The dreams had begun again.
Griffonclaw woke from his sleep, but was as tired as if he hadn't slept at all; the night sendings he was certain were coming from someone - or something - malevolent were now a lightly occurance, and unless he slept in his apartments in Ironforge they invaded his slumber and throttled all restfulness. A paladin and a member of the Hammer of Magni, his duties did not often let him sleep in his own bed, but found him traveling wide and far to investigate and destroy threats to the citizens of the Alliance.
Most recently he had been laying to rest the ghost of Pamela Redpath and others of her family in Darrowshire. He would make camp, or bed down at Chillwind Point, but it wouldn't be long after he closed his eyes that the dreams would start.
Once before he had suffered an invasion of his dreamscape like this before, at the hands of a coven of Warlocks in Stormwind. They had sent a succubus to torment him nightly, and his comrades in the Hammer of Magni had ended their plot. However, Mistress Tbelle was still on restricted duty, recovering from a mysterious poison which had threatened her and killed her replacement, the scholar Kheld. Windsor was retired, and ensconsed in his armoring workshop, researching new designs for his brethern dwarves to use against the Horde. And Desmorta... Desmorta had been a traitor to the Hammer, working to subvert its members from inside. When she had come out into the open, few Hammers had been spared, and when she had helped banish the demoness she had neglected to mention that she had put solid hooks into Griffonclaw's psyche - hooks that had ripped large gashes in his mind when she took control of most of the other Hammers. As the people who had resisted Desmorta's pull rebuilt the Hammer of Magni, Griffonclaw had worked to rebuild his very sanity - and he wasn't sure he had been entirely successful.
And now, months later, the dreams had started again, right after the Lakeshire Carnival. He had been asked to run a Riddle Contest, and had met a lady named Lilaeth while preraring. They had flirted for some time in the common room of the inn, until she had summoned an imp... he had been unaware that she was a warlock, and had made his excuses. She belonged to a guild called the Scions of Darkness, composed entirely of Warlocks, ostensibly to share knowledge and bolster the Alliance. Griffonclaw had noted it to fully investigate them later; he had a personal distrust of Warlocks that made such an organization go right to the top of people upon whom to keep a watchful eye.
The dreams started pleasantly enough, as mild erotic dreams, featuring other members of the Hammer, and frequently his former fiance, Valentia. However, slowly the dreams would turn darker, and delve down paths that were more about satisfying a lust for power and dominance rather than romance or even carnality. The word "lovemaking" could no longer apply as his actions within the dreamscape became more and more... extreme.
Unlike before, these nightmares were not quite enough to wake him from sleep, or cause him to cry out; rather, he would suffer int he grip of the nightmare until the demonic influence was done with him, leaving him as exhausted as he was when he had lain down. Recently, he had noticed that his waking mind would occassionally drift into those dark sexual fantasies unbidden, and he had assumed a conscious vigilance. He bagan to avoid members of the Hammer, and especially his fiance - he felt uncomfortable near them, as if a leper in a village free of the contagion. Valentia had called off the engagement, citing our distance, imposed by our conflicting duties - but neither Valentia nor he were willing to give up their calling.
Finally, he convinced himself that he needed to consult with someone, and obtain some assistance. Since those who had helped him before were - essentially - no longer available, he needed someone new, someone who he could trust but also someone who would not be too shocked or disgusted to help, and not someone who would insist he commit himself until cured - if ever. He needed someone with an authority which almost equalled Tbelle's when she was the guild leader, but who could peer into the sewer his mind had become and not recoil.
After some thought, he decided to approach Nikajah Moonlily, who until recently had led an organization known only as "The Agency". She had been their field commander, and was experienced with the darker side of the psyches of those who made up the Allaince. She had connections and deep-cover agents everwhere, and Griffonclaw hoped that when the known members of the Agency had disbanded and joined the Hammer, that it had been - as he had suspected at the time - with an eye towards continujng their work but out of the public eye. In short, he hoped that Nikajah still had the resources to help him.
He had sent her a note, inviting her to dinner at the Pig and Whistle in Stormwind, and although she had informed him of her acceptance by return message, waiting for her had been an exercise in patience and control.
He felt a quickening of his pulse when she walked into the common room of the inn, as he always did when seeing her. As she approached his table, he could enjoy her scent - the earthen smell of wild flowers combined with exotic herbs. Her pale turquoise hair was confined by her hood, and her face by her mask, but Griffonclaw knew that beneath both was tousled and loose, and unbound reached to her waist. At the ends around her face, tribal beads and bright feathers dangled, decorating her thick tresses. Her pale-violet-tinged luminescent eyes were bright and shining, but with something slightly feral and aware in them - not unlike the glowing eyes of a feline. Her tribal tattoo - three streaks of turquoise color over each eye - was mostly obscured by the mast.
Over tall glasses of moonberry juice, she had listened sympathetically to his problem, and then been silent, thinking about what he had said. The silence, however, unlike waiting for her to arrive was comfortable - she had heard him out and not run screaming in the night or looking for some of the city guard to help take him into custody.
"Well, my friend," she had begun, when she had finished thinking, "you're in one deep predicament... but perhaps I can help, although... " She faded off.
"Although?" he prompted, almost eagerly.
"Well, I do have a Warlock in mind, with whom the Agency had a relationship, but since the passing of the Agency she has been somewhat... non-communicative, and I don't know how reliable or trustworthy she is; but if what afflicts you is demonic in nature, she does have the power to help... if she wants."
Griffonclaw remained silent for a moment. "So... what you are saying is that trusting her is risky."
"No... what I'm saying is that she is as trustworthy as any warlock gets, but that trusting warlocks at the best of times can be a tricky proposition. However, she can do what we want, and her word has always been good in the past."
"Very well... since I have little alternative, I suppose I must trust some warlock again, somewhere. How do I proceed?" asked Griffonclaw.
"Well, she spends much of her time in the Royal Library, doing research - seek her there, and tell her that if she will do this, she will be free of the debt that she owes me."
* * *
In the alleyway across from the Pig and Whistle Inn, a shadow began to pulse and separate, one moving to follow the Paladin as he exited, and headed for the Royal Library. It pauses as a Kaldorei woman followed the paladin, and shifted her shape into a panther before invoking that form's shadowblending magic. The shadow fell in line in what had become a procession, following both paladin and druid.
* * *
Griffonclaw was hardly challenged as he passed the perimeter guards at the entrance to Stormwind Palace; much of the Palace grounds were open to the citizens, especially the gardens and the library. Nikajah had given him a cursory description of the sorceress, and the library was usually uncrowded enough to make finding her less of a challenge. He was eager to move forward, despite the risks, and to banish those spectres from his subconscious.
Griffonclaw's first clue as to her location was actually Milton Sheaf, one of the librarians; he and Sheaf had been acquantances since Griffonclaw's assignment to Northshire Abbey, when Brother Paxton had wanted to borrow "The Stresses of Iron" by the Dwarven miner Margulf Blaggon. Griffonclaw had taken the time to read the book at make notes for his own neverending quest for blacksmithing supplies. Sheaf had also called upon Griffonclaw numerous times to retrieve rare volumes from the ruins of Alterac.
Griffonclaw approached him, but Milton's attention was firmly on the woman engaged in examining the stacks, his arms crossed, a frown on his face. He quite obviously disapproved of the person over which he was watching.
Griffonclaw assumed that the faint odor of brimstone that clung to most Warlocks had something to do with the ordinarily-mild Milton's disapproving attitude and aura of distrust.
The lady who was the recipeient of Milton's glare had delicate and beautiful features; her skin a rich cream-colored hue, and her eyes radiated a piercingly cold cobalt blue. Her full lips were the color of spilt wine, and rich autumn hair piled into a loose knot of curls upon her head.
She wore a silver ring that spiraled around the middle finger of her left hand, ending in a serpent's head with brightly glowing ruby eyes. Her hands looked delicate, like that of a spell-weaver or of those who have never known hard labor.
There is something about her that told Griffonclaw that she possessed an inner toughness that belied her tender look.
* * *
The sorceress paged through the tomes, slightly annoyed by the limited selection. Pages were missing. She shoved yet another leather-bound book back into the case, this one a dull blue with faded gold writing on the binding. Iztari has a much better library, she thought. Why should I waste my time in this narrow-minded, censored, poorly-lit excuse for a library?Iztari's voice came back to her. Knowledge is Power. Knowledge of the past, your enemies, your allies.
Just as the young lady was about to pull another book, forefinger on the edge of the binding, a young man cleared his throat. She could sense she was being watched, but that was nothing new. With gently curling, upswept, rich auburn hair more vivid than any autumn leaf; cobalt blue bedroom eyes fringed by long, thick black lashes; full, perfectly sculpted crimson lips; and creamy, flawless skin that seemed to glow with an inner fire; this young woman was quite used to being noticed and admired.
"Excuse me, but I was told that you could help me," said the man in her direction.
She turned her cold eyes on him, narrowing them as she sized him up and down.
"...and you are?" she inquired, a noticable chill in her voice, despite liking what she saw. The man in front of her was quite obviously a man of arms, given his plate body armor and the massive two-handed sword slung across his back. He wore no helm, and his face was, to put it kindly, well-used. His hair and both beard and mustache were close-cropped and steel-grey in color. She might have dismissed him entirely as just another shield-basher if she hadn't been fascinated by his eyes - they bespoke an measuring, judging arrogance, and perhaps intelligence.
A shame intelligence was wasted on the martial, who had no need of it, except enough to prompt efficient obedience.
"My name is Griffonclaw FitzSilver, of the Hammer of Magni. I need a service performed, and was told by Nikajah Moonlily that if you would be able and willing to perform this service, that she would consider your debt to be paid in full... whatever that might mean."
"What is the service?" she asked, unwilling to commit herself until she had all the details. As he spoke of his problem, she remembered why his name seemed familiar; the story he told of his earlier problem with the covens in Stormwind had made the rounds at the time, although with a different slant and texture. Demisette Cloyce had eventually recovered from her burns, and word had gone out that the Hammers of Magni were not to be trifled with; that the consequences were probably not worth the reward. And here he was, that self-same paladin, with what sounded like the same problem again.
There was definitely something to be gained here.
As he finished relaying the situation, Varukah couldn't help but let her mind weave around the nearly endless possibilities. She instantly thought of the most effective way to both solve his problem and gratify herself at the same time. It had been ages since she had indulged herself in a male.
"So, you wish for me to pinpoint the source of your nightmares, essentially," she stated matter-of-factly. "That requires a Joining Ritual, whereby I enter your mind and search for the embedded source in your unconscious. You see, when a suitably talented person weaves a dark dream to torment their enemies, they leave something akin to a unique footprint in their victim's unconscious mind. It is there if you know where to look; and you are in luck, because I do."
"I will not lie and tell you that the Joining will be comfortable... or even painless. You will need to experience the dreams to their fullest heighths, and follow them to their conclusion, before the signature is revealed. It is also rather unsettling to have someone invade your consciousness. But it is the only way."
"Of course, for this type of service, I would require payment. However, I am certain we can strike a suitable arrangement in those regards."
She smiled coyly, licking her lips. Corruption was an art - a molding or sculpting of an innocent mind via seduction. Seduction was not always a sexual means - though that was usually the easiest form with attractive victims - but there was also the seduction of the promise of power, which was as intoxicating a drug as anything consumed. No one appreciated how much effort it took; nor did anyone seem to understand the thrill of the chase.
She sincerely hoped that the man would resist a little so she could enjoy some cat-and-mouse. No man stood his ground for long under her attentions... and very few women, either. She smiled to herself as she waited for his response.
"The release of your debt to Lady Nikajah isn't sufficient?" he inquired. "What other terms would you have?" Griffonclaw recalled that Genago the Gem Merchant, after quaffing several ales with him in Ironforge, had once confided one of the first principals of the journeyman dwarven merchants; he who first names the price is at a disadvantage.
"What do you offer?" she replied, amusement in her eyes.
"How can I know what to offer when I don't fully understand what is involved?" he riposted. "Perhaps if you were to name something, I might better evaluate if I find your terms too dear..."
A small moue of annoyance crossed her face, and if Griffonclaw hadn't been watching closely, he would have missed it.
"Very well... after the ritual, at a time of my choosing, I would spend an evening with you" she said, watching his reaction carefully.
"What... like a date?" he said. That his engagement had ended was not common knowledge, but last night he had been approached by Maia to participate in a charity auction, where the people auctioned themselves for a date. That she was... disturbingly attractive was bad enough, with her being a warlock of some experience and power... but she was disturbingly attractive.
"Agreed" he said, and he could not repress a small chill of excitement at the possibility. "How and how do we proceed?"
"What is wrong with now?" she asked, that amused smirk almost becoming a grin. " I believe I have all the accountrments for the ritual... all I need is a secure, warded place to insure our privacy and safety."
"Where did you have in mind?" he asked?
"Well... there is really only one place readily available in Stormwind... " she drawled, enjoying in advance the reaction she was sure he'd have. "...the basements of the The Slaughtered Lamb."
Griffonclaw paused; the Slaughtered Lamb was the headquarters for the various Warlock covens in the city. She was asking for a great deal of trust on a very short acquantance... but then, she hadn't come to him. It wasn't her that had the problem.
"Very well" he said. "When will you be ready?"
"As I said, I am ready now."
"Very well" said Griffonclaw. "I hope nobody tries to follow us - I'd hate to see anyone caught in the defenses and wards which must protect such a place from eavesdroppers and spies..."
Varukah gave him a strange look, but nodded. "Yes. Now, follow me."
Nikajah, using the native magical stealth abilities of her cat form, heard Griffonclaw, and not without a few misgivings, agreed with his sentiment; it would do him no good to have herself caught spying. She thought she might be able to get away with it, but the risks were great... and Griffonclaw himself had just consigned himself into Varukah's care.
He was probably safe.
And if not, then Varukah was definitely in peril. However, one of the few things one could predict about Varukah was that she inevitably acted intelligently and in her own self-interest, and she was very aware of how Nikajah could make her life miserable - or very short - should Varukah give her cause.
She waited in concealment until they left, and then passed some time browsing in the library herself; it wouldn't do to be seen leaving soon after - it was sloppy stagecraft, but like so many things, developing the habit took a lifetime, and if it saved your life you'd likely never know it...
* * *
Gaaron saw Griffonclaw and Varukah exit, but not the druid. He was torn between following them, or waiting to see when the druid would come out - assuming that the druid came out, and didn't use some of her Nature sorceries to leave unseen or un-noticed. Under the circumstances, Gaaron would take a sure thing, and follow Griffonclaw.
He stayed back, using his environment to remain unseen. Down the canals they walked, the woman chattering away, and Griffonclaw obviously ill at ease. The woman was beautiful, but such things meant little to Gaaron; what mattered with women was either willing, or unwilling but in to position to contest the issue.
He followed them past the dwarven section of town, and then past the Cathedral. They avoided the park, and instead crossed over to the Mage's section of the city. There were two likely destinations from there - either the Wizard's Sanctum, where there was no way Gaaron could follow, or the Slaughtered Lamb, where Gaaron saw no need to follow. If they entered the Slaughtered Lamb, his Dread Lord would have much more efficient means for discerning what He desired.
When they crossed the threshold of the Slaughtered Lamb, Gaaron turned away, towards the outer ring of merchants... he needed a new set of bags, and there was a workshop he knew of with a Tailor who often left things foolishly unguarded... and worked in mageweave cloth...
* * *
Varukah noticed Griffonclaw hesitate at the entrance to the Slaughtered Lamb, and was amused. "Come in, little Paladin, nobody here will hurt you so long as you're with me..." she teased. His discomfort... fear... hatred... all of it was writ large on his face, and she vowed if she could ever get him into a cardgame for money, she'd clean him out of all available funds.
Down into the catacombs beneath she led him. She had - very breifly - considered making him wear a blindfold, but there really was no need, and she would have to lead him, fun though making him stumble in Darkness might have been.
She checked with Demisette Cloyse on the way down, to see which ritual chambers were clean and available; not so much because she couldn't have a servant do it so much as because she enjoyed both her and Griffonclaw's reactions. She put her arm in Griffonclaw's, and led him away and down, feeling the daggers from Cloyce's eyes mark her back.
Once she had Griffonclaw in a ritual chamber, a large stone vault with a sunken Circle of Protection in the middle. The lines of the circle were permanent, having routed a channel in the stone and inlaid it with molten truesilver. She closed the chamber door and warded it; anyone attempting to enter without her consent would be...surprised. The convention was that if a door in the catacombs was closed you left it closed; if you were done, you left the door open for the cleaning drudges. She turned to Griffonclaw, and asked "May I summon one of my helpers to assist? It would greatly increase the chances of success...?"
Griffonclaw nodded. At this point, his dominant thought was to do whatever it took to get free of this place.
Varukah summoned her helper - a succubus, complete with compelling body and bullwhip. As he usually did when near such creatures, Griffonclaw began a series of meditations designed to clear his mind of lustful thoughts and urges... and had the same mediocre success.
Varukah spoke to it in a gutteral tongue, and the seductive creature began to remove materials from a cabinet, using her innate magics to manipulate them in the air. Griffonclaw watched those preparations until Varukah spoke again.
"Time to disrobe, Paladin."
He looked at her. "Is it absolutely necessary?" he questioned. "Desmorta..."
"Desmorta and I are not the same people, dear Griffonclaw... she has her methods, and I have mine. In order for me to be able to investigate your mind, I must have your defenses down... this means physical as well as mental, as one reinforces the other."
They looked at each other in silence, and then Griffonclaw retreated to a corner and began to unbuckle greave and vambrace, breastplate and baldric. She watched him, amused. His being naked had nothing to do with the ritual, really... she just wanted to humiliate him, to see how much he would put up with. She let her eyes drift over his well-muscled body, appreciating the scars on his back, the result of recent torture by the Horde.
Apparently, these dreams disturbed him quite a bit...
She disrobed as well, laying her robes and lingerie carefully in a small basket. Unlike Griffonclaw, she often felt more empowered and confident when naked... she knew well the effect her body and face had on men, and it made them prone to error and mistake, and she relentlessly siezed any advantage.
The look on his face when he turned was priceless. He might affect an aloof and disapproving manner towards her, but his body quite clearly betrayed his attraction.
Her assistant had finished the preparations that Varukah had commanded, and handed her mistress a jar of fresh unguent. She had also prepared a vessel with a concoction that issued a thick, green mist, but she held onto that.
Varukah stepped forward, a twinkle in her eye. "Now, I must annoint you with certain symbols, Griffonclaw..." He said nothing, but nodded and looked away. She dipped her finger in the unguent, and began to trace sigils and symbols on his chest, his arms...
"Oh, I am so going to enjoy our date, Darling..." she mumbled, giggling as she knelt in front of him, drawing signs on his outer thighs.
She stepped back, and using more unguent, began to apply it to herself in similar manner... although decidedly more sensually.
Griffonclaw refused to watch as she half drew, half-caressed the symbology on her own body. "He will pay for ignoring me..." she thought, grinning to herself. Extracting the price was likely to be quite... enjoyable.
She finished, and her succubus came forward, taking the jar and exchanging it for the steaming vessel.
"One last thing... " she began, waiting until she had his attention again. "You must lay down within the Circle of Protection, and breathe the mists of the vessel. I will then activate the circle, and we shall begin."
She offered him the vessel. He took it and sat within the circle.
He breathed the mists... and knew no more.
* * *
Part 14.1 - On the Adult Side!
* * *
Griffonclaw awoke in his own bed in Ironforge... alone, and unharmed. The symbols on his body were gone, but he felt as if... well, as if he'd been licked by an animal, all over. He immediately went to the baths, and then to the Temple of Light, meditating and cleansing his mind as he had his body.
According to the calendar, two days had passed since Varukah had conducted her ritual, but she was nowhere to be found.
Another week passed, and - quite by accident - he saw her in the streets of Stormwind, heading towards the Storwind Library. He caught up with her, and greeted her in a friendly voice, masking his apprehension.
"M'lady Varukah - A word, if you have the time?" he called out. She froze for a minute, but then turned with a smile on her face. "Griffonclaw... you are well?"
"I am, and I thank you" he replied. "But I am somewhat at a loss..."
"I must apologize, dear Griffonclaw... some people react to the vapors by sleeping for an extended period of time. Quite harmless, but I took you to be one such when I could not... rouse you. From slumber." She grinned, and continued. "I had some servants take you to the Cathedral, where Katherine the Pure told me she'd see you safe to your Ironforge home."
Griffonclaw nodded, resolving to check with Katherine the Pure to verify. "But the results... what did you find?"
Varukah blushed.
"I found that you have a very... naughty mind, Ser Paladin... and an inventive one..." she began, looking away and flushing. "Perhaps we'll discuss some of that on our date..."
"But..." he began.
"But I found nothing to indicate that there was an outside influence, although I could see signs where your psyche had been... savaged, some time before. I did my best to heal some of those wounds; with luck, your nightmares shall now be less."
She smiled sweetly. "However, I have another... consultation, and I must not be late. But perhaps later we may talk of when we might consumate our agreement?"
Griffonclaw felt himself blush, but he nodded agreement. "Good even, then, Mistress Varukah." Turning, he walked away... but as he was crossing the bridge, on impulse, turned back and blew her a kiss.
Varukah's face lit up, and Griffonclaw felt strangely elated.
Varukah winked, a sultry, sexy expression crossing her face. He felt a little thrill shiver through his stomach as she cocked one hip, turned on her heels, and walked away, hips swinging, knowing full well that his eyes were glued to her backside.
When Griffonclaw had faded from sight, Varukah slipped a hand in her pack to retrieve her stone. Purple runes glowed faintly, intensifying at the sound of her voice.
"Lord Keruptis?" she whispered. "I await my summons."
The Great Forge became hazy - the intense oranges and reds melded into a drifting panoply of color. All at once, they faded into Darkness. This was where Varukah felt most at home. This is where the Whispers gave her strength. This was where--
She was pulled through. An altar came into focus, surrounded completely by brick and mortar. Two identically dressed ladies held their hands out in the familiar summoning ritual pose. The ground was packed dirt. The smell of decay lay heavy in her nostrils. She turned.
"Lord Keruptis, I presume," she spoke as her eyes took in the heavily shrouded form, hood pulled low to shadow his face. She tilted her head to the side in wonderment, then slowly allowed her eyes to absorb the rest of her surroundings.
"Catacombs... not surprising that you have made this yours. I love what you have done with it..." she trials off, letting her gaze wander their surroundings.
"Lady Varukah, it is a pleasure to have you here. Might I show you around?" His voice was thick and rich, seductive and polite, with a heavy darkness behind it, as though he weilded more power than he chose to evince.
She bowed her head slightly in acquiescence, following behind on her tour of "The Crypt." There was something about being there that spoke to her... the Whispers were positively gleeful. It had been at their insistence that she even come.
She found herself enjoying this man's company, as colleague rather than challenge. It had been some time since she had been around a male who was not simply an obstacle to be conquered. There were only a handful. She mused upon their names as she followed, her eyes lingering over the lead form.
Malathras, Verlorek, the elf... and now Keruptis.
Perhaps time would change her impression. She remained attentive as he spoke of the various areas within The Crypt, little surprising her. She'd seen it all before, but did not give mention to that effect. She could tell that he enjoyed showing off his lair; and who was she to prevent him that small pleasure?
At the conclusion of the tour, she allowed him and his followers to summon her to his home. Two more minions posted within a dark cave nodded in greeting at her presence, murmuring the appropriate verbage. Varukah was used to jealousy from others of the female persuasion. The veiled annoyance rolled off her back like water beaded upon wax.
She followed Keruptis to his home, a Tauren tepee decorated in colorful painted detail at the shore of a vast, open sea. Her gaze quickly turned to disapproval as her eyes landed upon the shoddy, primitive residence. She had expected a grand manor, secluded but fit for royalty, complete with a serving staff. He noted her change of expression.
"I had Tauren build it here for me. Then, I slew them. Do you know what drew me here, Varukah? It was the water... the vast Darkness of the water..." his arm extended outward in a long arc, gesturing toward the expanse of sea. "No one can enter without my noticing. It's... slow. Silent. Peaceful. Just the Darkness and myself."
She understood... but the need for material comforts outweighed the strategical significance of the Tauren tepee. Nevertheless, she followed him into his abode, which was, to her surprise, lavishly decorated. He strode to a table where he lifted a bottle of dark wine.
"Can I offer you a glass?" His voice was soft, with the barest edge of something sinister. It was like harp music to Kaldorei ears.
"Thank you, I'd love one," she said, dipping her head once more in reverence. The Whispers were in a state of ecstacy, writhing about in her mind. She shut them off from her conscious mind, so that they didn't interfere with her ability to avidly listen.
"What do you know of our Order?" he asked casually, as he handed her a gilded goblet filled with the potent wine.
Her eyes danced at the question, knowing full well that it was coming. "I stumbled upon some footprints of the Order while performing a ritual. I decided to investigate further. Demisette Cloyce spoke highly of you and yours, so I contacted you."
Keruptis nodded, lifting his glass in toast. "To Darkness." Varukah did likewise, then both drank deeply of the heady liquid.
He went on. "Mortals who embraced the demons and gave themselves over to the arcane achieved gifts of power while the Burning Legion was at its height."
"When the demons fell in the Third War, the mortals were stripped of this power. The goal of the Scions of Darkness is to further our arcane studies and establish power."
"We work together to seek out the Dark Knowledge and bring about an age where Darkness shall reign."
Varukah chuckled softly, slightly prickled by the assumption of her ignorance of such things. But she let none of it show.
"Do you wish to become a part of our sacred Order, Lady Varukah?"
Varukah's striking blue eyes flashed. "Most certainly, Lord Keruptis."
"Who comes to stand before the Scions and embrace the Darkness?"
"I, Varukah La`Roche, stand before the Scions and embrace the Darkness." She drew herself upwards, draining the last of her glass of wine.
"And what, Lady Varukah La`Roche, do you have to offer in way of assistance to the Order?" He tilted his head slightly.
"I bring my Power, my Knowledge, and my Loyalty, Lord Keruptis." She was well aware of the little word-game being played, knowing exactly what he'd like to hear. Her thoughts strayed to Malathras, lips curling ever-so-slightly at the striking similarity between then and now.
"Do you swear to defend your brethren and the honour of the Order always?"
"Of course. I swear." Formalities...
"And do you also swear to seek out the Dark Knowledge and aid in bringing about an age where Darkness shall reign?"
"I do." Inwardly, she chuckled at this. If only he knew...
"Do you swear these things with the understanding that failure to uphold them will result in severe punishment, even leading to death?"
"I would expect nothing less. Should anyone betray the coven, the only penalty could be a torturous death, filled with terror unimaginable." She was pleased with her own embellishment, and could tell that it had the desired effect on Keruptis.
"I can see that you will make an excellent addition, Lady Varukah," he spoke softly, his eyes never leaving hers. His voice rose in volume. "Hear Ye, Ancient Ones by whose power we are strong! In this place, by our words and will, Lady Varukah La`Roche, has been duly pledged as an initiate of the Scions of Darkness!"
He walked to his table, lifting a small skill and a quill, plucked from the feathers of a raven. She watched with mild curiousity as he carried the gifts to her. Pricking his forefinger with the sharp edge of the quill, he signed his name in blood on the crown of the bleached-white bone.
"I don't often sign these myself, but you... you intrigue me, Varukah. You will need to obtain the signatures of four other Scions to become a full fledged adept of the Order."
Varukah groaned inwardly. She hated having to appease the masses. She was so much better at one-on-one persuasion, and the time it would take to seduce four--
She took the skull and quill, bowing her head low. "I thank you, Lord Keruptis. I will not disappoint."
******
Back within the comforts of her residence, she carefully placed the skull and quill upon the shelf. Her thoughts were once again occupied by the Whispers, and it was time to let them satisfy themselves. Opening the double doors to her boudoir, she stepped inside. A large bed framed with thick, ebony posters and shrouded with lacy black curtains awaited her attentions.
It is time we form a plan. It is time to start the motions. We will reign.
She smiled at the Whisperings. "All in good time. All in good time."
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