((This is a little story I wrote the other day. Admittedly, it's not really about Kogrona, but rather a different character of mine. It is someone she associated with for a time and occasionally refers to. Hope it's okay!))
In the dimmed light, shadows danced across the walls and ceiling. A mysterious interior fog had covered the room, shrouding it in a dark red gloom. There were a handful of candles jutting from either side, but they did little to penetrate the darkness. The only notable object in the room was the ominous altar that lay in the center. The stone surface was marred by blood stains, scratches, and other blemishes. It's appearance implied it had a gruesome and terrible history. And if Veltor listened very carefully, he believed he could he could hear the screams and cries of the room's former inhabitants.
This was his favorite place. His sanctuary. He loved any excuse he could find to return.
Something shifted nearby. Turning his head to the side, he regarded his guest, a young elven woman that was slowly coming to. Her appearance was typical for one of the Sin'Dorei, or Blood Elves. Bright green eyes, beatiful face, slender build. Quite attractive, he supposed. Not that he was interested in her, not in that way. He hadn't felt any sort of urges of that nature in years, not since he had risen from his grave.
Still, he preferred the attractive ones for what he was about to do. Something about their beauty simply made it more satisfying.
The elf shifted from left to right. Veltor smiled. It would have been impossible for her to notice, in part because of the thick red fog that would have obscured her vision, and in part because of the mask that he wore over his face. He smiled because this was so typical. The guest would twist and turn, realizing they were constrained by some manner of bonds. They'd test them, see if they could wiggle free or loosen them somehow, and then they'd refocus their attention on where they were. And sometimes, they would say....
"Who are you? Where am I? What's the meaning of this?"
Veltor felt his smile widen. Perfect. Of course, he could cut right to the point and begin talking back right away, answering her questions and doing his best to make her feel comfortable. He did that sometimes. It could be quite satisfying, in it's own way, to give guests a false sense of relief before the end.
But not today. He needed to taste fear, see it in her eyes, her face, and then her whole body. That fear would be delicious, and it would be pleasing to the great ones.
He could tell that her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. He, on the other hand, had perfect vision. He was used to this sort of environment, and had no trouble seeing and enjoying the little elf struggle. He enjoyed watching her eyes in particular, the bright green glow that was filled with so much energy and power. The eyes blinked, then shifted all around in rapid movement. They had not yet focused on anything in the room. She still could not see him. He would wait a few more moments, let the tension build. But not too long, no, no, no. That would be rude. He could not be rude, not to a guest.
After just a little more time had passed, he decided the time was right. He moved in a slow and silent fashion, careful that his footfalls did not attract the attention of the woman's keen elven hearing. Of course, had she not been as scared as she was, her senses would have been working perfectly and no matter how careful he was, she'd find him. Others had in the past, spoiling at least some of the fun that he'd intended to have. This one did not. Her breath had quickened, and her movements were becoming even more frantic.
Veltor loved the silence. It was so much better at allowing people to imagine the horrors that lay just on the other side, waiting to be unleashed, shrieking and screaming. But until then, nothing. Nothing but silence.
Veltor maneuvered himself until he was standing directly in front of the elven girl. Then, ever so carefully, he kneeled down. He had to position himself perfectly for the maximum effect, and he could never be entirely certain where the ideal position was. It depended entirely on how quickly the other individual's eyesight adjusted to the gloom, as well as how good their natural vision was.
In this case, he must have guessed correctly. The moment he stopped moving, he sensed the Elf grow still. The green eyes focused on his face, or at least what little she could make out. Which wasn't much, he suspected, considering most of it was hidden by the pointed skeletal mask that he wore. Though she couldn't see his features, he had a perfect view of hers. It brought him no small amount of pleasure as her lovely eyes enlarged with fear, and she tried to put some distance between herself and the mask. She was tied down, so she could only scoot backward an inch or two. It was almost cute.
The silence came again. When she realized that he wasn't making any movement toward her, she stopped struggling. She was studying what she could see of him. Her lovely green eyes narrowed, and it was almost as though he could see her brain at work beyond her face. She was most likely trying to surmise the amount of danger that she was in, and what the best way would be to get out of it. He had no desire to disturb her, so he remained silent and motionless, staring back at her.
Their standoff persisted for a few more moments. He could see sweat forming over her brow, trickling down her delicate facial features. A slight tremor. She was trying to hide her fear, but failing. Sooner or later, she would speak. She would be the first to break the silence.
It was a game, really. A game he loved. A game that he rarely lost.
Just as he suspected, she was the first to break the silence. “I don't know who you are,” she began, her voice silky and sweet, though a bit shaky. “But I'll have you know that my mother is a powerful Sin'Dorei mage. And she has even more powerful friends from higher places!”
She paused. Waiting for a response. She would receive none.
The fear was growing. She had brave words, but her terror was transparent. He could hear the loud gulp that came from her throat. It was delicious.
She continued on. “So you would be wise not to attempt to harm me. Release me, and I'll pretend this never happened.”
He could hear her swallow again. He wondered what it tasted like. What it felt like to have organs that functioned as they were intended. He couldn't remember. He'd been Forsaken too long.
The Elf 's breathing was ragged now. She was trembling all over. It was exactly the effect he had hoped for. His silence had gotten to her, unnerved her. And this was the first lesson that Veltor had learned. It is the possibility of danger, the imagination of unknown horrors, that is what leads to true fear. The terrors of the mind are greater than any reality can ever bring.
Well, except the one that he was about to bring to her. He was reasonably certain that it was much worse than anything she could imagine. But this part of the game was fun for him, even so.
She spoke again, her voice rising. “What do you want from me? Anything you want, name it, and it's yours! Anything! Just don't hurt me, please!”
This time, he allowed himself a slight response, though he wondered if she would notice. He cocked his head to the side, as though he were curious about her offer.
She picked right up on his gesture. “Yes! My family is rich, powerful! They can give you anything! Surely you want something from them! They can give you anything you want! Please!” There was hope now, for she had perceived that maybe her host might just be willing to bargain with her, that maybe he was a weak and selfish creature, easily lured by the promise of gold or prominence.
Hope was a wonderful thing, Veltor thought to himself. It is beautiful only because of what happens to the spirit afterward when it is crushed. Rather than giving her any sort of verbal answer, he merely shook his head at the girl. Nice and slow. Painstakingly so.
It had the exact effect that he desired. The girl immediately started shrieking, thrusting violently against the bonds that held her down. Screaming and twisting in every direction, tears began flowing freely from her face. Veltor didn't believe it possible, but the young woman's beauty seemed almost enhanced by it. Truly, she was an angel amongst her kind. He wondered, briefly, if perhaps her family was as powerful or affluent as she claimed. It may well be the case. But it wouldn't matter. No one would come to save her here.
He waited for a time. She continued to cry and curse and scream, struggling to free herself, to make herself heard, for anything to happen that might help her. In time, her struggles began to fade. She weakened. Her flow of tears began to ebb, and her sobs died to a more reasonable level.
It was time to break the silence. Veltor leaned forward, the tip of his mask nearly brushing the girl's face. He could see her eyes so clearly now. So beautiful. So green, so clear! She went completely still as he leaned up to her face. He detected a sliver of hope remaining. Perhaps she thought she could reason with him. He would have to prove otherwise.
“Eyes and nose, fingers and toes.” He spoke, savoring each word. It was so fun to say! “That's how our little story goes.”
The elf blinked, sniffling. “What?”
Reaching to his side, Veltor grabbed hold of his favorite knife, a wicked looking ceremonial dagger, and then raised it between his mask and her face. Her eyes somehow got even wider, and he could see as comprehension suddenly dawned on her. Her mouth shot open, and she took in a sharp breath. Veltor could see her silently mouth “No!”
This never got old. Not to Veltor.
He repeated himself, this time adding a bit more to his little word game. “Eyes and nose, fingers and toes, that's how our little story goes. And when I've cut your body through and through, I'll patch you up...” Lowering the dagger, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder before finishing. “...And begin anew.”
The screaming started again. She struggled. This time, he was not content to wait. Raising his arm and giving a signal, one of the shadows nearby suddenly came to life. A large, armor-clad nightmare emerged from behind the girl, lifting her up in it's massive arms. Her shrieks grew even louder, and her struggles became more desperate. Veltor was unconcerned. She was no match for the power of any of his demonic minions, and certainly not the large brute that had picked her up.
“Be careful with our guest!” He commanded. “I would hate for her to suffer any harm before we begin with our fun.”
The demon gave a curt nod before stepping forward. If the girl's struggles gave the demon any trouble, the creature gave no indication of it. It reached the altar with only a couple of steps, and then with a gentleness that seemed most unbecoming of the creature's frightful appearance, it laid her down upon the altar with great care.
After allowing the demon a moment to secure her arms and legs to the altar before stepping aside, Veltor approached the altar for himself. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Everything had been fun up to this point, and exactly as it should be. But it was just the warm-up. Just the little steps to get them to this point. The girl was in the exact state that he needed her. She was terrified beyond belief.
Perhaps she deserved a little comfort.
“Sssssh, sssssh,” Veltor placed a hand along her cheek, stroking her with soft, gentle motions. She quieted down a bit. Now that was a surprise. Most continued to fight or scream, defying the inevitable as best they could. A few, a very special few, would grow quiet. Accepting.
Veltor liked to think of them as more perfect sacrifices.
“It's alright, my dear girl. You'll be perfect soon. Beautiful. Greater than you are, greater than I am!” He continued stroking her, his hand moving through her hair. It was smooth as silk, and was quite pleasant to touch. He leaned his face closer to the girl's. “Don't worry about a thing. It will be over soon.”
The girl looked hopeful again. He could see it in her eyes. Perhaps what was coming would not be so bad after all.
“Of course, soon is a relative term. It'll go much faster for me.” Veltor cackled as the girl's expression again twisted into one of horror. “And then we'll do the whole thing over, and over, and over again. Won't that be nice?”
Without warning, the elven girl somehow managed to twist her head and bite him hard on his hand, the one that had been stroking her hair. Her teeth made it all the way to the bone. The pain went shooting through his hand and arm. It was intense, greater than he had felt in a while. It was beautiful in it's own way. But of course, he had work to do. Shaking his head, but making absolutely no effort to free his arm, he made a disapproving “tsk tsk tsk” sound before raising the knife with his other hand. “You've got some fight left within you. I like you a lot! We're going to be the best of friends, you know!”
Perhaps she had expected him to yank his hand away from her teeth. Maybe she had dared to hope that he would be distracted enough for her to get free. There were some things he would never understand. How people could dare to hope or try for freedom when it was impossible. When they knew there was no way out, but they just kept trying. Hope, despite all odds. It simply didn't make sense. It would be so much easier for everyone if they would simply accept what was coming.
The girl let go of his hand, staring at the knife that was now hovering just inches above her face. Again, the tears began to flow. Her chest heaved, and she let out a scream.
“Remember what I told you!” Veltor called out in a sing-song voice, despite her shrieks. “Eyes and nose, fingers and toes.”
The knife loomed closer. The elven woman was burying herself as deeply into the stone as she could, trying to get away from the tip of the blade. It was close now, so close. She had nowhere to go. The gleaming tip of the knife hovered just inches from those precious green eyes of hers.
“Eyes and nose...” Veltor sang out again. The blade was close now. Almost touching.
“Eyes and nose...”
Her scream filled the room. It was the first perfect scream, one filled with pain, terror, and the utter destruction of all hope. It was beautiful. And there would be so many more to come.
Veltor's Ritual
Re: Veltor's Ritual
((Goodness me I haven't read something that beautiful in a role play post in ages. Dang!!!!! I'm going to bed with nightmares....))
Re: Veltor's Ritual
(( Nice. Nice. Blood - go find some of Inzema's old posts. ))
Grisbault, Twice-Made.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.
Re: Veltor's Ritual
((Thank you guys so much for the kind words, as well as reading the thing! Means a lot to me. There's a second part to this that I'm hoping to write, but I've been pretty sick recently, and I'm having trouble concentrating. I'll be getting to it soon enough, I hope. Thanks again!))
Re: Veltor's Ritual
((Here's part two, hope you enjoy. I'm planning on just one more part after this, then the story is done. Hopefully, I'll be completely over my illness by then!))
At first, there was only darkness. In truth, Veltor did not mind the dark. He rather enjoyed it. With the vision that he had, he was capable of seeing far better in pitch black environments than almost any other. He was reasonably certain that even some of the Night Elves would have trouble being as well adjusted to the darkness as he. From the blackest of nights, to the gloomiest of caves, to the most dreary of dark sanctuaries, Veltor felt at home in all but the most impenetrable forms of blackness.
This was not the kind of darkness that he enjoyed.
For a moment that was so very rare for Veltor, he was truly blind. He could see nothing all around him. A great dark endless void stretched in all directions, neither having a beginning or an ending. He was alone, in a darkness that was all consuming.
This was not the only detail that was amiss. The robes that he usually donned were missing. He could not see this, of course, the darkness was too great for that. But even as Forsaken, he still had the sense of touch. He could feel that they were absent. His robes, boots, gloves, even his favorite bone-mask that he always wore. It was all gone, he could tell.
And if he hadn't known this by feeling, he would have known by memory. It had happened before.
For now, patience would have to become his new virtue. There was nothing else to do but wait. He was weightless, floating in the emptiness. And even though he might outstretch his arm, he would feel nothing. No matter how far he moved his feet, they would strike nothing. The void was all around him. Emptiness everywhere. It was an odd sensation, one that filled him with a certain kind of dread that he didn't get anywhere else. It was, perhaps, the only thing that could be said to frighten him.
At least he knew the ritual had worked. Making it this far proved that much. Whether or not his master would be satisfied, that was the question that he did not know the answer to. He had tried his best. The girl had screamed so marvelously, she'd suffered so much. There had been much blood, and Veltor had dragged the process out as long as he could. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, and still the girl screamed. Of course, she did not do so the entire time. Her voice would surely have not suvived. Even Veltor had to take breaks now and again. It was good for both of them. And it merely heightened the sensation of what was to come.
Veltor felt the smile spread across his face. Yes, it had been a good sacrifice. It had been immensely satisfying, and Veltor was certain that the Master would be pleased. But still, he wondered. He always wondered. He could not help it. Even though he had done everything correctly, followed all the steps, still he feared the Master may find something wrong.
This darkness was dreadful. It scared him.
After what seemed an eternity, something began to happen. Red all around. Veltor thought it looked rather like a blanket. A bubble perhaps, surrounding him. A hazy red mist. Blood. The blood of the victim.
Veltor felt a sense of relief wash through him. He knew now. The Master was indeed pleased. And Veltor was about to receive his reward.
"My servant." The voice, low, deep, and powerful, filled his mind. It's source was unknowable, unreachable, unmoveable. A voice filled with the greatest of promises and most sinister of secrets. The Master spoke to him now. "You have pleased me with this offering."
Veltor said nothing in response. It was not his place. The master would ask him to speak when it wished him to.
"You have once again proven your use to me. I refresh your gift of sight."
The red mist began swirling around Veltor. The bubble was twisting and turning all around. Some of it began seeping inward. It got closer, closer. Veltor wanted to move. He wanted to stretch out his hands and embrace this gift. He had done that once, but it had merely delayed the process. Instead, he stayed exactly as he was, his arms at his side, and waited.
The red mist poured into his eyes. His vision was altered, changed. He could see not but red. And he felt pleasure. Such joy. Such beauty. He loved red now. It was the color of blood. A good color.
"For your faith, I refresh your sense of hearing."
More mist came. Veltor could not see it, but he could feel it as it trickled into his ears. Blood filled his head, entering from his eyes and ears. The blood of the woman that he had offered. It was beautiful. It was poetic. Veltor wondered if this was what love felt like.
"And for your continued service, I refresh your sense of touch." The voice boomed.
The bubble of mist seemed to collapse inward. Every pore in Veltor's body welcomed the red fluid as it invaded, forcing itself into his body by any means necessary. His whole body became hot. All manner of sensations flooded through his system, both painful and pleasurable. It was magnificent. Greater than anything Veltor had ever felt before, as either Human or Forsaken. This sort of sensation could only come from the Master.
Still, his body was filled. More and more of the fluid was pouring in. The blood was becoming his, and the sensations of it's previous owner were melding into his own.
He felt powerful. He felt dangerous. He felt alive.
And just like that, it was gone. The red was gone, and Veltor found himself once more staring into the void. Only he was no longer afraid. And all of his cravings had been sated. And for a little while longer, at least, he would be able to continue enjoying every little sensation that his heart desired.
Veltor would now be returned to the real world. It was a pattern. He pleased the Master, he returned to his world, and he would continue the work. In a few weeks' time, he would have to bring a new guest to his home, and the ritual would be made anew. Life was good.
The Master did not send him back.
Veltor waited. And waited. And waited some more. Nothing was happening. The void still surrounded him.
"There is something I would have of you."
Veltor had not expected that. He realized that it was time to break his silence. The master wished him to speak. "Yes, master? Whatever you require, I am always happy to provide. Do you wish for me to increase the number of sacrifices?"
"No. You have pleased me in that regard."
"Perhaps the pain that I offer my patients is not enough?" Veltor offered. "You require more. It is understandable. I have been researching new ways to extend the pain for even longer durations...."
Veltor was interrupted. "No. You have pleased me in this as well."
Confusing, Veltor thought. Normally, these conversations only happened when he had done something wrong. Or the Master expected something new of him. "Please, master. Tell me what I must do."
No response. Not yet. There was silence. Silence that filled the void, stretching as far as the darknesss. And then, an answer.
"I have had you for some time. You have been my faithful servant."
"Yes, master," Veltor was unsure where this was going. "I am and always shall be yours. I live to serve. It is my life. It is my love."
"You have served me longer than any other."
Veltor suddenly had a sinking realization. His master had mentioned this to him before. Though it had never been directly stated, he knew what it meant. Replacement. The Master wished to replace him.
"I am still your faithful servant!" Veltor raised his voice, half pleading with the great entity. "I still serve you now as I always have! You will find no greater servant than I!"
"Perhaps. But there is potential. There is room for another."
"I am all you need." Somehow, in the weightless environment, Veltor managed to bring himself down in a kneeled position, in deference to his Master. "You need no other! I am your one true servant! And I shall always love you!"
"You have been faithful. And your love is returned. But we need another."
At first, there was only darkness. In truth, Veltor did not mind the dark. He rather enjoyed it. With the vision that he had, he was capable of seeing far better in pitch black environments than almost any other. He was reasonably certain that even some of the Night Elves would have trouble being as well adjusted to the darkness as he. From the blackest of nights, to the gloomiest of caves, to the most dreary of dark sanctuaries, Veltor felt at home in all but the most impenetrable forms of blackness.
This was not the kind of darkness that he enjoyed.
For a moment that was so very rare for Veltor, he was truly blind. He could see nothing all around him. A great dark endless void stretched in all directions, neither having a beginning or an ending. He was alone, in a darkness that was all consuming.
This was not the only detail that was amiss. The robes that he usually donned were missing. He could not see this, of course, the darkness was too great for that. But even as Forsaken, he still had the sense of touch. He could feel that they were absent. His robes, boots, gloves, even his favorite bone-mask that he always wore. It was all gone, he could tell.
And if he hadn't known this by feeling, he would have known by memory. It had happened before.
For now, patience would have to become his new virtue. There was nothing else to do but wait. He was weightless, floating in the emptiness. And even though he might outstretch his arm, he would feel nothing. No matter how far he moved his feet, they would strike nothing. The void was all around him. Emptiness everywhere. It was an odd sensation, one that filled him with a certain kind of dread that he didn't get anywhere else. It was, perhaps, the only thing that could be said to frighten him.
At least he knew the ritual had worked. Making it this far proved that much. Whether or not his master would be satisfied, that was the question that he did not know the answer to. He had tried his best. The girl had screamed so marvelously, she'd suffered so much. There had been much blood, and Veltor had dragged the process out as long as he could. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, and still the girl screamed. Of course, she did not do so the entire time. Her voice would surely have not suvived. Even Veltor had to take breaks now and again. It was good for both of them. And it merely heightened the sensation of what was to come.
Veltor felt the smile spread across his face. Yes, it had been a good sacrifice. It had been immensely satisfying, and Veltor was certain that the Master would be pleased. But still, he wondered. He always wondered. He could not help it. Even though he had done everything correctly, followed all the steps, still he feared the Master may find something wrong.
This darkness was dreadful. It scared him.
After what seemed an eternity, something began to happen. Red all around. Veltor thought it looked rather like a blanket. A bubble perhaps, surrounding him. A hazy red mist. Blood. The blood of the victim.
Veltor felt a sense of relief wash through him. He knew now. The Master was indeed pleased. And Veltor was about to receive his reward.
"My servant." The voice, low, deep, and powerful, filled his mind. It's source was unknowable, unreachable, unmoveable. A voice filled with the greatest of promises and most sinister of secrets. The Master spoke to him now. "You have pleased me with this offering."
Veltor said nothing in response. It was not his place. The master would ask him to speak when it wished him to.
"You have once again proven your use to me. I refresh your gift of sight."
The red mist began swirling around Veltor. The bubble was twisting and turning all around. Some of it began seeping inward. It got closer, closer. Veltor wanted to move. He wanted to stretch out his hands and embrace this gift. He had done that once, but it had merely delayed the process. Instead, he stayed exactly as he was, his arms at his side, and waited.
The red mist poured into his eyes. His vision was altered, changed. He could see not but red. And he felt pleasure. Such joy. Such beauty. He loved red now. It was the color of blood. A good color.
"For your faith, I refresh your sense of hearing."
More mist came. Veltor could not see it, but he could feel it as it trickled into his ears. Blood filled his head, entering from his eyes and ears. The blood of the woman that he had offered. It was beautiful. It was poetic. Veltor wondered if this was what love felt like.
"And for your continued service, I refresh your sense of touch." The voice boomed.
The bubble of mist seemed to collapse inward. Every pore in Veltor's body welcomed the red fluid as it invaded, forcing itself into his body by any means necessary. His whole body became hot. All manner of sensations flooded through his system, both painful and pleasurable. It was magnificent. Greater than anything Veltor had ever felt before, as either Human or Forsaken. This sort of sensation could only come from the Master.
Still, his body was filled. More and more of the fluid was pouring in. The blood was becoming his, and the sensations of it's previous owner were melding into his own.
He felt powerful. He felt dangerous. He felt alive.
And just like that, it was gone. The red was gone, and Veltor found himself once more staring into the void. Only he was no longer afraid. And all of his cravings had been sated. And for a little while longer, at least, he would be able to continue enjoying every little sensation that his heart desired.
Veltor would now be returned to the real world. It was a pattern. He pleased the Master, he returned to his world, and he would continue the work. In a few weeks' time, he would have to bring a new guest to his home, and the ritual would be made anew. Life was good.
The Master did not send him back.
Veltor waited. And waited. And waited some more. Nothing was happening. The void still surrounded him.
"There is something I would have of you."
Veltor had not expected that. He realized that it was time to break his silence. The master wished him to speak. "Yes, master? Whatever you require, I am always happy to provide. Do you wish for me to increase the number of sacrifices?"
"No. You have pleased me in that regard."
"Perhaps the pain that I offer my patients is not enough?" Veltor offered. "You require more. It is understandable. I have been researching new ways to extend the pain for even longer durations...."
Veltor was interrupted. "No. You have pleased me in this as well."
Confusing, Veltor thought. Normally, these conversations only happened when he had done something wrong. Or the Master expected something new of him. "Please, master. Tell me what I must do."
No response. Not yet. There was silence. Silence that filled the void, stretching as far as the darknesss. And then, an answer.
"I have had you for some time. You have been my faithful servant."
"Yes, master," Veltor was unsure where this was going. "I am and always shall be yours. I live to serve. It is my life. It is my love."
"You have served me longer than any other."
Veltor suddenly had a sinking realization. His master had mentioned this to him before. Though it had never been directly stated, he knew what it meant. Replacement. The Master wished to replace him.
"I am still your faithful servant!" Veltor raised his voice, half pleading with the great entity. "I still serve you now as I always have! You will find no greater servant than I!"
"Perhaps. But there is potential. There is room for another."
"I am all you need." Somehow, in the weightless environment, Veltor managed to bring himself down in a kneeled position, in deference to his Master. "You need no other! I am your one true servant! And I shall always love you!"
"You have been faithful. And your love is returned. But we need another."
Re: Veltor's Ritual
((Final part. It's not perfect, but eh. This is the conclusion of this little story. Enjoy!))
Veltor found himself back where he began. He did not know how he got there. Perhaps he never left. There were many things he could not explain about the incredible process of communion with his master. He did not know whether or not his body was physically transported to another realm, or whether it was only his mind. Or perhaps he wasn't transported at all, and the master spoke to him all in his head. It did not matter much, he supposed.
Picking himself up from the floor, Veltor shot a curious glance at the altar. The body of the elf was still there. Few would recognize what remained as being an elf. Or a woman. Or anything discernible.
And yet, somehow, despite everything, there was a slow, unsteady rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing. Veltor allowed himself another smile. This was good. Sometimes, when he returned from his master, his guests had passed on to the Nether. It was unfortunate. Of course, whether they survived or not, they could not be used for the ritual again. Veltor would not dare risk such an insult to his master.
Veltor himself, however, had no such qualms about continuing his work on her for his own personal satisfaction. Approaching the altar, Veltor allowed himself to gaze upon her body. She was so beautiful. Of course, no more beauty in the sense that others saw. He had seen to that. She would never be beautiful to the world again. He had permanently deprived her of anything that might even resemble beauty. She would never again draw the eye of another man in lust. Then again, Veltor supposed she would have to be incredibly fortunate if she were to ever be seen by any man again at all. He did not intend to allow that.
He had work to attend to, much needed to be done. The Master's words still rang in his head. But he had a moment, at least. Raising his hand to her cheek, he caressed her flesh softly. It was once smooth as silk, now cracked and covered in dried blood. A blood soaked rag was tied around her head, blocking her eyes from his view. She did not react to his touch, but that was to be expected. He doubted that she would awaken for some time to come.
For a moment, a brief moment, Veltor was tempted to explore her body further. She was so much more tantalizing now than she had been before. Weakened. Broken. Barely alive. He was, of course, not interested in her in anything resembling lust. He merely wished to see what wonderful new changes her body had undergone, which cuts had gone the deepest, which bruises had darkened the most. It was art, really. Art that he could admire forever.
But for now, he could not. Resisting the urge, he instead removed his hand from the girl's face, giving a hand signal for his minion. Again, the massive creature stepped out of the shadows, this time dropping to one knee before Veltor.
How he loved being the boss.
"Alright, Orik, you know the drill!" Veltor clasped his hands together as he spoke. "Take her to her room, clean her up, and I'll be there to tend to her shortly."
The creature nodded, then bent over the girl's still frame. Veltor might have called out a warning for the creature to be gentle, but there was no need. It had done this a thousand times, and it knew it would face it's master's wrath if anything were to happen to one of his patients. With tenderness, the armored fiend lifted the girl up in it's arms, then ambled toward the door that led out of the ritual chamber.
"Come back when she's secured!" Veltor called out after his minion. "I have one more task for you to perform."
Though the creature gave no sign that it had heard Veltor's command, he did not worry. The creature knew. It always obeyed. He had broken his minions just as thoroughly as he had any of the countless guests that he had taken in throughout the years. They heard his every command, and obeyed without question. They knew what torments awaited them for insubordination.
Turning back to the altar, Veltor rubbed one of his fingers idly along it's surface. Most of the blood had dried, but some was still fresh. It stuck to his fingers, like honey. Raising his hand to his mask, he rubbed some of the blood against the tip. She was now a part of him, both inside and out. It was a good feeling.
It made him sad as he thought about how soon the blood would dry. The altar would soon be as it was before the ritual, and there would be no real trace remaining of his former guest, nothing specific. And he would have to wait until he found another. Of course, he intended to use her again. Not for the ritual, of course, but for fun. He was certain that she would survive another round or two, at least. But it just wasn't the same after the initial time. He could never quite recapture for them that feeling of terror and uncertainty quite like before.
Perhaps it was true what they said. You never forget your first time. Still, later attempts would provide some much needed amusement and satisfaction. It wouldn't be the same, but she would still be useful.
There was a gleam that caught his attention, coming from the altar. It only shined for a moment, a blue flash of light. And then something wonderful began to happen. The blood on the altar, which had been mostly dry when Veltor had last touched it, begin to bubble up and flow again. Somehow, the blood had again liquified, and was pouring fourth from the altar, draining down to the stone floor below. Incredibly, there was now far more blood pouring from the altar than Veltor believed he had spilled. It was flowing like a small stream, thick and oozing. So much was coming so quickly that Veltor wondered if the room might be filled, if left unattended to. As much as fun as that sounded, he decided he needed to act before that happened. He sensed it was necessary.
Reaching his hand into the stream of blood coming from the altar, Veltor felt around for anything out of place. For a few moments, he found nothinig. He was not terribly disappointed. The blood was warm, felt soothing. Like a bath, he thought. His hand waded through the liquid and rested upon the stone surface of the altar. He shifted it around more, searching for the source of the light. And then his hand rested upon something, something sharp, with pointed edges, cool to the touch. His fingers curled around the object, and he lifted it out of the blood.
The effect was almost immediate. The blood that had been pouring from the altar ceased it's flow, and most of it seemed to evaporate. In only a few seconds, the altar looked exactly as it did before the incident had occurred.
It was time to examine what he had found. Holding it up over his head, Veltor lifted his gaze and stared upon the object he had retrieved from the blood. It was a blue light that had caught his attention, but the gem was stained red now. Turning it between his fingers, he examined it's shape, it's angles, it's form. It was a small crystal, beautiful in appearance. It was perfectly formed. It had eight sides, four on top, four on bottom. It was a beautiful gem.
It's physical properties, however, were not what most interested Veltor. He could sense magic inside. A dark magic. The kind of magic that only Warlocks would understand. The kind of magic that came from his master.
Veltor held the gem directly in front of his eyes, then shook it roughly back and forth. Then he paused, again holding the gem directly in front of him. Something beneath the surface, a dark shadowy pattern, swirled around inside. He only caught a glimpse of it, and it was incredibly small. Only a fraction of the size of the gem itself. But it was enough to confirm his suspicions.
This was a soul gem.
Rubbing his fingers along it's surface, Veltor bent his head and concentrated. Images began to force their way into his mind. He saw a desert, a great sand-covered void. Then images of others, flashing so fast he could not fully comprehend them all. A gnome. Trolls. Lots of trolls. Specific ones, sometimes. Feelings of remorse, feelings of pain, and many more feelings he was not entirely familiar with.
Another troll appeared, the image lingering in his mind for slightly longer than the previous ones. A word came to him. Mother.
More images flashed through his head. Too fast, though. He couldn't keep up. But the knowledge was there, burying itself into his subconscious. He would have to sift through it later.
A final image appeared. A troll, female. Soft features, childish expression. Attractive? Uncertain. Veltor had no idea what passed for beauty amongst the trolls.
Lilliana.
That was her name. Veltor had never met her before in his life, had no idea of her existence until this very moment, but now he knew her intimately. Her name was as certain to him as his own. Such was the gift of the master.
And she was the one. The one that the master desired.
The images faded away. Veltor found himself staring deep into the heart of the crystal. It had darkened the red almost becoming black. His thoughts were a bit addled. It would take time for him to fully collect himself. This experience was somewhat new to him. He had used these soul-stones for his own purposes, of course, but never at the direct will of the master. And never with such explicit instructions and expectations of what was to come.
Stepping away from the altar, Veltor approached a small shelf, concealed in the darkness of the room. Even he would not have been able to find it if he did not already know it was there. There were a collection of marvelous crystals and gems resting on it's surface. Each of them had their own unique properties, and each of them were imbued with a soul. This was his private collection, and he had one more to add to it.
Veltor placed the new soul-gem with the others. He watched it for a moment, allowing himself to admire it's beauty before turning away and focusing on the matter at hand.
His master wanted that girl. Veltor did not know why.
No, Veltor realized. That wasn't entirely accurate. Veltor did know why. There were many things that Veltor did not understand about the master, and this was fine. Veltor didn't care what gave him his power or abilities, merely that he received them. The why didn't matter.
That being said, he had been curious about the connection that he shared between his master. As far as Veltor could tell, the connection was based, at least in part, on the recipient having touched the void him or herself. Dying, facing the nether, and then somehow being pulled back. Very few mortals could truly say they had experienced such a thing, which is why Veltor had been alone in his service to the master all this time.
Until now.
Veltor had assumed that whoever the master had chosen would also need the right mental disposition. Someone that could easily be molded. Transformed into what he or she needed to be. A vessel for the master to fill. Veltor had been that vessel for years now.
This was different. The master wanted another to continue his work. The voice was quite insistent that this was an addition, nothing more. But there was more to it than this. He knew it, no matter how much the voice had assured him otherwise. Veltor knew what this would mean. Perhaps not now, perhaps not for years. But sooner or later, replacement. This was on his master's mind. Veltor was certain of it.
He could not allow this.
Pacing back and forth, Veltor struggled to formulate a plan. He could not harm her directly. The master would know. Of course, if he simply killed her outright, that would end any potential for the master to use her, he hoped. But that would be rather foolish. He would be punished for his impudence, and it was not entirely out of the question that the troll woman could be brought back somehow. Perhaps with less of her mind intact, as the master desired. Killing her was not an option.
For similar reasons, he could not break her with torture. Again, the master would know. Of course, if she did break, it could end any potential for her to be useful to the master. But Veltor could not know that for certain. If she lasted long enough, the master might act against Veltor before he was finished with her. Trolls were not his favorite victims in the first place. They did not always react to pain in the same delicious and satisfying ways that elves, humans, and other races did.
Veltor shook his head and sighed. He did not yet know what to do. Yet he had to do something. He could not let his master replace him. And with this troll woman, no less. It was insulting. Why would the master be interested in someone like this in the first place? She didn't have the gift, the attitude, the mind needed for such glorious work! His movement quickened. He was growing more agitated. He could not devise a solution.
He was so absorbed with his own thoughts that he did not even hear the approaching footsteps of his minion.
“Master?” The massive demon called out, interrupting Veltor's thoughts.
Veltor paused, then turned his head to the side to face the demon, which was standing at the doorway. “What? What is it?”
The creature bowed it's head. “The woman is taken care of. She is secured. Alive. Awaiting your return.”
“Good. Perhaps I shall visit her a little sooner than I intended.” Veltor sighed. He needed relief. Perhaps he would find the solution later.
The demon hesitatated, then dropped to it's knees. “Master, I sense your discomfort. Is there something I can do?”
Anyone else might have been fooled by the demon's almost apologetic manner of speaking. Veltor was not. The creature knew what was coming. When Veltor grew agitated or angry, he tended to take it out on others. It was rather satisfying. Besides, it was good to remind the demons of their place in the world. The creature merely wished to spare itself any of the agonies that Veltor was capable of inflicting upon it.
Veltor was about to say something in reply when the creature pulled out something from behind it's back. “A gift for you, master. Perhaps it will help.”
Now this was a surprise. Perhaps his minions were more desperate than even Veltor had realized. Veltor approached his minion, eyeing the gift. It was wrapped up in a cloth, large and round. It looked like it might be some kind of container.
When Veltor was close enough, the demon pulled the cloth off. Veltor gasped, then clapped his hands in delight.
Those lovely green eyes he had taken were now staring at him from the jar. With all that had happened, he had almost forgotten about them. Even now, removed from their sockets, they were so beautiful. They shined at him, still just as green and vibrant as he remembered. The container and the preservative fluid within was clear, allowing him to fully admire it's contents.
Taking the jar from his minion's grasp, Veltor leaned forward until the tip of the bone-mask came into contact with the jar. So lovely, those eyes. They were watching him now, never able to blink again. They were so beautiful. So enchanting. Those eyes would watch him forever....
And with that, Veltor had an idea.
“Yes. Yes!” Veltor hugged the jar to his chest. “Thank you, Orik. You've done well. I shall reward you later. You've solved my little dilemma.”
The creature gave no response, merely nodding it's head.
“Now, quickly!” Veltor held the jar with one hand and pointed toward the minion with the other. “We must act soon. Fetch me that goblin, Pizzel. I'll need his help for what's to come.”
“As you wish.” The minion bowed, then disappeared from the room.
Veltor allowed himself a smile. He had it now. He could not hurt the woman, nor act against her directly. This was an inescapable truth. But he could watch her. And through him, the master would be watching. And the master would see all. He would see that she was not as useful as he believed, that she would be more difficult to mold than he thought. And then, the master would abandon her.
Then, and only then, would Veltor kill her.
Holding up the jar to his face, Veltor began to dance around the room, with those lovely elven eyes fixed on him. It was perfect. So perfect! The master would believe that Veltor was only doing his bidding. Pizzel would be his eyes and ears. And if Pizzel managed to blow both himself and Lilliana up, so much the better. Veltor could hardly be blamed for that. And whether they exploded in a fiery death or not, Veltor would watch and wait. And sooner or later, the master would realize what a mistake he had made. And if not, Veltor would simply have to move things along a little faster.
In his own unique way.
Veltor found himself back where he began. He did not know how he got there. Perhaps he never left. There were many things he could not explain about the incredible process of communion with his master. He did not know whether or not his body was physically transported to another realm, or whether it was only his mind. Or perhaps he wasn't transported at all, and the master spoke to him all in his head. It did not matter much, he supposed.
Picking himself up from the floor, Veltor shot a curious glance at the altar. The body of the elf was still there. Few would recognize what remained as being an elf. Or a woman. Or anything discernible.
And yet, somehow, despite everything, there was a slow, unsteady rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing. Veltor allowed himself another smile. This was good. Sometimes, when he returned from his master, his guests had passed on to the Nether. It was unfortunate. Of course, whether they survived or not, they could not be used for the ritual again. Veltor would not dare risk such an insult to his master.
Veltor himself, however, had no such qualms about continuing his work on her for his own personal satisfaction. Approaching the altar, Veltor allowed himself to gaze upon her body. She was so beautiful. Of course, no more beauty in the sense that others saw. He had seen to that. She would never be beautiful to the world again. He had permanently deprived her of anything that might even resemble beauty. She would never again draw the eye of another man in lust. Then again, Veltor supposed she would have to be incredibly fortunate if she were to ever be seen by any man again at all. He did not intend to allow that.
He had work to attend to, much needed to be done. The Master's words still rang in his head. But he had a moment, at least. Raising his hand to her cheek, he caressed her flesh softly. It was once smooth as silk, now cracked and covered in dried blood. A blood soaked rag was tied around her head, blocking her eyes from his view. She did not react to his touch, but that was to be expected. He doubted that she would awaken for some time to come.
For a moment, a brief moment, Veltor was tempted to explore her body further. She was so much more tantalizing now than she had been before. Weakened. Broken. Barely alive. He was, of course, not interested in her in anything resembling lust. He merely wished to see what wonderful new changes her body had undergone, which cuts had gone the deepest, which bruises had darkened the most. It was art, really. Art that he could admire forever.
But for now, he could not. Resisting the urge, he instead removed his hand from the girl's face, giving a hand signal for his minion. Again, the massive creature stepped out of the shadows, this time dropping to one knee before Veltor.
How he loved being the boss.
"Alright, Orik, you know the drill!" Veltor clasped his hands together as he spoke. "Take her to her room, clean her up, and I'll be there to tend to her shortly."
The creature nodded, then bent over the girl's still frame. Veltor might have called out a warning for the creature to be gentle, but there was no need. It had done this a thousand times, and it knew it would face it's master's wrath if anything were to happen to one of his patients. With tenderness, the armored fiend lifted the girl up in it's arms, then ambled toward the door that led out of the ritual chamber.
"Come back when she's secured!" Veltor called out after his minion. "I have one more task for you to perform."
Though the creature gave no sign that it had heard Veltor's command, he did not worry. The creature knew. It always obeyed. He had broken his minions just as thoroughly as he had any of the countless guests that he had taken in throughout the years. They heard his every command, and obeyed without question. They knew what torments awaited them for insubordination.
Turning back to the altar, Veltor rubbed one of his fingers idly along it's surface. Most of the blood had dried, but some was still fresh. It stuck to his fingers, like honey. Raising his hand to his mask, he rubbed some of the blood against the tip. She was now a part of him, both inside and out. It was a good feeling.
It made him sad as he thought about how soon the blood would dry. The altar would soon be as it was before the ritual, and there would be no real trace remaining of his former guest, nothing specific. And he would have to wait until he found another. Of course, he intended to use her again. Not for the ritual, of course, but for fun. He was certain that she would survive another round or two, at least. But it just wasn't the same after the initial time. He could never quite recapture for them that feeling of terror and uncertainty quite like before.
Perhaps it was true what they said. You never forget your first time. Still, later attempts would provide some much needed amusement and satisfaction. It wouldn't be the same, but she would still be useful.
There was a gleam that caught his attention, coming from the altar. It only shined for a moment, a blue flash of light. And then something wonderful began to happen. The blood on the altar, which had been mostly dry when Veltor had last touched it, begin to bubble up and flow again. Somehow, the blood had again liquified, and was pouring fourth from the altar, draining down to the stone floor below. Incredibly, there was now far more blood pouring from the altar than Veltor believed he had spilled. It was flowing like a small stream, thick and oozing. So much was coming so quickly that Veltor wondered if the room might be filled, if left unattended to. As much as fun as that sounded, he decided he needed to act before that happened. He sensed it was necessary.
Reaching his hand into the stream of blood coming from the altar, Veltor felt around for anything out of place. For a few moments, he found nothinig. He was not terribly disappointed. The blood was warm, felt soothing. Like a bath, he thought. His hand waded through the liquid and rested upon the stone surface of the altar. He shifted it around more, searching for the source of the light. And then his hand rested upon something, something sharp, with pointed edges, cool to the touch. His fingers curled around the object, and he lifted it out of the blood.
The effect was almost immediate. The blood that had been pouring from the altar ceased it's flow, and most of it seemed to evaporate. In only a few seconds, the altar looked exactly as it did before the incident had occurred.
It was time to examine what he had found. Holding it up over his head, Veltor lifted his gaze and stared upon the object he had retrieved from the blood. It was a blue light that had caught his attention, but the gem was stained red now. Turning it between his fingers, he examined it's shape, it's angles, it's form. It was a small crystal, beautiful in appearance. It was perfectly formed. It had eight sides, four on top, four on bottom. It was a beautiful gem.
It's physical properties, however, were not what most interested Veltor. He could sense magic inside. A dark magic. The kind of magic that only Warlocks would understand. The kind of magic that came from his master.
Veltor held the gem directly in front of his eyes, then shook it roughly back and forth. Then he paused, again holding the gem directly in front of him. Something beneath the surface, a dark shadowy pattern, swirled around inside. He only caught a glimpse of it, and it was incredibly small. Only a fraction of the size of the gem itself. But it was enough to confirm his suspicions.
This was a soul gem.
Rubbing his fingers along it's surface, Veltor bent his head and concentrated. Images began to force their way into his mind. He saw a desert, a great sand-covered void. Then images of others, flashing so fast he could not fully comprehend them all. A gnome. Trolls. Lots of trolls. Specific ones, sometimes. Feelings of remorse, feelings of pain, and many more feelings he was not entirely familiar with.
Another troll appeared, the image lingering in his mind for slightly longer than the previous ones. A word came to him. Mother.
More images flashed through his head. Too fast, though. He couldn't keep up. But the knowledge was there, burying itself into his subconscious. He would have to sift through it later.
A final image appeared. A troll, female. Soft features, childish expression. Attractive? Uncertain. Veltor had no idea what passed for beauty amongst the trolls.
Lilliana.
That was her name. Veltor had never met her before in his life, had no idea of her existence until this very moment, but now he knew her intimately. Her name was as certain to him as his own. Such was the gift of the master.
And she was the one. The one that the master desired.
The images faded away. Veltor found himself staring deep into the heart of the crystal. It had darkened the red almost becoming black. His thoughts were a bit addled. It would take time for him to fully collect himself. This experience was somewhat new to him. He had used these soul-stones for his own purposes, of course, but never at the direct will of the master. And never with such explicit instructions and expectations of what was to come.
Stepping away from the altar, Veltor approached a small shelf, concealed in the darkness of the room. Even he would not have been able to find it if he did not already know it was there. There were a collection of marvelous crystals and gems resting on it's surface. Each of them had their own unique properties, and each of them were imbued with a soul. This was his private collection, and he had one more to add to it.
Veltor placed the new soul-gem with the others. He watched it for a moment, allowing himself to admire it's beauty before turning away and focusing on the matter at hand.
His master wanted that girl. Veltor did not know why.
No, Veltor realized. That wasn't entirely accurate. Veltor did know why. There were many things that Veltor did not understand about the master, and this was fine. Veltor didn't care what gave him his power or abilities, merely that he received them. The why didn't matter.
That being said, he had been curious about the connection that he shared between his master. As far as Veltor could tell, the connection was based, at least in part, on the recipient having touched the void him or herself. Dying, facing the nether, and then somehow being pulled back. Very few mortals could truly say they had experienced such a thing, which is why Veltor had been alone in his service to the master all this time.
Until now.
Veltor had assumed that whoever the master had chosen would also need the right mental disposition. Someone that could easily be molded. Transformed into what he or she needed to be. A vessel for the master to fill. Veltor had been that vessel for years now.
This was different. The master wanted another to continue his work. The voice was quite insistent that this was an addition, nothing more. But there was more to it than this. He knew it, no matter how much the voice had assured him otherwise. Veltor knew what this would mean. Perhaps not now, perhaps not for years. But sooner or later, replacement. This was on his master's mind. Veltor was certain of it.
He could not allow this.
Pacing back and forth, Veltor struggled to formulate a plan. He could not harm her directly. The master would know. Of course, if he simply killed her outright, that would end any potential for the master to use her, he hoped. But that would be rather foolish. He would be punished for his impudence, and it was not entirely out of the question that the troll woman could be brought back somehow. Perhaps with less of her mind intact, as the master desired. Killing her was not an option.
For similar reasons, he could not break her with torture. Again, the master would know. Of course, if she did break, it could end any potential for her to be useful to the master. But Veltor could not know that for certain. If she lasted long enough, the master might act against Veltor before he was finished with her. Trolls were not his favorite victims in the first place. They did not always react to pain in the same delicious and satisfying ways that elves, humans, and other races did.
Veltor shook his head and sighed. He did not yet know what to do. Yet he had to do something. He could not let his master replace him. And with this troll woman, no less. It was insulting. Why would the master be interested in someone like this in the first place? She didn't have the gift, the attitude, the mind needed for such glorious work! His movement quickened. He was growing more agitated. He could not devise a solution.
He was so absorbed with his own thoughts that he did not even hear the approaching footsteps of his minion.
“Master?” The massive demon called out, interrupting Veltor's thoughts.
Veltor paused, then turned his head to the side to face the demon, which was standing at the doorway. “What? What is it?”
The creature bowed it's head. “The woman is taken care of. She is secured. Alive. Awaiting your return.”
“Good. Perhaps I shall visit her a little sooner than I intended.” Veltor sighed. He needed relief. Perhaps he would find the solution later.
The demon hesitatated, then dropped to it's knees. “Master, I sense your discomfort. Is there something I can do?”
Anyone else might have been fooled by the demon's almost apologetic manner of speaking. Veltor was not. The creature knew what was coming. When Veltor grew agitated or angry, he tended to take it out on others. It was rather satisfying. Besides, it was good to remind the demons of their place in the world. The creature merely wished to spare itself any of the agonies that Veltor was capable of inflicting upon it.
Veltor was about to say something in reply when the creature pulled out something from behind it's back. “A gift for you, master. Perhaps it will help.”
Now this was a surprise. Perhaps his minions were more desperate than even Veltor had realized. Veltor approached his minion, eyeing the gift. It was wrapped up in a cloth, large and round. It looked like it might be some kind of container.
When Veltor was close enough, the demon pulled the cloth off. Veltor gasped, then clapped his hands in delight.
Those lovely green eyes he had taken were now staring at him from the jar. With all that had happened, he had almost forgotten about them. Even now, removed from their sockets, they were so beautiful. They shined at him, still just as green and vibrant as he remembered. The container and the preservative fluid within was clear, allowing him to fully admire it's contents.
Taking the jar from his minion's grasp, Veltor leaned forward until the tip of the bone-mask came into contact with the jar. So lovely, those eyes. They were watching him now, never able to blink again. They were so beautiful. So enchanting. Those eyes would watch him forever....
And with that, Veltor had an idea.
“Yes. Yes!” Veltor hugged the jar to his chest. “Thank you, Orik. You've done well. I shall reward you later. You've solved my little dilemma.”
The creature gave no response, merely nodding it's head.
“Now, quickly!” Veltor held the jar with one hand and pointed toward the minion with the other. “We must act soon. Fetch me that goblin, Pizzel. I'll need his help for what's to come.”
“As you wish.” The minion bowed, then disappeared from the room.
Veltor allowed himself a smile. He had it now. He could not hurt the woman, nor act against her directly. This was an inescapable truth. But he could watch her. And through him, the master would be watching. And the master would see all. He would see that she was not as useful as he believed, that she would be more difficult to mold than he thought. And then, the master would abandon her.
Then, and only then, would Veltor kill her.
Holding up the jar to his face, Veltor began to dance around the room, with those lovely elven eyes fixed on him. It was perfect. So perfect! The master would believe that Veltor was only doing his bidding. Pizzel would be his eyes and ears. And if Pizzel managed to blow both himself and Lilliana up, so much the better. Veltor could hardly be blamed for that. And whether they exploded in a fiery death or not, Veltor would watch and wait. And sooner or later, the master would realize what a mistake he had made. And if not, Veltor would simply have to move things along a little faster.
In his own unique way.
Re: Veltor's Ritual
((Dang, am I glad I stayed up to read that! Well written, and um....wicked creepy....! WTH?!!! :). ))