It was a dark and stormy night. Wolves howled at the full moon in the sky. Owls hooted. Rabbits and other little vermin hid somewhere from those wolves and owls. Perhaps, it was why they howled and hooted. Crickets chirped. A rare firefly occasionally lightened up its surroundings. Sleeping bears snored any creature away. The jagged jigsaw of the forest horizon sharp enough to amputate someone's limb was illuminated by the moonlight. It was raining, hence the stormy night, and pretty hard at that, but the forest was so dense with the spruce and oak trees that anyone who was lost in it would think that they were under a leaky roof.
A large gray castle on a cliff was looking over that forest. To be honest, it wasn't the best location the architect could choose for it, specifically because of such occasions, but no one was complaining. Not that anyone could. The roof leaked in places, where there was a roof, the floorboards were rotting through and through and one could look at the sky from the first floor of some of the castle towers. Yes, it was beautiful when you could look at the stars, but most of the time, just like this very night, the sky was full of rain clouds. That was another reason not to build here. The fact that the moon was visible this night was a miracle that would soon be over, by the looks of it.
And it was. The moon hid behind the dark clouds and the night became much darker. Then the lightning ruined the mood by illuminating the world once more. "NYEERGH!" screamed the Dark Lord at the top of his non-existent lungs. "Why would the Gods ruin such a great night?! For the sake of all that is unholy, close the curtains so that no one can see this abomination!"
One of the many reanimated skeletons somehow managed to get a worried look and quickly shambled over to the giant dark-purple curtain that was made specifically for the ridiculously large window located behind the skull throne. The skeleton reached for, grabbed and started pulling it. It hoped to close the window on its own with no luck. The heavy material refused to move under the force of a couple of old bones and some necromantic magic. Several other boney minions ran over... well, they tried at any rate... to their colleague, grabbed the curtains from both sides and pulled.
Some of them shattered under the stress, but the window was finally closed. The rest collected the remains and shambled back to their positions with the skulls of their companions held up high to let them see the reanimator. The Dark Lord was tapping his foot through the whole ordeal and the red pupils stared furiously from underneath the black hood. His eyes screamed that he was ready to kill and destroy everything and everyone who would dare and look at him crossly. Nothing that his army wasn't already used to.
When the minions finally shambled back to their places, every skeleton in the room, around three dozen zombies, and four death knights were shifting uncomfortably, because every single one of them had come to the same conclusion - the Dark Lord was feeling cranky today. All of them knew why, but didn't dare to speak up. Tonight was the night of the Villain Reunion, and this time the "honour" to be its host has fallen to the Dark Lord himself.
"I won't let anything ruin this night! Centuries worth of rot, bloody tortures, and freezing winters shall not be ruined by something as stupid as GOOOODS!" He screamed the last word at the top of his lungs and aimed it at the ceiling. The lightning flashed once more behind the curtains and the thunder boomed soon after. "Yeaaaah! Take that! Now you won't ruin MY night!"
The Dark Lord looked around the ballroom once more. Rotting corpses of moronic adventurers lined the walls sorted from the freshest next to the throne to literal skeletons next to the entrance. An ancient chandelier hung from the ceiling with no candles lit. He wouldn't dare waist such great torture device like hot wax. "Or should I?" the Dark Lord thought aloud. All of a sudden his cloak bellowed around him, and a skinned with black patches of rot hand shot from it. A boney finger pointed at the group of zombies. "You lot! Go to the basement and bring me the candles. DO NOT LIT THEM!" he added quickly after remembering what happened last time, when he wanted to show off to the particularly pretty adventuress, he captured not too long ago. She was hung up right next to the throne. "And don't eat anyone! We need the moans for the mood!" he added once more remembering the time before the last one, when... well, it's best not to remember the "Disemboweled Bowels" incident.
The zombies left with groans in their throats and shifting of ragged clothes. They slumped towards the side door, which opened with a creak of unoiled hinges. They quickly descended down the stairs, but everyone knew that it didn't mean that the zombies would be as quick to come back.
One of the death knights clinked in his armor in thought, but after quick confirmation that the fire in the Dark Lord's eyes was starting up once more, it ran over to the open basement door and closed it with a loud creak. After turning its head back to look at the master, the death knight saw that the storm had passed. It took one step towards its previous position, but there was something in the way. Something twice as small, wrapped in a black cloak, and with red tiny pupils that were ready to tear out someone's soul out of their asshole. Not that it had any soul to tear out. Not after the Dark Lord...
"You!" The same bony finger pinned the death knight to its place. "Stay here!" The Dark Lord took a couple of steps back and looked at his minion quizzically. He rotated his head left and right. He even made a small rectangle with both pairs of index fingers and thumbs. Not a single word was spoken, but a lot of clattering bones made up for it. When he was done, the Dark Lord said: "Take a step to the right... N-no!!! My right!!! MY!... Oh, for the Hells' sake..." The death knight tried to follow the master's orders, but it failed miserably. It took a step to the left, then two steps to the right, but after the obvious lack of satisfaction, it just stood still. Better to let the river take its course.
After several rotations around the poor chap, the Dark Lord proclaimed with authority beheldent of a powerful necromancer: "You stand here for the rest of the night!" and the death knight had no other choice, but to obey. The black cloaked figure rushed back to the center of the room assessing its every feature. He was snapping his bony fingers to an unheard rhythm of his thought processes. With finalizing gestures the Dark Lord ordered his minions around. "You two!" he screamed to a pair of the left over death knights. "You shall guard the front doors and let the guests in. You!" he addressed the last creature in metal armor. "Stand opposite to him!" and pointed towards the one standing in front of the cellar door. "And you, cretins," the Dark Lord's voice almost cracked with impatience, "go to the kitchen and make something worthy of those lunatics who dare call themselves villains!"
The skeletons, which had to assume he was talking to them, looked at what passed for their arms and hands, shared worried eyeless glances, and... "I SAID GO!!!" the Dark Lord stopped their thoughts with a shriek and demonstratively shot a black lightning spell that shattered three or four of them, leaving a shitload to spare.
Clicks and clacks echoed through the chamber as the necromancer's servants rushed to the kitchen, which was nothing more, but a closet with some utensils, ingredients, and a single oven. There were pickled eyeballs, tongues, frogs, moldy cheeses (which for some reason cost three times as much as regular cheese, i.e. thirty skeletons were destroyed during that attack rather than ten), greens, which included the moldy cheese, and many, many barrels of red wine. Or blood. Sometimes they got mixed up and it was hard to tell which was which, especially with no taste buds to speak of.
As they clanked the pots together, started small fires, and were generally disruptive, the Dark Lord watched over what they were cooking from the kitchen entrance, as he was still waiting for the zombies to bring the Gods damned candles. Soon, after a minute or five of shrieking at imbecile skeletons that burned one dish after another and spilled wine all over the floor, which caught on fire, but was extinguished by spilled blood, the necromancer finally heard the telltale moans of undead rotten creatures coming from behind the door. "Let them in! We don't want them to spend another hour picking up the candles!"
The death knight obeyed as per instructions and opened the creaky door. A groan passed through the zombies' throats, a cheer that the main obstacle in their way was finally overthrown. It didn't matter that it wasn't them who overcame it, since they were brainless and mindless dead bodies of once living farmers and adventurers. The Dark Lord suppressed a chuckle at the thought. To think these zombies any more mindless than their alive counterparts was just ridiculous. They were just like the ones he hang up in the ball room: stupid men and women that tried to defeat the all-powerful necromancer, who ate chaps like them for a three-course meal. Speaking of which.
"The appetizers! What do we have for appetizers?!" the Dark Lord asked the skeleton closest to him.
"Clack. Clickity-clack-clack", the skeleton answered, bemused at the sudden attention.
"WHAT?! NO APPETIZERS?!" The skeleton shrank back from the loud noise, trying to revert itself into a gelatine cube so that no screams could harm it. It failed miserably. The Dark Lord sighed. "Do we have toothpicks?" he asked, and someone in the background deliberately broke a chair leg. "Just stick what you can find onto them, that should do the trick".
At the sound of that the floor got several times the fluids it had before, mostly marinade and eye fluid that trickled from the fresh holes. By the time, the Dark Lord turned around to watch what was taking his zombie minions so long, he saw the chandelier rocketing to the floor as its chain suddenly relaxed. In a momentary panic, the necromancer shot out the telekinesis spell. The chandelier stopped mid-fall saving the chain from snapping under the stress. After which the Dark Lord took time to personally hit each zombie with the heavy golden ornament, caving in their skulls. "You. Abso-lute. Morons", he went with each bone-crushing, eye-watering crack. "Never. Do this. Shit. Again". The undead groaned apologetically, as their comrades were being hit. The death knights quietly chuckled to themselves at the misfortune of their lesser colleagues.
As the last zombie hit the floor, the Dark Lord took a deep breath (Gods and Devils only know how he managed that) and placed the chandelier carefully at the center. "Pick yourselves up, insolent worms, and put the candles on the chandelier". The instructions were followed, one of the death knights ran after its master's command, and gently pulled on the chain to put the ornament back up.
Contrary to your assumption, the room was not as dark as one would expect of a closed ball-room with no moon or candle light. Two giant light spells were floating up high next to the ceiling and illuminated the palace. It was not as if the Dark Lord needed that, of course. The undead, both natural and necromantic, had a so-called dark-vision that allowed them to see in the dark, but the soon-to-come guests were not as lucky, and a generous, kind host knew that some sacrifices had to be made for their benefit. The necromancer, on the other hand, just wanted to rub his ex-classmates' noses into what powerful magic was available to him. And a 9th-level powered up light spell seemed as good a rub as it was, including another benefit that he would be able to show off the range of adventurers who tried to kill him and, of course, failed. Two or three of them groaned quietly as if to remind of their existence.
"QUIET!" shrieked the undead wizard. "Save it for when the... ugh, 'guests'". He sloughed the word in his mouth, trying to spit out the uncomfortable taste. One of the adventurers groaned louder, in defiance of his torturer, and a silence spell was immediately cast, effectively, shutting the idiot up without any say-so.
The taste didn't go away. "Give me wine, immediately!" One of the skeletons rushed out of the kitchen with a single filled wine glass under the chorus of many clicks and clacks, as the few 'chefs' were outraged that one of ten available glasses was taken from them. The Dark Lord grabbed the glass, washed his mouth with the wine and spat it back in. The skeleton grabbed and brought it back to the kitchen.
So an hour passed. Screaming at the skeletons that actually managed to cook three different meals, enough to fill the stomachs of ten or fifteen guests each, and enough appetizers to last the evening. Of course, 'meals' was too strong a word, since the ingredients were scarce, and they had to improvise. Wine glasses were full, and set upon trays. However, since skeletons were not physically built to carry such things (or any things, really) and had to collectively lift a single pan full of ingredients atop the oven, the zombies were getting ready for the job.
Somewhere deep down in the dungeon below the fortress, there were special rooms dedicated for containing the bodies of many creatures, both human and not so much in nature, in all three stages of their miserable lives: alive, tortured and dead. As the zombies passed them, the alive rattled their cell doors cursing the already cursed aberrations. The tortured begged and pleaded for their lives to be either set free or ended. The dead lifelessly stared or waved a cheerful greeting depending on what stage of their transformation they were at. And yet, every one of them disgusted the Dark Lord, who was making sure that his undead minions didn't screw up the entire arrangement.
As all reached the end of the hallway, the zombie in the front opened the metal cell door. In front of them lay many dead humans and elves, a trio of dwarves, and a single demon-kind, all of whom were dressed in regular servant attire and had thin mustaches above their eversopresently sneering curled upper lip. Perhaps, a common facial contraction amongst the upper class. "Come on, you putrescent scum! Get to work!" the Dark Lord gave out his order, and the zombies started undressing the dead, both themselves and the bodies at their feet.
Undead creatures started dressing for the evening's occasion. To the reader's dismay, due to the imbalanced amount of bodies present and lack of any self-awareness in their brains, several male human zombies had to dress in maiden outfits, as well as a couple of females dressed up in male servant attire. One of the four undead dwarves present was forced to wear human's clothes, and another was dressed in the left-over dwarven dress. The necromancer, though, could not care any less for this. It was not as if these corpses could be any less useless than they already were. What he did care about was the time.
"Faster! FASTER!" He hit one of the minions on the back of the head. One of the eyes flew out. As the zombie reached out, the Dark Lord stopped it: "Leave it there! It's not as if you have any need for it". And it really didn't. The necromantic magic took care of such necessities. The zombie didn't see with its eyes, per say, but with the tiny red lights inside the eyeholes, reminiscent of the red eyes its master himself possessed. It groaned in acknowledgement, and the Dark Lord tutted with impatience.
Another five minutes later, they finally left the room and rose back upstairs from the dungeon. The necromancer was surprised that nothing had gone wrong during the time he was away from the current chaos. It didn't mean that everything was calm and steady. The skeletons, who were ordered to bring the celebratory tables and chairs, were crowding in the doorway struggling with the task. Above their heads they were carrying an oak table, thirty feet in length. Due to the task at hand, all of them had to be assigned for the job, but now, when they realized that the doorway was too small to fit them, there was nothing they could do but exchange glances with themselves and the death knights, who stared vigilantly back. "If they do not get through the door this instant, I will powderize your bodies and use them as seasoning for today's dinner, while making sure that you are conscious through the whole ordeal", growled the Dark Lord and, as the death knights rushed to the stuck skeletons, added: "OPEN THE CURSED DOOR!"
A short while later the hall was ready. The table was sitting at the end and old rotten and rusty (depending on the material) chairs surrounded it. The process was, of course, accompanied by a horrific screech of metal upon stone, since none of the busy skeletons had a single muscle to lift the chairs an inch above ground. Five of the barely alive adventurers had awoken and were screaming, begging for the torture to stop. The Dark Lord smiled under his black hood. Finally, something was going right. Loud yells of these feisty humans and elves were music to his undead ears. Of course, some adjustments were in order.
"Quiet down!" The evil wizard had cast a spell created all by himself, when he was just a wee little undead underlord. The spell was a modified version of the Silence spell with a mix of Pass Without a Trace from his...
The Dark Lord shivered as he remembered his days at the villain school. Of course, he was the best of the best just like now, and his spellcasting has surpassed not only his peers', but his teachers' as well, but the way he was treated back then supposed a potentially better experience. But no more would he have to battle and challenge his ex-classmates, because tonight was the night when he showed them the power of a true villain. The power of the Dark Lord.
The spellcaster lost himself in his thoughts, which he allowed since the screams became a bit quieter and now were more part of the exquisite background rather than the main attraction. Yes. This was perfect. The Dark Lord knew himself to be perfect, but even then he amazed himself at how quickly he managed to fine-tune the volume of the tortured yells, which made his mood even chummier. The death knights watched him carefully through the whole ordeal and were glad to see the smile on their boss's face. Well, more of an evil grin than a child's ear-to-ear obliviousness, but it was better than the grumpy mood the lord radiated off before. Dishearteningly, not that any of the present possessed one, some of their skeletal colleagues were lost in the process, as well as one of the superbly muscular human men had finally breathed his last breath. But it was no worry for undead creatures powered by an evil necromancer, since all of them would soon come back in bigger numbers, and maybe even the death knights might see a new recruit with the face of the dead barbarian amongst their scarce ranks of four.
The Dark Lord started chuckling as his mood got better. The chuckle quickly rose to a bellowing roar of laughter making all minions in the room stop in their way to gawk at their master. At least, that's what the wizard first thought until he heard it.
*knock knock knock*
Someone knocked on the door. "What time is it?" the necromancer whispered. His answer was a collective creaky shrug.
*BOOM BOOM BOOM*
The someone knocked on the door once more with more power this time. So much more in fact, that the rust started flaking off the old hinges. The Dark Lord looked left and right panicking. Yes, the preparations were going perfectly, but they were not finished. He had to improvise, he knew so, but it didn't mean he'd enjoy being this evening's Dungeon Master, when there was so much left to do. He...
"Are you going to keep your guests waiting all night long?" a teeth-shatteringly sweet voice whispered in his ear.
The Dark Lord jumped two feet in front, turned around and opened his cloak to reveal a boney grey body with patches of rot as he readied the most powerful fireball in his hands. "Hah! Puh-lease," said the voice from behind his back. "As if I wouldn't dodge your puny spell. You truly have gone daft over the years".
The Dark Lord turned around again, but this time he had calmed himself down and closed the cloak, saving the spell for some later time. In front of him stood Chardra, the drow rogue of significant power. She looked at him with a sly grin, and a small drop of blood escaped her lips. The rogue quickly licked it off, never taking the gaze off of her conversation emissary, and the wizard shuddered at the gesture, which only made her smile even wider as she bared her snow white teeth.
"Hi... Chardra" the necromancer spoke and paused for just a moment, which the drow, of course, noticed.
"Well, hi to you too, my... excuse me, OUR gracious host. Would you be a dearie and open the door for the rest of US?"
The Dark Lord grumbled under his breath and ordered: "Open the damned doors, cretins!" The death knights hurried up and pulled on the doors' handles. As they opened, a new figure ran in with a shoulder in front and a furious roar of anger. He barely missed both of the wooden slabs, stumbled over the porch and face-planted onto the marble tile floor, as the rain washed away part of his crusty filth of blood and other substances.
While the barbarian in the room slowly rose, the rest of the guests started pouring inside. A bat flew in near the top of the doorway, the frost giant squeezed through, a group of gnolls cackled in front of their chief, two evil wizards (one human, one halfling) zapped, trying to one-up each other, demon-kind warlock strode inside with his devil-patron following suite, and, of course, Jerry, the lawyer, came in with his ever-present briefcase in the left hand. The necromancer knew and despised each and every one of them with his rotten heart. Just like in the bad old times.
He greeted his guests with a sneer and an illusion spell, which read: "WELCOME TO THE 7TH VILLAIN CLASS REUNION OF THE YEAR OF THE DARK LIGHT". To the grief of the gracious host, the only one who seemed impressed was the only guest the Dark Lord didn't know.
"For all that is holy, unholy and shit-crested! That's fucken impressive as this hyena's tits!" The barbarian, who has already lifted himself off the now dirty floor pointed his finger first at the glowing letters and after at the gnoll chief Az Camelthumb, who snarled at the strange human, looking at the meager five foot figure from her seven foot stature and getting two oversized maces ready for battle. One thing the host had to admit was that despite his height the barbarian had muscles which easily rivaled that of the toothy beast he pointed at. The Dark Lord had almost mistaken the human for a dwarf, however, complete lack of facial hair indicated that masonry wasn't his strong suit. At the same time, he wasn't about to stop a good fight since it would surely bring endless entertainment to his guests.
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"STOP!" The drow rogue unbeknownst to everyone has appeared between the two parties, as the barbarian smiled and reached for his giant battle axe. When the two fighters stopped their advances, Chardra turned to the human she stood in front of. "Harold, what did I tell you about inappropriate comments?"
Harold's brow wrinkled in thought, as the gears in his head slowly churned, and after several seconds of silence answered: "Eh... only when we are both in bed?" The drow's white physique suddenly got a bit of color, as the rest of the room had collectively raised one of their eyebrows, including the upside-down bat and the skeletons.
"Uhmm... yes-s, that's t-true", Chardra staggered, "but I also told you that you must not comment other's appearance, unless you are battling". The barbarian's smile reached his ears, but the drow cut it down: "Which you are NOT doing tonight! Tonight is the night when all of the villains from the Drevzold continent agree on a truce, and shall not harm one another". Human huffed and puffed, but gave a little nod and put the axe away. "No matter how pathetic the opponent is", she addressed Az.
Now this! This was interesting. The Dark Lord hasn't seen the drow so flustered before. Is it possible that she has gone soft herself? And for a human of all races? Their contrasting personalities might have been the true reason behind this preposterous revelation, for it is wisely said that opposites attract.
Necromancer viewed how the rest of the guests reacted. They have seemingly come to the same conclusion. A potential weakness to exploit in a future venture, but not one to be spoken of tonight.
The bat squeaked and caught the attention of the hall. When all eyes were on it, it released the grip on the wooden bannister and started falling. Before reaching the ground the animal started transforming. Its leathery wings elongated and became thicker, while the leather turned bright red. Big eyes became smaller, and the long ears shortened, but did not lose their pointy ends. The bat body grew tenfold and more, tasteful black, white and red jacket, pants and boots appeared on its body seemingly out of nowhere. Harold whistled in fascination, but to the rest it wasn't anything they haven't seen before. Duke Drake the Demolished was a vampire from the distant and cold land of Boravia, after all.
"Grrreetingz and salutazhionz, Masterr of ze Dunzheon". Duke's accent was thick, noticeable even in a short sentence such as this. "You cannot imazhine how glad am I to have been invited to yourr layerr". Vampire looked the hall over with an obvious distaste, which he masterfully hid behind an unconvincing smile.
"Thank you, but you have seen NOTHING YET!" The Dark Lord answered, but his excitement to show off in front of this self-assured prick was too obvious, as he yelled the last two words. Just like his guest, he masterfully hid this by a bellowing laughter. When no one seemed to get the joke, and the human barbarian rotated his head like a curious dog, the necromancer's red pupils shot a furious gaze at the death knights behind the guests, prompting a series of tinny chuckles from behind the undeads' helmets. The company finally remembered what polite society protocol ordered to do in a case such as this, and their laughter filled the hall. Well, laughter was too strong of a word: the gnolls barked, the vampire giggled under breath, the frost giant's single chuckle boomed through the castle, causing a couple of rocks to fall. Chardra and Jerry were the only ones who laughed like real people, while the two wizards continued glaring at each other without a care in the world, and the human barbarian just got more confused. "Was that supposed to be funny?" he asked and quickly received a slap to the back of his head from his...
The Dark Lord let the word 'girlfriend' pass through his mind with great difficulty. Nevertheless, he gestured his guests towards the table and took the lead. Zilvod the Dark, the demon-kind warlock carried two marble balls and played with them during the greetings and now addressed his patron in magically-advanced hushed whisper. The Dark Lord didn't catch what has been said, due to the magic involved, but no living or undead person couldn't miss the answer of the eight feet devil. "Do not worry, Zilly. The souls can wait for a later day". Its basso voice was at the conversational level, which meant that it at least tried to match the warlock's. The demon-kind's eyes bulged slightly and his mannerisms became more aggressive, but nobody could still hear his words. "Oh, please, calm yourself. You do this every time we meet them".
Not seeing the point of being unheard, warlock snapped and the spell dropped like a rock. "And every time I ask you not to call me that. Anyway, since you don't want any souls today, I presume you brought some for the road?"
The devil sighed. "Yes, yes. I did bring some spare ones, just like your mother suggested".
At this point everyone has reached the table and started sitting down. "Good", finished the conversation Zilvod, and afterwards addressed the Dark Lord. "Well, well", he sneered. "Look who finally decided to clean up for the occasion. And I do love the decorations". Zilvod threw one of the marble balls at the head of a recently passed barbarian in chains. Before hitting the ground the ball zipped back into its owner's hand. He coughed with disappointment. "Ah, just passed away".
Everybody started talking amongst each other, during this short time, and the devil asked the host: "Say. Would you mind, if I get his soul?"
The necromancer turned to the body on the wall. "Gods damn it all", he grunted when he realized that he had one less live specimen to work with. "Please, be my guest". He gestured towards the dead barbarian.
"Sweet", the devil chuckled and headed to the wall. It only took two steps to reach its destination, and the creature sniffed the air. Satisfied with its "research" the ten foot demon inhaled. In doing so its chest increased twofold, threefold, fourfold and so on, but its shenanigans did not take too much attention for they took too long to finish. To be precise, if past experience was any indication the soul consumption could last up to half of a full hour leaving the rest of the guests and their host to their devices.
"Well, that will take uncle Iblis a while", commented Zilvod returning his gaze back to the table. The skeletons collectively started bringing giant dishes in and setting them, while the zombies each grabbed a plate with appetizers and drinks and went on to circling around the table. Each of the guests either politely took the offered food and glasses or refused, but as the alcohol started rushing through them the conversation rose anew. They talked about their previous world domination attempts, about their current world domination plans, about how they would gloat when they would achieve world domination, and how stupid the heroes were to even try and stop them. They obviously realized that achieving said world domination would mean that the rest of the gathered wouldn't, the fact that each of them knew that the rest knew about, but their scheming gazes only spurred them on, as they didn't share the plans on how they would defeat each other. The fact that all of them also knew that the rest knew about.
The only ones who did not participate in the conversation were the Two Evil Wizards. No one actually knew their names, because they never spoke unless they were casting a spell at one another or at poor unsuspecting villagers, but they always seemed to get the most recent news and invitations. They never left each other's side, but it didn't mean that they liked one another. They sat side to side at the table and kept casting prestidigitation spells, each showing off something bigger and greater than the previous. The human wizard created a small one-eyed creature that grabbed a toothpick with an eyeball and brought it to its master. The halfling quickly responded with the same spell creating the same creature but bigger and quicker. It grabbed the wine glass, but the quick feet betrayed their owner, and it spilled the wine all over the small wizard's robes. The human of the TEW (that was the nickname the villains came up with way back at the school) barked with laughter. The halfling bared his teeth, snapped, dismissing the clumsy creature, grabbed another glass with a mage hand and threw the wine into the human's face.
An invisible wall stopped the wine from splashing into the human face, but the wizard robes still got stained red. Surprising as though it may be, the human TEW was not the one responsible, but the Dark Lord himself. Simply put, the necromancer did not want any magical fights to break out in his castle for they quickly got out of hand. Just like the small prestidigitation duel the TEW wizards held, so they would try to one up each other with offensive spells. And there was a limit on how much damage the Dark Lord was going to bear. Sure a physical fight might break a few chairs and tables, it would not be a big deal. Even a crack in the wall would not have been a problem, and would only bring more character to the ballroom. However, a 12th level powered meteor swarm would powederize not only his entire undead army, but it would surely leave the Dark Lord's mansion in ruins. And he wasn't ready to spend another hundred or so years just to look for a new ancient castle to settle in. Especially, when Boravia was the only country close enough, where one could find such a place.
The TEW wizards glared at one another, and when they realized what happened, moved on to glare at the third evil wizard at the table. They started moving their hands, muttering incomprehensible words. They were obviously casting some serious spells to destroy the one who dared to stop their childish shenanigans, so the Dark Lord easily brought up a counterpoint. Which meant that he quickly created no-magic zones around both of them, as well as encapsulating each in their private invisible box. Both of the spells faded away, both of the wizards put their hands on the table, lowered their heads and sighed. This was a high class night, and they should not have acted so foolishly, they realized. So it came as no surprise, when they started apologising to the host, which quickly turned into a shouting match of how much louder one could overapologise than the other. A silence spell put a stop to this nonsense.
"Well, that was embarrassing", boomed Frank the frost giant.
"Never seem to get over each other", chimed Chardra.
"Zat's vhy I alwayss tell to leave zem out of zeesse meetingz", Duke hissed.
"Are ye two queers or what?" the barbarian announced the subtext of the conversation.
"You are not legally obliged to answer the question", Jerry's monotone explained.
"This reminds me", continued the drow rogue turning to the Dark Lord. "You still have not told us your plans".
Everyone started enthusiastically agreeing with her and turned their attention to the Dark Lord. Their host dramatically filled his chest and spread his shoulders. The red eyes twinkled with anticipation and pride. But they soon died down as Harold gave an unwanted comment: "Ha! What else? He is gonna get his skeleton boys to do all the job for him!" The guests suppressed a chuckle, but it was obvious that everyone was thinking the same thought, as well as remembering their shared days at the school. The necromancer's face twitched under the hood, as his memories of that place weren't as pleasant for him as they were for the others, even though the experiences were the same for all of them. Arguably, it was because of those experiences that his student days were as terrible as they were.
But this was not the time to let himself down. This was the day when he would show them all. So what if they guessed his plans? He was still the most powerful villain around. Hells below, he was the most powerful wizard in this plane of existence! None shall compare or even come close to his level of power!
The grin rushed upon his face, and the rotten lungs exhaled a barking laughter. "So what if it is?"
They laughed. They all laughed. Az was the most annoying, since her high-pitched barks rivaled all of her pack put together. The only one not laughing was Jerry, but his wicked smile was the most hurtful one of all. His life as a lawyer taught what buttons to push to make someone as uncomfortable as possible.
The Dark Lord had no choice, but to double-down. The necromancer stood up straight, looked over his laughing guests, waiting for them to stop. Chardra was the first one to do so, when she looked him in the eye, she could not help, but notice: "Oh dear Gods! You are being genuine!" The drow put her hands together under the chin and tilted the head to one side. "Honey, I know exactly what you are compensating for, but trust me: quantity cannot replace quality". And then she started laughing once more, reigniting everyone's cheer.
"Wait..." Harold's mind tried to digest what was said. "Hold your horses. Chard? Did you see this scrawny wank's pecker?"
"She has done more than that!" The Dark Lord looked the confused barbarian straight in the eyes. "Oh, did she not tell you?" Harold shook his head. "My, my. So dishonest of her, isn't it?"
The rogue rose to her feet, and the room went quiet. Even the undead minions looked her way in genuine curiosity. She started: "Do not!..."
"Do not what, Chard?!" mocked the necromancer. "Do not tell your precious little coitus toy that we used to do unspeakable things in the bedroom?!"
"What?!" The barbarian reached for the axe on the back and rose up, glaring at the Dark Lord, ready for battle. "You fecked my precious Angel..." Chardra coughed. "... of Death?"
"That's right!" the Dark Lord proclaimed. "Your precious Angel over here was all over this". He suggestively rubbed his robes, trying to get a rise from the lovers in the room. Judging by their reddening faces, it was working. "Let me tell you, the dark arts lessons were especially DARK for her!"
"Enough", Chardra said with rage bubbling at the back of her throat. "There is no point in discussing it. Yes, we dated in the school," she told Harold, "but it never would have lasted. Just look at him!" She gestured at the necromancer, who took an involuntary step back. "Look at this scrawny rotten figure. He is nothing compared to you, honey. Nothing!"
During this conversation Jerry put the suitcase on the table, opened it and was looking through many perfectly organised pages upon pages of legal documents. He suddenly looked up, moved his eyes between the three arguing parties and pointed from one of them to the next, muttering to himself. Everyone stared at him, as he did so. The Dark Lord wanted to continue the argument, aiming to win it, when the lawyer interrupted him with a single phrase: "There's a lawsuit here, I am sure of it".
"Alright, enough of this!" the necromancer broke the awkward stares.
"Thiz iz zhust embarrassssing'uh", whispered the Duke to his neighbor, the frost giant.
"Shut up! I will not tolerate this mocking any longer!" The cloaked figure took a couple of steps back, approaching his throne. "You shall know the wrath of the Dark Lord!"
As he snapped his fingers, dark magic rushed into the room from the night air. However, it did not attack any of his guests, for he knew it would not have worked upon despicable creatures such as those imbeciles (it was not because he did not arrange for this, for he was all-powerful). Instead, one could trace black streaks aimed at the adventurers on the walls, both alive and dead. The skeletons and rotting and fresh bodies did not react to the dark arrows of necromantic magic, but the still alive adventurers all stiffened. A second later, the dead started moving, falling away from their shackles, and the living started wailing in agony. Their backs arched again and again, their heads hit the walls, blood staining the fine though old masonry. The restraints rattled musically, and soon, their hands started squeezing through the handcuffs. But they were still alive. Fingers broke, ankles twisted, arms went out of sockets. Some of them were lucky enough to lose consciousness. The rest were not.
The screams echoed through the castle and the woods around. The animals started running away to hide from the terror that was happening, glad that it wasn't them. The three still conscious adventurers' eyes bulged, ready to explode from the pressure within them. They wailed and wailed, pain being their only thought, as the bones within them crushed and twisted, muscles tearing, bleeding from every pore. Only when they were about to combust, did the Dark Lord let them die.
And they arose. Each body no matter how twisted, rotten or skeletal stood on their own two feet, red pupils replacing their eyes, black and green magical aura emanating from them. The necromancer roared with insane laughter, enjoying every horrific second of this. For they all were death knights. Ready to fight and defend their master. The other four death knights politely clapped.
"MINIONS!" The Dark Lord slowly raised his hand and pointed at the table, where the guests carefully watched his every move. "ATTACK!"
There was a moment of awkward silence. Then the guests laughed. Including Harold. "Oh Heavens!" he blurted. "D'ya really think ye, a tiny rotten and dickless punk, could get us with a couple of skeletons?!" The barbarian readied his double-handed battle axe. "Lemme show ya what real power is like".
"Be honest, dear," Chardra addressed the necromancer, "did you think that?"
In the meanwhile the brawl has started. All of the skeletons, zombies, and the four death knights were rushing to the table, all of them armed. Some more literally than others. The ten gnolls from the Camelthumb tribe, smiled or snarled (no one could tell the difference), took out swords and shields and rushed back. Az herself readied her two maces, barked as if laughed and ran into the thick of the fight, bashing zombies and skeletons left and right. Vampire-Duke got into the middle of the undead horde so fast that no human eye could catch him. One of the zombies flew high up in the air, and Drake the Demolished appeared right next to him, punched him back to the ground with an eye-watering crunch of bones and streaked right back down. Zilvod and Iblis shared a glance and nodded to each other. The warlock put his marble toys into a pocket, gently sat on the ground, making sure the tail curled around his crossed legs and started muttering a spell. His uncle-patron took one of the zombies, which bared its teeth in irritation, tore it in half, dipped a finger into the torso and started drawing squiggles on the ground. An obvious setup for some sort of ritual. Frank the frost giant stood up, cracked his knuckles with a booming crunch and stepped on some skeletons. Jerry took out a gun. Only the TEW remained in their seats, since they were still powerless mortals and could not leave the no-magic invisible boxes the Dark Lord had cast around them.
Chardra and Harold jumped to their feet and rushed the perpetrator head on. The evil wizard anticipated the obvious move and was already mid-air, thirty feet from the marble floor, cackling all the way. Drow watched him rise and with a flourish threw three daggers at him, which were easily dodged. What was not as easy to dodge was Harold.
The barbarian, as the Dark Lord found out in the last five or six seconds, was not without at least some magical abilities. It would have been fine, if it was some sort of magical attack, since those were easily counter-spelled, but Harold was the kind of warrior, who would seek physical power above all else. Perhaps, this was why Chardra was attracted to him. She always was a sucker for all muscular, now that the Dark Lord thought about the journals and magazines he found under her bed back in the dormitory.
Harold's spell only lasted a moment, but it gave him unimaginably powerful legs. Like a frog (or a particularly giant toad) he easily jumped thirty feet in the air, two-hand axe ready for a swing. Thankfully, the weapon was on a heavy side of things, and the swing did not connect. But their bodies did. Thinking on the fly, Harold grabbed the Dark Lord's legs and started pulling him back to the ground. Necromancer have expected that and could not do anything about it, but whine.
"Stop it!" the wizard whined, kicking at his opponent. "Let me go!" Harold, instead of dodging, decided to take this matter into his own hands. Well, into his own mouth. The bony foot crunched, its owner shrieked, and the culprit spat out the filth. "You mindless freak! I am done with you!" The Dark Lord cast a thunderwave. It only made both of them fall faster.
Their bones crunched, but only the necromancer was left lying on the floor, as Harold jumped back to his feet, cracked his neck and shouted: "Haven't had this good of an exercise in ages! Woo!" Only then did the axe fall next to him and embedded into the tile floor. "There you are, dearie. Come 'ere!" With a single motion he took it out and got ready for another swing at the downed wizard. However, he was nowhere to be found. Then a chair broke over his head.
Of course, the Dark Lord knew that it wouldn't knock the brute out. Of course he did. So when the barbarian turned around, rage blazing in his eyes, the necromancer did not panic. He just ran away. Just as planned.
Chardra caught up with him in no time. She took out a dagger and stabbed him in the shoulder. The wizard bared all of his strength and did not yelp at the pain. He grabbed the drow's shoulder and cast shocking grasp. It zapped her once, and she flew back a couple of steps. Free of his effeminine pursuer, the Dark Lord was ready to raise the half of his army that was in shambles after a prolonged fight, but an axe blade in his chest put a stop to it. He slowly looked down at the weapon, and before he could voice his concern, four daggers flew in. One of them jabbed him right in the red-pupiled eye.
"Git down, ya prick!" Harold pushed the necromancer to his knees. "Told ya, ye wouldn't get us with 'ose zombies of yours".
"Undead! Not just zombies! Undead, you uncultured swine!" the Dark Lord screamed in protest.
"Don't be so harsh with him, honey", Chardra chimed as she got closer. "You are above petty impulses, unlike him".
"You really think?..." both the barbarian and the wizard said at the same time. They furiously looked at each other and were ready for verbal attacks, but Chardra cut them off.
"I meant Harold, you self-absorbed worm". She slapped the necromancer and demonstratively threw herself at the small muscular figure and started sloppily kissing. At first, the barbarian looked confused, then, he looked aroused, then he started kissing back. The Dark Lord's still remaining eye twitched in irritation, and a skull landed in front of him. It tried to say something, but could not. Not because it was dying, but because it had no lungs or throat to speak with. So it clacked away. And this made its master laugh. It was a small chuckle at the start, but quickly grew in volume and craziness. The two lovers looked at him confused.
Booming laughter put a stop to the fight for several moments. It was enough. "You bunch of cretins! You thought I did not plan for this?! For the night when you shall try and destroy me and my army?!"
"Frankly, no", answered the question Jerry, the gun still smoking in his left hand.
"It was rhetorical, Jerry!"
The lawyer only shrugged in response.
"Whatever you imbeciles might think, you are wrong! All of you! For I knew this night would come! For I knew you would attempt killing me! Do you know my answer to this, fools?!"
"'I give up'?" asked Harold.
A blanket of silence was cast over the room. It confused the violent guests, and Chardra was the only one who knew that it was only a distraction. A distraction for what was going to happen next. The drow rogue grabbed another dagger and was about to strike the wizard across his throat, but she was too late. A single word escaped the necromancer's twisted lips. "Fireball".
A hellscape of fire and agony filled the room. Each and every body, both undead and alive, was filled with pain, consumed by fire. Every moment seemed eternal. The castle shook, rocks started falling from the ceiling, wooden beams creaked, burned and broke. The ballroom collapsed and so did the rest of the building.
Six seconds later all was still. Ash fell to the ground. The rain stained streaked through the grey mass, mixing it with the dark green and black of the dying plants around. It was all over. No one could be seen for miles around... Except for the TEW, who were sitting in their chairs inside the safe no-magic boxes.
They exchanged glances. "That was excessive", they seemed to communicate to one another. Then the modified counter spell expired. They immediately flew high up in the air, casting spells at each other, each new one bigger and more dangerous than the previous.
Something moved underneath the ashes. A giant mass shifted straight up and continued falling. Frank the frost giant coughed once. And then more ash piles started moving up. One by one the guests started appearing from them. They rubbed their sensitive parts, which were scorched from the fire. Even Harold and Az, who had no magical abilities of their own, were left almost unharmed. The Camelthumb tribe wasn't as lucky, but it didn't worry the chief, for she would be able to raise a new generation of better and stronger warriors all by herself. She only needed suitable mates.
Jerry climbed out of his briefcase and looked around in disgust, dusting the ashes off of his suit. Then an idea rushed into his mind, and with a flourish he started writing down some sort of document on the pages he produced seemingly from thin air.
Eventually all of them smiled, shook each other's hands and went their separate ways back from where they've come from. They all had lands and worlds to conquer, enemies to defeat, children to scare. They had to admit that tonight was a pretty good party. All the meanwhile, Jerry was running from one villain to the next giving out stacks of papers. "LAWSUIT" was written on the top page of each of those stacks. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, and he was not going to let it go so easily.
Miles away, under a tree, in a moist ancient dungeon, where no soul would be saved from the lurking monsters, a phylactery shook. It almost fell over the edge of the table, but a freshly regenerated boney hand stopped it. The hand was attached to a naked torso, no less rotten and skinny as the arm was. Red eyes glared at the vessel, and a raspy voice said: "Gods above and below, I hate those people". He made a short pause and continued: "I hope they will invite me next year".