Arazel Tyr Baelfost, Kel’ir of the Thirteen Clans sat in a sparsely decorated stone room. His mind wandered as the person in front of him droned on about topics he knew like the back of his hand. His mentor had drilled the knowledge of how to run the Clans into his head enough that he could do it in his sleep. This line of thought made him grimace, and the man in front of him began to sweat. Arazel ignored this and made his decision.
“Send half of the mined ores to the commerce district. The rest must be sent to the forges. The agricultural district must plant more Basa fruit, we’ll be running short in another four years. Increase the supply of their fertilizer as well. Dismissed.”
The man bowed his head repeatedly and hurried out of the office. The Kel’ir, Head of the 13 Clans and Master of the Underhome groaned and rested his face in his hands. The plan was nearly perfect, and somehow things still ended up like this. Why couldn’t his people follow the simplest of instructions? Or worse yet, act on their own? Like that damned Laengr clansman. What had posessed him to start torturing her of all things? Arazel rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and stood up, ignoring the paperwork in front of him. He needed to blow off some steam.
He exited the Kel’ir’s office and began to make his way outside. At least, as close to outside as one could get here. The interior of the building resembled that of a human castle he visted once. Back when he was still the apprentice to the greatest Kel’ir to have ever been appointed to that role. Stone hallways lit by the dim blue-green glow of glowmoss and decorated with intricate woven tapestries showing the legends of his people. The greatest heroes, and of course their villanous counterparts. Arazel had no doubt of where he would be placed in his race’s memory. He passed a particularly dark tale, the sealing of one of the greatest dangers to the world. His eyes lingered on the top of the tapestry where a proud Firstborn woman stood. Her eyes shone with a determination unmatched by anyone else in history, and her gray hair framed a stunningly beautiful face. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her mouth was twisted into something close to a smirk.
She showed no signs of the monster she would become. Her name had been lost after the massacre of the Gendron, a tribe dedicated to preserving history. However, her crimes were seared into the conciousness of his people. The only Kel’ir to ever try to kill a god. She nearly succeeded. The first time the Firstborn marched to war was under her leadership, and they didn’t taste defeat for nearly five hundred years. After all, that Kel’ir was the greatest Dae’voce the Clans had ever encountered. Her words of power could level mountains and empty oceans. Arazel shook his head sadly and continued walking. It was such a shame she fell to her own lust for power.
The guards at the front door bowed to him and pulled open the large wooden doors. Arazel nodded to them and stepped outside. The great cavern Underhome stretched out before him. A maze of rope bridges connected every level of the tiered space his people had been forced to call home. Windows carved into solid stone flickered with glowmoss while . In the center of the cavern lay the source of Underhome’s continued survival. A freshwater lake almost a thousand feet across housed countless fish and patches of nutritious algae. Deep red Basa fruit glowed in its underwater pens while a Glowwhale breached the surface at the center of the lake.
Sighting a Glowwhale was thought to be a sign of good luck, especially since they kept the more hostile creatures of the lake away. Arazel took a bridge to his right. He glared up at the ceiling that had robbed his people of knowing the warmth of sunlight, the cool breeze of the sea, and a thousand other small things. Even now he couldn’t hate his gods. Even after they abandoned his people here. At least the gods had given them a home. Somewhere out of reach of the greed and fear of the younger races. Arazel quickened his pace. Emyr still needed a… stern talking to.
The prison was a dank place, rarely used and cleaned even less. There was little light inside, and many who entered never saw the outside again. There were few among the Firstborn who committed crimes, but none were ever petty enough to require short stays. Arazel strode quickly through the upper levels of the prison. His target was much deeper inside. He descended down four floors, with each floor containing fewer cells. Then finally he reached the final floor.
Stolen story; please report.
Azreal smiled as he picked up the brand that was heating up just outside the door. His initials glared back at him with an angry red stare. The door slowly creaked open, almost cackling with delight. A bloody and broken Emyr barely glanced up at the noise. Hundreds of fresh scars covered his body in a mesmerizing pattern of pain. His remaining hand, face, and feet however were unblemished. Azreal casually tossed the magically heated rod between his hands, slowly walking around his prisoner and admiring the patchwork pattern. When he finally stopped in front of Emyr, he reached forwards and gently cupped the face of his pawn.
“You know what you did wrong, right?” He asked softly.
The Laengr nodded vigorously, tears beginning to stream down his face.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’msorryImsorryImsorry.”
“Tell me what you did wrong. I need to know that you understand your mistake.” The Kel’ir punctuated this by gently pushing back a strand of silver hair that had fallen down onto the man's face.
“You were the one who wanted to do it. You were the one who wanted to break her. I’m sorryIdidn’tknowImsorryImsorryImsorry.” He broke down into tears again.
Azreal’s smile faltered for a moment. His eyes turned cold and he pushed Emyr’s head backwards. “Your tongue.”
“Wh-What?”
“Your. Tongue. Cut it out.”
Azreal released the man’s bonds and tossed a knife at his feet.
“Do you know what you are to me?” He began to pace around the quivering clansman. Emyr was slowly reaching out towards the knife.
“You are my hands. Or I guess hand now. I need you to go out into the world and do my bidding.” As Emyr’s hand clasped around the knife, Azreal wove a thin strip of air that hoisted it high above the man’s head. He placed the branding iron onto the back of the Laengr's only hand, ignoring the screams coming from below him.
“You are my feet. You go where I need you to. Because I ask it of you.”
He used the same spell to drag the man’s feet out in front of him and branded each one on the sole of the foot.
“You are my eyes and ears, there to see the things I cannot, and hear the words I cannot.”
He placed his hand on the back of Emyr’s head and held it in place as he branded the man’s forehead.
“Have you finally figured out why I asked you to cut out your tongue? It’s because” he leaned in closer to whisper into the man’s ear. “You are not my voice. You do not make decisions. You. Do. Not. Think. You simply do as told. Now, do hold still.”
The knife had fallen out of Emyr’s hand after it had been branded. Azreal picked it up and carefully spun it in his hands once. Twice. Then he forced Emyr’s mouth open with chains of wind and cut out his tongue. The Laengr let out a gargled scream as his mouth filled with blood.
Azreal tossed the removed muscle to the side and rebound the husk in front of him. The healers would be here soon, but he would probably bleed out before they checked in. Damn. The Kel’ir reluctantly allowed a small trickle of mana to flow into the chained demon, worming its way into the gashes in his flesh and knitting together new scar tissue to decorate his subordinate. At least now he would live.
He tossed aside the brand and climbed back out of the prison, his mind sufficiently cleared. Maybe now he could start making repairs to the mess his subordinate had made. Time was not on his side, but he felt no small amount of relief after seeing the mana signature of the patch on the dimensional rift. She was in capable hands, especially if that man was still alive and kicking. A slight grin spread across his features, and his tail flicked back and forth in joy. Maybe he’d end up seeing his old friend before all of this was over.
The Kel’ir headed back through the cavern, noticing another breaching Glowwhale. The grin widened. Maybe the gods were paying attention to him after all.