Yok’sal lounged in his seat and leaned back from the display. “Shut it off, Em’trath.”

His steward bowed his head and waved a hand. The scrying vision vanished, plunging the small chamber into gloom.

Without another word, Em’trath ignited the corpsewax candles, bringing back a semblance of light. The comforting half-life of old Lormar, its cold and lifeless light falling upon a dead world, now illuminated their chamber.

How Yok’sal missed those days. He steepled his fingers together, wide green embroidered sleeves falling away to reveal disgustingly human flesh.

His body was still a long way from the glory it had once known. I will reach such heights again, he vowed.

“Bring the Elders.”

Em’trath bowed his head and shuffled out.

Yok’sal waited until the other robed figures were seated. They sat around the round and exquisitely pale table. Its smooth surface sang with delicious pain whenever Yok’sal ran his finger across the exposed bone.

It was a work of art. The product of countless sacrifices.

Unfortunately, such blasphemy had yet to attract the attention of an Outer God, much less an Old One. No matter, the Covenants were patient.

“Greetings, brothers and sisters,” Yok’sal intoned respectfully. All five major Covenants were accounted for.

They had only met once before, at the start of the trial, to set their plans in motion. Now that the trial for this foolish Convocation was nearing its end, they were ready to implement the final stages of their plan.

“The sacrificial arrays have been set up, yet there has been no response. Hastur remains unreachable,” said Kaz’kul, his raspy voice hoarse from screaming.

His threadbare, faded yellow robes somehow attracted and repulsed the eye at the same time.

“Neither have we been successful in contacting an Authority,” Semthra said bitterly. She shook her head, her blood-red robes swaying wetly.

Nymasolth in her black robes chuckled, her voice near to breaking into a cackle. “Would that not be your own doing, Semthra? I hear from a little birdie that you bit off more than your glutinous kin could swallow!”

Semthra growled, blood leaking from where she bit her lip. “There were supposed to be twelve Magi! Not thirteen! Thirteen is the number of the Kindred! Even when they are not invoked, their powers protect them. There is no other reason.”

“Calm yourself, Semthra,” Yok’sal said. Like the others, he had heard the disastrous events surrounding one of the Magi and the Bloodtide Covenant. Even the Goretide Covenant–both under Semthra’s command–had been harmed.

At the same time, Yok’sal knew that the only reason the others were so quick to judge Semthra was because they feared what befell her, happening to them. If the Mother in Blood’s children could be dealt such a grievous blow, then what about the others?

“She’s right,” a voice hissed from beneath purple robes. “There were only supposed to be twelve Magi.”

“What does it matter to you, Shae’kathoth?” Nymasolth snapped. “Your face-takers have contributed the least to our efforts! The only reason your plans haven’t fallen apart is because mine have covered for your failings.”

Shae’kathoth was not one to rise to such obvious bait. He drummed his human fingers on the table thoughtfully before speaking. “I would not be so keen to claim victory, dear Nymasolth. Last I heard, you had a Magi problem of your own. How many temples to the Dark have been lost before they could be used to send a signal to your savior?”

Though they all kept their hoods up–mostly because each one was disgusted with their mortal form they were shackled with–Yok’sal could imagine Nymasolth’s cheeks turning red with embarrassment and rage.

“Peace, Elders, peace,” Yok’sal said, trying to bring back some semblance of order among the orderless.

Kaz’kul snarled. “You have kept me away from the one that failed to become the Mad Mageking, and I have done as you asked, even though he has the seeds of greatness within if only he were properly guided.” He slammed a pustule-scarred fist onto the table, rattling it.

The table, fashioned from the bones of 42 still-living human sacrifices, emitted a soothing scream of torture that calmed the rising tension in the small room.

“Brothers, sisters,” Yok’sal tried again. “Need I remind you that our plan is working? We, who deal in Chaos unremitting, are well aware of what happens when plans go awry. That is part and parcel of our nature, is it not?”

Shae’kathoth stroked the table lovingly, his fingers blackened and withered from some unknown spell. “Yok’sal is right. Apart, we would have been destroyed. Even against thirteen , we yet stand. Some of us have taken heavy losses.” He inclined his hooded head to Semthra.

Rather than incense her to a rambling rage, she was mollified. “Our losses have been extensive,” she admitted, folding her blood-stained hands on the tabletop. “Loathe as I am to admit it, Kaz’kul and Yok’sal have both been instrumental in assuring that we continue with the plan ahead.”

“That Magi would have destroyed you,” Kaz’kul said with a snicker. “You already warped the minds of her friends and then influenced that simpleton to kill them. If we hadn’t swept away the traces of your meddling, you can bet she would have come for you the same way she came for that human…what was his name?”

“Warren Stolst,” Yok’sal said with an evil grin. “He was easily manipulated to take the blame and provide us with enough biomass to begin our penultimate phase. Without him, many of you would not have your precious plague beasts.”

“I hear this Magi managed to not only cull some of the most powerful biomass, but she was not killed in the attack either,” Nymasolth said.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Yok’sal kept a tight rein on his anger. Nymasolth was egotistical at the best of times, but it was clear that her Covenant had been wildly successful. They had not only severely wounded the Magi and split them up–as was their goal–but her champions got away without serious harm.

If she had any chink in her armor, Yok’sal had yet to find it. That was what rankled most of all. She had the right to be haughty.

“She was not supposed to exist,” Yok’sal said plainly. “Dealing with twelve Magi would have been easy.” He turned his hooded head to regard each of the members there. “Despite the dreaded thirteenth Magi, we have prevailed. Our goal remains unchanged.”

“We should have already contacted an Old One by now,” Nymasolth said petulantly. She shifted her black robes. The delicate, almost hidden embroidery of black thread on black cloth shimmered in the gloomy half-light of the corpsewax candles.

“You are welcome to try on your own,” Shae’kathoth said with a vicious grin visible within the dark depths of his cowl.

More than anybody else, Shae’kathoth had a similar standing among them. His own Covenant was smaller, but it was no less successful. In some ways, he was more successful. Nobody had yet heard of them. They were completely undetected, just the way the face-taker preferred.

Even Nymasolth couldn’t boast that level of anonymity.

“I will not act against the council,” Nymasolth said. “For now. Know that my patience is running thin.”

Shae’kathoth laced his withered fingers together, and leaned forward, cradling his chin in them. The bones crackled grotesquely. “How are your dear children, Lilith and Thorne?”

The casual name drop rattled even Nymasolth. She sulked quietly, trying to give nothing away.

To all the Elders assembled, it was clear Shae’kathoth had won that exchange. “May we return to the matters at hand?” Yok’sal said, trying hard to keep the pleasure out of his voice.

“Agreed,” Nymasolth said, eager to smooth things over. Nobody liked another Elder knowing too much about their own Covenants or champions, much less Shae’kathoth.

If he knew something, it could be nothing, or it could mean he had one of his face-takers in your midst.

Nobody wanted that.

Yok’sal knew that even the brazen Shae’kathoth wouldn’t break the pact they had made. Not until it was too beneficial to do so. Until they had made contact with an Old One, they were all vulnerable.

Their peril was all the greater with the addition of a thirteenth Magi. Nobody had seen that coming. They had worked hard to make sure only 12 would arrive. The thirteenth’s arrival was a tempting riddle, but it was too distracting. Plans had to be adjusted, and a few precious resources burned, but they were back on track once more.

“As the final days of the trial are coming to a close, I think it is time we enact the Black Fence,” Yok’sal said softly, steepling his fingers.

Semthra made small bloody designs on the tabletop, watching the smears of blood soak into the table’s bone. “These humans we have taken on to replenish our ranks are easily cowed, but there is something wrong with them. A…darkness that I cannot contend with. They lust after these ‘Battle Points’ as if they are more important than communing with the Outer Gods themselves!”

Several robed heads bobbed in agreement. The Battle Points and the rating system in general was a problem. Even native Lormarians, whose families had been long-standing members of their foul Covenants, were tempted by Battle Points and ratings. They wanted to best the Earthlings that they were forced to share a Shard with, and they wanted to prove their obvious superiority.

Their greed was laudable, but not when it threatened their mission. Disobedience would not be tolerated. Already, several otherwise loyal Covenant members had to be turned into painful examples. Their lust for points overrode their loyalty to their Covenant, and that could not be endured.

“Now onto the Black Fence?” Yok’sal prodded. “How do you fare?”

“After the reinforcements.” Semthra nodded a thanks to those gathered. “And a realignment to our proper targets, we are maintaining their attention. They do not yet suspect, but they are investigating. The Mother in Blood’s rituals are…especially difficult to ignore.”

She had come privately to Yok’sal, seeking vengeance on Mel. The thirteenth Magi was quickly becoming a thorn in their collective sides. The shepherding of Thomas and Gwen, originally the purview of Nymasolth, had to be switched last-minute to Yok’sal with the inclusion of Mel to their number.

Nobody was happy with the changes to their assignments, but they were professionals.

“Ashera and Solomon are formidable, but they are thorough,” Semthra said with a gleeful grin. “Their patience works against them. By the time they realize what is happening, it will be too late. They are already venturing deep into the midnight forest seeking a hideout we’ve already abandoned except for a few of the turned.”

Yok’sal turned to the yellow-robed Kaz’kul.

The Elder scoffed and made a dismissive gesture, his threadbare robes almost glowing yellow with madness as if they had a light of their own. “The fabled Charlie Asleton yet searches fruitlessly, while her loyal hound assists her. Their Archivist suspects something is amiss, but he will defer to the Magi’s desires a while longer.”

Nymasolth smoothed her richly embroidered black robes, tilting her chin up enough that they could see her pale skin and cruel, black-painted lips. “The Abhorrent One and the Lady in Chains remain resolute. They seek you–” She turned with a wink at Yok’sal. “–with every fiber of their being. All it took was a few borrowed implements left carelessly behind, and they took the bait like a skin horror to fresh blood. They are accompanied by a strange creature, one of these ‘exchange students’, but he is of no account. He will follow the Abhorrent One to the pits of the Gnawing Hunger.”

Yok’sal was not the only one who shivered at the reference to the Abhorrent One and the Lady in Chains. Nobody desired to use their true names. Naming them was thought to bring their attention upon you, and nobody from Lormar would wish to suffer their piercing gaze.

The multiverse was their chance at freedom. The true sons and daughters of Lormar had suffered enough.

“The Magi siblings, Hal and Sylvie, are wrapped around my little finger,” Shae’kathoth said, raising a blackened finger. “They have the other two exchange students, Miranda and Cal. I’ve been able to hide myself from them, but honestly, I don’t think I need to. They’re directionless children. Their familiars eat up so much of their time that they hardly need any prodding to go deeper. A few well-placed monsters, a hint of a threat, and they run off like kids after a gore demon filled with guts.”

All eyes turned to Yok’sal. “The thirteenth Magi, despite the challenges she presents, is well in hand,” he promised them. “I believe Gwen and Thomas have ceased their pursuit of the Putrescence Twins. Mel’s addition has ended their search. They seek to empower her instead, and to that end I have taken the pains to employ several…helpers to make sure that their efforts are stymied.”

“Why not let them take the crown?” Shae’kathoth asked. “We could pit them against each other. I don’t think my Magi would mind fighting yours. We could wager.”

Yok’sal shook his head. “Too dangerous. We must endeavor to keep them apart as long as possible. Kill them if you are able, but do nothing to endanger the mission. The Magi must remain separated, and above all, remain out of the top three. We, and we alone, will possess [Golden Voucher] and [Revival Scrolls]. Without them, our hopes of contacting our patrons will remain lost to us.”

“The Twins are already in fourth place,” Nymasolth boasted.

“My champions are in third.” Shae’kathoth grinned like a shark.

“Not for long,” Nymasolth snarled. “I have been keeping them hidden to prevent any trails leading back to us, but with so little time until the end, they will burn a trail of death and decay through this prison until all hands are raised against the unbelievers!”

Yok’sal allowed himself a private smile. Everything was going according to plan. The recent setback of the point takers was a concern. The Magi should not have bested them so easily, but he had other pawns.

All he needed to do was keep them distracted long enough to put forth his own champions. Yok’sal glanced at the black robes of Nymasolth and got a most sinister idea.