When it was revealed that Oolos had indeed betrayed the clan, she felt her world had ended. The night after the council proclaimed Oolos a traitor, rendering their judgement of exile, she went to Jesolin’s tent, her eyes red from crying. He was so welcoming and kind that night, never once interrupting her as she told him the story of how she had come to love Oolos from the first moment they kissed to his eventual proposal. They sat across from each other as she spoke, him gently holding her hand. When she had completed her tale, which ended with more tears than even she thought she could cry, Jesolin slowly stood up and sat down next to her, never once letting go of her hand.
“What now is your vexation, my dear Vismorda?” he asked her.
“Did you not hear what I just finished telling you?” she answered, somewhat irritated. He had been so understanding of her, almost innately so, that his question caught her by surprise.
“Yes, I heard everything you said, my dear. So, I will ask again, what now is your vexation?” he said as he reached up and wiped a lingering tear from her cheek.
“My life is over, Jesolin. The man to whom I was betrothed has been found to be a traitor. Do you not think the council will investigate just how far his treachery went? They will surely include me and exile me on the simple grounds of association! I will never become the wife of a clan chief now. I will be lucky to be a beggar on the streets, or worse!” she said drawing a new round of tears with the prospect of her derailed life.
“No one is going to investigate you, my dear. Your character is beyond reproach,” he said as he consoled her by placing his arm around her shoulder. She melted into his comfort with ease, almost collapsing into him.
“You cannot know that for sure,” she said between sobs. “How can you know that?” she asked as she turned to look up at him, still nuzzled in his comforting embrace.
“I know that, my dear, because I caused it,” he said.
“You did what?” she asked as she sat upright, pulling slightly away from him.
“You asked how I know no one will link you to anything concerning Oolos. I answered you. I know it because I was the one who caused it all,” he said peering steadily into her eyes.
“Wait,” she said, sitting just a little straighter than a moment ago, “are you saying you were the cause of his betrayal? I am confused. How you could have caused his treachery. You have done nothing but assist him and everyone. You could not have played any role in his transgressions, even if unintended. Your heart was pure in the matter.”
“Ah yes. Purity. You are not wrong in that my dear,” he said as he stood up, turning away from her. “My heart is pure. That is true. But that is not the question whose answer will end your confusion.”
“What are you talking about, Jesolin. Now I am even more confused than I was just a moment ago,” she said as she stood up to walk over to him. Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, she continued, “Jesolin, I am sure none of this, not even the smallest part, can be blamed on you. You should not have to carry this burden. It was solely the decisions and actions of Oolos.”
Turning around to face her quickly enough to startle her, he said, “But are they though? Is Oolos the only one to blame? Or better yet, should he share even the smallest portion of blame as if he was a simple play piece in a game of Krinock Gool?”
“Jesolin, you are beginning to worry me? What are you talking about?” she said as she reached for his hands.
“I am talking about truth, real truth, the kind of truth that renders all other thoughts of truth as mere deceptions and illusions. I am talking about the greatness of serving something so all-encompassing that even the foundations of the world appear incomplete in its presence. Have you ever felt that, Vismorda? Have you ever belonged to a plan; a persistence dedicated to removing all illusions? Can you imagine what it would be like for the whole land to submit under the control of a singularity that promises power for all? For the first time in our lives, as short as they have been, we would be truly free. That is what I speak of; freedom, the kind of freedom that not only promises hope, but delivers on it. I speak of freedom, Vismorda, freedom from all the wretchedness in this world. Freedom to live as one desires and not how one is told. That is what I speak of, and that is what I serve. That is who I serve,” his grip on her hands reflecting his tightening grip on her will.
“I do not understand,” she admitted.
“Here, let me show you,” he said.
And that was the last time she would ever understand what freedom could have been. For in that moment, when she consented to his request, he would open herself to his world of control and domination rendering moot all thoughts and actions otherwise. She had become ensnared into his dream, his way of life, and soon, his master. Although she drank deeply from his fountain, basking in the ecstasy that followed as a means to discover hers, it came with a heavy burden. While the cost was terrible in its totality, she paid it and paid it gladly to become the embodiment of female darkness she had been shown. Though she would not be his in body until the following night, the night Oolos sought to seek his vengeance on his brother whom he believed to have constructed the mechanics of his demise, this was the night she became Jesolin’s in all meaningful ways. This was the night she began her descent into an evil so complete that all other forms of compassion and caring would eventually become obsolete. Hate does many things, but one thing it does not do is care about others.
Yet, as she looked down on the angelically peaceful faces of both Malice and Vile, she could no longer ignore that part of her motivation for their retrieval was something deeper than the fear of failing Jesolin’s dictate. But it had been such a long time since any emotion deviating from those rooted in lack gained even a morsel of influence within her that she was unable to identify it as simple compassion. Instinctively, she knelt down beside them and slowly reached out her hand to remove a lock of hair that was laying across Vile’s eye. Perhaps it would not have interrupted the girl’s peaceful rest, but Vismorda did not want anything to interrupt what would quite possibly be one of her last peaceful moments with them. She was sure, upon her return, Jesolin would begin their instructions in earnest.
Vismorda’s gentle motion of swiping the lock of hair away had prompted Vile to nestle her face into the woman’s hand as if it were a soft play animal or doll. Before she felt it, a tear had formed and spilled from her eye landing on Vile’s cheek. The small girl opened her eyes slightly, and when she saw Vismorda staring down at her with softness and affection, she smiled. The moment lasted only a fraction of a breath, but it was one that would be imprinted enduringly on Vismorda’s consciousness. The girl fell back into a peaceful sleep as quickly and quietly as she had awoken, but the damage had been done. Vismorda laid down next to her, curled both the young girls into her embrace, holding them gently, and silently cried herself to sleep.
All of the preparations had been completed. The war machines had been built and armed with enough ammunition to sustain an ages long siege. The military forces themselves had been amassed through either recruitment, voluntary or otherwise, or through the less orthodox, and in many cases more effective, means of necromancy. Food had been gathered and distributed where needed, although much of the marching power did not require food, at least not enough to warrant a continued chain of supply. And lastly, more than enough weapons and armor had been forged. Indeed, they had enough provisions to sustain, equip and make effective, the largest single army Avendia had ever seen. Except, they were not going to be a single army. They were going to be many armies, each with a specific target and specific purpose. While he was certain his Warbringers would be both surprised and disappointed with their assigned tasks, he had no doubt they would comply. However, before they began their exodus from the Blood Keep into other lands ripe for the conquering, he required their participation in what would quite probably be the last ritual they would participate in as a combined unit.
Late in the previous evening, after even the nocturnals thought bet
ter than to wander too far from their dens, Satan had finally broken his silence and came to Jesolin in a dream. This was the first time he had ever “seen” his master manifest himself in mortal form, possibly because dreams were not subjected to the same constraints preventing his master from manifesting himself into the mortal plane. Though Satan had never discussed it, Jesolin knew his master was unable to physically exist in Avendia. He was not sure how Satan had been prevented from doing so, only that he had been. So, when the unholy presence that had been his companion, leader, lord, torturer, teacher, confidant, and god finally dissolved from nothing into what could only be his own image, even if only within his dream, Jesolin was consumed by a state of physical awe. Imagine having every conception of physical beauty collide with the revelation that whatever concepts had been understood were nothing more than ephemeral illusions, that, when weighed against the truth, were not only lacking, but completely inconsequential.
Although altogether the image of a man, Satan was altogether the image of everything greater than a man. He had long, black hair pulled back into a perfect ponytail secured by a thin, black silk ribbon, both spilling to the small of his back. He had perfectly symmetrical, angular facial features that were entirely masculine, but radiated androgynous beauty as if both genders would find them equally beautiful and alluring. He was thin, yet portrayed a sanguine strength of musculature that mimicked the perfection of his facial features. He wore a blood-red tunic that flowed so fluidly it appeared to be made of a fabric of silken design, but laced with the very blood of life. His trousers reflected the same hideous fluidity as his tunic but were a color deeper than the blackness of a moonless midnight. He wore a thick, black leather belt around his waist fastened in the middle by a large, red-colored metal that resembled a face, or faces. Every time Jesolin’s eyes were drawn to the buckle, it looked slightly different. He wore no boots and had no weapon. However, as much power and perfection as this physical body exuded, it was nothing compared to his eyes. The whites were brilliant and flawless as were his unmoving pupils. His irises possessed the most fantastic coloring Jesolin had ever seen. Equally representative of all colors at once, the still mortal parts of his mind had difficulty processing the outright brilliance of Satan’s gaze propagated by the radiance of all colors simultaneously.
“Come to me, my son,” Satan said as he stretched his hand toward Jesolin. “Come to me and kneel.” Jesolin did not hesitate, nor did he turn his attention from Satan’s eyes, not that he could. He walked over and kneeled in front of his master.
“You have done well, my son, in the wake of my silence. Many things required my attention and many things were prepared for you. As a reward, I have a gift for you. A gift and a task,” said Satan as he walked to stand behind the kneeling Jesolin who bent his head in submission. “As a reward, I will give you a glimpse into everything that is waiting for you should you continue with your success in this next stage of my plans. Prepare.”
As soon as Satan’s hands touched the sides of his head, Jesolin’s back arched and his arms dropped to his sides. His head tilted back and his face clenched. Had it not been for Satan’s powerful grasp, his body would have spasmed so forcefully that he would have fallen to the ground. However, there was no pain lancing through him the way it had done so many times. Instead, in a delicious parallel to its intensity, pleasure throbbed inside of him; a pleasure so complete, it rendered him incapable of voluntary control. Amidst his muscle spasms, his manhood became engorged and he ejaculated uncontrollably until Satan removed has hands and relented his gift.
“Such is the pleasure awaiting you, my son, upon the completion of your work. But there is more to be done, much more,” said Satan as Jesolin continued to gasp for breath and continued to struggle for composure. “I will impart to you a single last ritual that must be completed before my armies can be set to their tasks. It will leave you vulnerable for a few moments, but do not worry. I will make sure you are protected. It is essential you complete this ritual as I instruct. It is a binding of the blood,” said Satan as he touched the sides of the kneeling man again.
When he woke, not only did he possess the complete knowledge of the final ritual, but very specific and very different instructions for his Warbringers. Enthralled by the lingering pleasure, or at least its memory, he sent his servant with summons for each of them. Even though it was very early in the morning, even before the sun rose, he still needed a considerable amount of time to draw the intricate runes on the floor and walls prior to their arrival. And then there was the matter of drawing those same runes onto his own skin. He purposefully rose from is bed, donned his black silk robe, and quickly but calmly walked to the War Council Room. Once there, he paused and inhaled deeply. This would undoubtedly be the last time all of them would be assembled in the innermost sanctum of his first conquest, a conquest that vaulted him into the second phase of his promised glory.
Meticulously, he drew each of the eleven identical runes on the floor in the places he was instructed they be drawn. But before he began the twelfth, the rune reserved for him, he paused. Never before had he been remotely vulnerable to any of his subordinates, let alone anyone from his Warbringers. Other than Mordin, though it was unknown and unintentional, he had never given any of them even the slightest moment to test whether their obedience outmatched their hatred for him. Regardless of how brief the period of his incapacitation embedded within this ritual would be, the fact that there was one at all unnerved him. Yet, Satan had promised he would be protected. Though the apprehension would undoubtedly remain, he steeled himself against it with the knowledge that Satan had never failed him before giving him no reason to do so now. When he completed the last rune, the one for him and the only one different that the other eleven, he knelt down and began replicated the runes on himself until every part of him was covered. Just as he finished the last of them drawn with meticulous detail on his face, his servant entered carrying a small box inside which were twelve of the Blood Daggers. Jesolin silently gestured for them to be distributed inside each of the runes.
Mein en’Dunn, the southern sword master, was the first to arrive, no doubt because of his rigid adherence to the belief that personal accountability was central to the perfection of one’s craft. Jesolin silently bid him to sit within the first rune to his right. Once he was seated, Jesolin said, “Welcome, Mein en’Duun. Your presence is appreciated.”
“Thank you, My Lord Kahl. I see that I am not to be alone,” he said, sitting fluidly.
“You are correct. This last ritual will require the entire council to be present,” said Jesolin.
“I assume a suitable replacement for Mordin has been found and that Vismorda has returned?” he asked.
“To your first assumption, yes. An adequate replacement has been found. And to your second, no, she has not returned,” he said suppressing his disappointment.
“Then she is to be replaced?” asked Mein.
“Replaced? No, she cannot be replaced. However, for the requirements of this ritual, a substitute will be provided,” answered Jesolin.
Ending their conversation, and entering with the silence his name suggested, was Suony The Serpent. “Welcome, Suony,” said Jesolin. Please sit within the second rune.”
Void of both words and sounds, Suony accepted his Lord’s welcome silently, sitting as instructed. Each of the Warbringers was welcomed in a fashion similar to the first two, and each of them complied to Jesolin’s direction without protest. Still fresh in their minds was the price of disobedience they experience during the last of their formal gatherings. The only two who hesitated were the necromancer accompanying Exein and Amoos Trask. Neither of them had remembrance of the intense pain the others felt, because neither of them was present. Thus, they were not motivated by its avoidance; however, their hesitations were only brief as they were the last two to enter the room. Silently, they followed the examples set by the previous nine and sat within the boundaries of their respective runes.
Je
solin closed his eyes and prepared to outline the ritual for his companions, but before he was able to, a voice from the door penetrated the silence, “Pardon me, Lord Jesolin, but I was wondering if I could be part of this ritual.”
Jesolin’s eyes flared as he was about to admonish the intruder with a verbal consequence equivalent to the offense of interrupting; but he tempered his response to a more cordial statement when he saw that the intruder was Esthinor.
“We have sufficient numbers to conclude the ritual. Your presence will not be necessary,” he said coldly.
“I was hoping to substitute myself in the place of one of your other companions, My Lord,” persisted Esthinor.
“Thank you, but I must still decline your offer. These eleven have been chosen for specific purposes. Thank you once again, Grand Wizard, but your inclusion will not be necessary,” said Jesolin again. Had he not recently entered into an agreement with The University, he would have been more forceful with his response, but he thought better of it. Now was not the time to strain any allegiances.
“I am sure they have. However, certainly I can provide greater usefulness than my good friend Amoos,” continued the Grand Wizard.
“His inclusion has already been determined,” replied Jesolin now finding it difficult to contain his response.
“Surely I can provide a greater opportunity for its success than he. I would never seek to diminish your decision, Lord Kahl, but I am quite confident I can more quickly adapt to your instructions,” insisted Esthinor
Jesolin considered for a moment. What the grand wizard had said was not untrue. And if he did allow Esthinor to participate, it would fulfill Amoos’ role. Though he did not doubt he would be able to pull Amoos through the ritual, Esthinor’s exposure to magic, as different as it was, would allow him to be guided instead of completely led, as he feared Amoos would need to be. He had awakened the dark fountains in others for a very long time and did not doubt his ability to do so during the beginning phases of the ritual, but Esthinor would provide a smoother inclusion than Amoos. Although Amoos’ selection was not motivated by any individual power or property he possessed, making the substitution would present with a secondary potential, one not possible with Amoos. To have The University of Knowledge firmly under his control was a delicious fantasy indeed. With The University, there would be none able to resist his flow of horrible domination. “Yes,” he said, “I do believe I can allow your substitution. Amoos, you are excused.”
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