning was Vismorda, perhaps because she was best acquainted with Jesolin's wrath and attention, and therefore, better equipped to recover from it, "Yes, my Lord," she said between wiping her brow of pain induced sweat and deep inhalations, "it is understood that all of us pledge our devotion to you and Satan alone."
"It pleases me to hear that, Vismorda. Tell me, do you speak for everyone?" he asked her.
There it was. Jesolin had just, within the words of a seemingly innocuous question, given an outright acknowledgement of her importance second only to himself. But why? He had never publicly done so before, not in the years they were together. Even in the beginning, when he still possessed more than a vague resemblance to mortality, had he acknowledged her position. But there it was. Choice, he had given her a choice. For whatever reason, he had not decided to dictate her position with him, but rather gave her a unique opportunity to decide for herself. As she looked around the room into the eyes of the other Warbringers, she could not help but see their hatred for her. And now, if she should but affirm his question, she was sure to be even a larger target than she already was. If there was any uncertainty within her, it was settled the instant she met the eyes of her longest and largest competitor, Mordin. Instinctively, her lips formed a triumphant grin. She knew she had won. She knew, and she spoke "Yes, my lord, I speak for everyone gathered. We are yours," she said as she inhaled deeply, still trying to recover from Satan’s painful embrace.
Once he was satisfied that there were no audible or visual disagreements with Vismorda's statement, he said, "So, where do we lie with our preparations?"
It was Guoth Mot who spoke first, "Our infantry is healing, my lord. They should be able to march within the month."
Next to speak in affirmation of Guoth's claim was Grothock Thrin, the dwarven slave trader. Although still struggling with recovering from the pain he recently felt, he spoke strongly and clearly, "I agree with Guoth’s assessment. A month's time will be adequate for preparations."
"Infantry is not what won us the Stone Keep, Guoth," said Mordin as he lowered his hood. "It was the deception we initiated with my Dead Guard. Without them, their army would not have been arrogant enough to engage us on the open field."
Cutting into the all-male debate, Vismorda offered her opinion, "And who was responsible for cutting their infantry down without a single casualty?"
"Your Ravens were aided, Vismorda," said Exein The Dark.
"Mind your tone, Wizard," shot Vismorda. "My Ravens would have dealt a lethal blow even if your rock-mud had not been utilized."
"Regardless of the methods," resonated the baritone of Bractos, "I think we can all agree that this was a collective victory."
"Collective?" repeated Jesolin boring his stare directly into the large man. "At what point did you think any of what we have accomplished would have been possible had it not been for the leading and anointing of our Master, The One True Master? You dare presume that our success, even the smallest portion of it, was not directly the result of our steadfast devotion to his teachings and allowance? And what is gathered here, at this table, except squabbling egos who have not embraced Him utterly?" he stood up allowing his rhetoric question to hang as if he desired a response. "Need I remind you that He is listening or do you all forget the blessing of pain we received only moments ago? Do you need a reminder!" he threatened as he walked around the table to utter silence. "I will tell you this: there is naught that we do that has not been ordained through His unholy influence; and to even utter such, to claim any part of it without the complete understanding that all we do is from Him, is to utter a blasphemy I will not allow again." Settling behind Bractos, he placed both hands on the large man's muscled shoulders. "Let this stand as a final reminder for you," he said, effortlessly snapping his neck.
None dared to look at their Lord for fear their life may be used as another illustration of the price of arrogance and pride, and none at this table cared to pay it. "Mordin," said Jesolin as the muscular form of Bractos fell to the floor, nothing more than a limp collection of mass and dust, "gather this heap and make use of him. Make him," he paused, "something special."
"My Lord?" said Mordin inquisitively.
"Are your
experiments on imbuing the Dark Power into corpses not progressing?" asked Jesolin as he began casually circling back to the head of the table.
"They are, My Lord, but they have reached a limitation, I fear," answered Mordin as he cleared his throat.
"Limitation?" inquired Jesolin.
"Yes, my lord. There appears to be a limit to the amount of power a physical frame can hold. We have burnt many corpses to uselessness in the process of pushing these limits," he said.
"Find a way," said Jesolin flatly. "Bractos, though his usefulness has exceeded its welcome at this table, can still be an imposing force. A force we will make use of in his death," said the white-haired Lord of the Blood Keep.
"Yes, my lord. It will be done," affirmed Mordin. And with a look to the corner of the room, two of his subordinate Necrons hurried to gather the hulking body.
When they had exited, Jesolin continued, "Now that we have all been sufficiently reminded of the price of betrayal, even in its smallest portion, what are your proposed plans to attack the Silver Castle and Pretago Cor?"
After a very long moment of silence, Gin'ev Innon answered, "It seems, though our proposed methods differ, I believe we have a consensus on the time frame. I believe everyone at this table will be in agreement that we can have all of our resources ready to march in a month's time." He ended his tenuous statement by looking around at the remaining Warbringers for approval.
"Is this the consensus then? That we must delay for a month until adequate preparations have been made," ask Jesolin.
"It is, Lord Kahl," answered Hurdon with his thick Ogre accent. "The prospect of marching on Pretago Cor includes a longer march and considerable number of defenses we will need to prepare for."
"Do you agree, Grothock? You have the most experience with prolonged marches," asked Jesolin.
"I do agree, Lord Kahl. There are many things to think of and to plan for when marching for that distance. The path alone will take at least that long to complete," answered the dwarven slaver.
"I see," said Jesolin. "But what if I told you we were to march in a week?"
"A week?" answered Endonis. "I have neither experience with armies nor with sieges, but it seems to me that a week will not be enough time to maximize our potential for victory."
"Nevertheless, we have one week to make final our plans and preparations," Jesolin said as he stood up signaling a completion to their meeting.
"But, my lord, a week is not enough time," said Mordin. "How can you expect us to complete everything that must be done when we do not have the required time?"
Jesolin did not answer his Prime Necron's question. At least, not verbally, but his death cold glare was answer enough for Mordin. Instead, he turned to Vismorda, "Vismorda, please follow me. I have questions regarding my Ravens."
"Yes, my lord," she said as she stood up following him out of the room. For a time, they walked in silence through the halls of the Blood Keep as Jesolin surveyed the changes his followers had made since their victory. Had he not ordered them, the devotion of those who followed would have required no prompting. After the night of utter celebration and dark revelry, they began their work of transforming the symbol of strength and fortitude for the Silver Empire into the very foundation of the darkness they worshipped.
The statues for the former high kings and rulers had been torn down and crushed into piles of rubble within days. In their places, statues representing all forms of hideousness as a representation of the likeness of the unholy Lord Satan had been, and were still being, erected. Everything from obscure masses of flesh to those more human looking, but still grotesquely mutated in their depiction, were quickly carved and mounted. All the colorful tapestries had been burnt in a great bonfire. In their place hung artistic renditions of the evil in the statues. Together they formed a compliment of horror that exceeding each of their singular interpretations. But possibly the most unsettling change throughout the Stone Keep itself was the alteration of its lighting. Previously lit with a surplus of wall sconces and fantastically large candelabras all with ample flames to adequately light even the deepest reaches of the Stone Keep’s halls, it was now illuminated by less than half of those. However, in spite of the number that had been removed, the greatest change was not the number of individual candles, but rather, their quality. Resulting from Exein’s addition of dark magic, the candles now flamed with a dark red luminescence enough to catalyze the transition in name from “The Stone Keep” to “The Blood Keep” quite naturally.
Their silence continued as they exited the Keep and continued their walk into the surrounding inner city. Though it seemed like more than a lifetime ago, Vismorda was reminded of the walks the two of them would take into the woods when they were both still young. She enjoyed those times the most because it was one of the only times when she could exist as herself without the influences and expectations of being with, and betrothed to, Oolos. With Jesolin, in those early days, she had experienced a freedom and belonging based solely on who she was and not what she was. However, soon after Oolos’s death and the selection of Jesolin as his succeeding chief, that feeling of freedom began to slowly, imperceptibly fade. It would not be long before she would be held captive by the seductive and controlling grasp of his hate born rage. And although the inner city itself had not undergone any of the same physical changes the Stone Keep had been subjected to, she knew, much like herself, they would be coming, and they would be undeniable.
As they entered the Blood Keep again, making their way back to the War Room, felt her fear begin to rise. Though the specific details regarding her last instruction remained unclear, she nevertheless, clearly remembered its effect. Reaching the door, Jesolin opened it for her, allowing her to step through first, albeit apprehensively. He followed her in and sat down on one of the chairs on the side of the table, bidding her to do the same. She did not know how to interpret his seemingly calm behavior when set against her two most recent experiences, so she hesitated.
Sensing this, Jesolin was quick to say, “Please, sit. It is alright.”
Again, not fully trusting his motives, for good reason, she sat down slowly and hesitantly. She had assumed their last encounter would be sufficient for him and she would be allowed to leave after the Warbringer’s meeting to search for Malice and Vile. Indeed, she was surprised when he bid her to attend instead of demanding she leave with all haste. That he requested her private presence again was something she had not anticipated nor understood. However, his soft and sincere voice mimicked the innocence she had known when she first met him years ago. It had been so long since she felt any amount of humanity from him, even though she knew it was not a true reflection of who he had become, she welcomed it.
"My Lord, I must apologize for my failure. There were indeed complications we had not foreseen when we decided to place he his friend in the dungeons instead of killing them. Their resolve proved," she paused to search for the correct word, "considerable."
"Be that as it may, my dear Vismorda," he said as he reached for her cheek, touching it lightly and affectionately, "you bested them so easily in your first encounter, how is it they were able to best you in your second?"
She lied, "Honestly, my lord, I was caught by surprise and was not prepared for their dual attack." She had debated telling him the truth about her encounter with the shadowy man, but decided against it for fear that he would probe her for more truth than she was willing to admit. "The boy, Malice and Vile's brother, has been trained by The Guild. And that petulant monk is a member of The Brotherhood. Had I not been caught unaware, I would have had no trouble dispatching them, but because their presence was unknown to me, they were too fast."
Bushing her raven locks out of her face, he tenderly asked, "My dear, have you been injured as a result of the encounter."
"No, my lord, nothing more than my pride. The bruise to my face has already healed as a result of your teaching. For that I am grateful," she replied to him, still uneasy of his apparent concern for her.<
br />
"That is good, my dear. Good because I have a task for you," he said as he withdrew his hand from her cheek.
"Anything you desire, my lord."
"Is that true, Vismorda?" he asked as he lazily sat back in his chair.
"Of course, it is, my lord. You know I would do anything you ask," he said as she leaned in, sensing his disbelief.
"But that is not true is it."
"What do you mean?"
"I recall asking you, or rather telling you, to train and keep my," he emphasized the word 'my', "Ravens safe. Or did I present ambiguity in my previous statement?"
"No, my lord, you did not."
"Then why have you lied to me?"
"I did not lie. I would never lie to you."
"Of course, you did. You said you would do something and you did not. Is that not a lie?"
"My lord, please believe me when I say I did everything I could to protect and prepare them," she said, her anxiety mounting.
"And now you request something of me in spite of your failure?" he asked, his voice losing much of its compassion.
"I did not request, I merely," she said, but before she could explain herself, he interrupted her,
"But you did," he said, his voiced laced with accusation. "You requested that I believe you, but I do not."
His words stung as they always did. Where had the man she had fallen in love with gone? The one capable of compassion and understanding who accepted the title of Clan Chief reluctantly and only because the elder council wished it so. Although it seemed like many lifetimes ago, she longed for that same innocence, an innocence that belonged to both of them. She longed to be touched by him like the first time he had touched her. Perhaps there was still a fleeting tenderness within him, but seeing the light and anger in his eyes begin to grow, she knew nothing had changed. Yet, in this moment, when fear should have gripped her, when she should have thought better of it to challenge him because of the inevitable consequences, when she would normally have dissolved into their routine of him taking and her giving, she gave nothing.
Bloodless Page 26
