Vol1: Chapter 16

Vessadial swirled the liquid in his goblet and chortled. The world had changed radically in the centuries of his exile. It had been delightful to hear the often unpleasant fates of his enemies retold. And his own story! The historians had martyred him. His ‘death’ had led to the eventual fall of the greatest empire history knew, and he was a tragic hero in the tale. It was…delicious.

He raised the goblet to his withered lips and sipped. This he could not taste, but that didn’t matter. It was a mannerism he desired to practice. It would not do to spill wine across his face in front of the priestess. Most ‘natural’ undead needed to consume living flesh to sustain themselves. Subsisting directly off Anawyn’s soul had left him out of the habit of eating.

Vessadial chuckled again. Talking to that pup of a wizard – nothing more than a glorified apprentice, by the standards he had known – had brought back so many memories of the days when he had lived. Influential. Powerful. Surrounded by the elite of the empire. He intended to relive that tonight. More than the base desires he had inflicted on illusioned ghouls in the past, tonight would be…special.

For too long he had isolated himself. Given orders without oversight. His minions; his elf, they feared Zaere, not him. And Zaere…Zaere had been disrespectful, himself. He had skirted the edges of outright defiance too many times. But now the demon was gone, and tonight Vessadial meant to take the respect he deserved.

Starting with the prisoners. He would keep them, long after they died, and they would respect him for as long as they were his and then onwards in hell.

The door to his hall rasped open. A ghoul entered, carrying the priestess over his shoulder. Vessadial smiled and gestured to a seat besides his own. For the wizard’s visit, Vessadial had been conserving himself. But this was to be a reenactment of the glories of court, when women had simpered for his attention and even the highest of nobles were sycophants in his presence. For the priestess, Vessadial had expended some of his power on grandeur.

Ethereal flames lit the sconces and hearths of the hall, and he had blanketed the place in illusions. Elaborate tapestries adorned the walls. The flagstones were richly polished and all the dirt and webs and mold of the place rendered invisible. The platters on the table gleamed silver, and the hunks of charred meat upon them seemed as bread and fruits and all manner of the delicacies Vessadial remembered from life, instead. Even his robes were done up in phantasms: he wore the height of imperial fashion instead of the moth eaten tatters he had long ago grown accustomed to.

Most of the spells were cast with enough energy to maintain themselves for an hour or two. Vessadial had set them up during the last hours of daylight, knowing that before they expired he would be able to replenish them and himself through Anawyn.

Anawyn…in his mind, Vessadial growled. He could not remember why he had never indulged in remembering the delights of living with her, but he was certain Zaere must have had something to do with it. Why else would he have sated himself on illusioned corpses when a living elf resided in his thrall? That was one of the many things he meant to rectify now that the demon was gone. Anawyn, too, would learn where her place and loyalties lay, instead of begging him to restore that fucking demon.

While Vessadial was lost in thought, the ghoul carrying the priestess crossed the room. It struggled to drag out a chair while holding her over its shoulder, and the woman’s involuntary yelp as she was deposited unceremoniously in the seat brought Vessadial’s attention to the present. Anawyn could wait, perhaps for later that night. One of the delights of death was that Vessadial was only limited by the energy available to him, and Anawyn’s immortal life provided that in abundance.

There was an aesthetic symmetry, Vessadial decided, in the idea of taking the energy for the act from the elf while he took her. That would let her know her place.

With greater effort, Vessadial pushed back those thoughts and focused on his current guest. “Good evening,” he said. “I’m pleased you could join me for dinner.” He made a sharp dismissive gesture to the ghoul. It turned, and Vessadial glared as it strode away. That was one of the ones Zaere always kept close. Any ghoul that counted itself among the demon’s favored companions would no doubt need lessons in who the true master of the isle was. Vessadial added that to his growing list of tasks that needed tending in the demon’s absence.

“What do you want of me?” the priestess demanded. “The gods will not tolerate this villainy.”

Vessadial chuckled. “Indeed? They have tolerated me for centuries, it seems. In general, I have found that the so called ‘gods’ only act through their intermediaries…of which, you are the only one here.” He stood and caressed one of her arms from shoulder to binding cords. “And you have already been defeated.”

The priestess’ jaw stiffened as her teeth clamped and she jerked her head away from him. Vessadial laughed.

“Please, there is no need for stubborn displays. Accept your place.” With a thought, Vessadial unbound her arms. The cords snaked away and Vessadial stroked her cheek with one clawed hand. For all the energy he had expended elsewhere, Vessadial had not cloaked himself in the semblance of living flesh. He had allowed that illusion to lapse, as part of the punishment he had decided on for the priestess’ interruption of his earlier plans. “You see,” Vessadial continued, “My plans for you do not involve anything where your consent would matter.”

Even though Vessadial waited for her to reply, she remained stubbornly silent. So be it, he decided, if she means to ruin this evening, then I will destroy this defiance. Her arms were discolored: the ghouls had tied them far tighter than living flesh could tolerate. Vessadial curled his claws into her ashen flesh.

“Drink this,” he snapped – and took any chance she might have had to resist, passively or otherwise, from her. With his mind he seized her head and jerked it back, then pried her jaw open. The potion he was levitating upended itself down her throat, and she choked on as much as she swallowed. “It’s a healing draught,” Vessadial said, gesturing to the satchel he’d drawn it from on the table. “I wouldn’t want you to lose the use of your limbs, after all.” Her arms rapidly returned to a healthy flesh tone, but Vessadial didn’t care. So the bitch – his prisoner – wanted to be defiant? He was through giving her the opportunity to do, or not do, anything tonight. “Now eat,” he hissed.

Vessadial stepped aside and psychically shoved the her face into the nearest platter. Chunks of burned flesh spilled onto the table, and Vessadial snarled, dispelling the illusion of fruit and delicacies he’d placed upon it. She didn’t deserve the effort he’d put into this evening. The ungrateful bitch was pushing away from the table – both arms bent to no avail as he smeared her face against the tray. “I invited you here,” Vessadial said, “to help you.”

He pulled her head back and shoved it into another platter – a deep dish of fetid, congealing blood he’d given the likeness of soup. Psychically pressing the priestess’ face in it, he pulled that illusion aside, as well. “This was an opportunity for you to do something profane: an oprotunity for you to leave the good graces of the gods by eating the flesh of your dead companions.” She was struggling, her body writhing and hands scrabbling against the table. “I even used my magic to make the choice easy for you: an appetizing meal. But you see fit to reject this kindness! And while you have the gods’ favor, I can’t let you see the light of the sun. It might even be too dangerous to let you be conscious during the day.”

Vessadial stepped forward and grabbed her hair, physically pulling her head back while psychically pinning her arms to the table. “I may,” he snarled in her ear, “even have to kill you tonight.”

Continue to Volume 1 Chapter 17