Solomon sat in a plain kitchen that smelled of freshly baked bread, one arm resting on a scratched, timeworn table.
He held a hand of cards before him, their surface illuminated by the cheap yellow light buzzing quietly overhead.
Sitting across from the vampire was a dead man.
He wore a spotless back suit, dark as night save for the threads of silver around his wrist, collar and a line of gleaming gray skull buttons down the middle.
The grey-skinned man was tall, a positive giant that had to be pushing eight feet. He was lean both in build and face, with a long forehead, hollow cheeks, and green eyes that glowed with a steady light.
He shifted his right hand, causing the three links of chain connected to his shackle to jingle slightly. The chains and shackles they connected to were black, so black that the night around them seemed bright.
Solomon kept his senses far from those things.
The Corpse In Chains had been known by many names, though most were lost to history.
He had asked Solomon to call him Thar.
In his millennia of existence, Thar had sought great works of art and created them himself.
He had delved into the mysteries of magic and waged war on his enemies.
He was an innovator, a conqueror, a liberator, a tyrant. A king.
And he was losing at a game of Uno quite badly.
He clenched his hand around the cards, bending them slightly. That was an impressive show of control, considering that even as weakened as he was, those hands could powder stone like chalk.
“This game is foolish! Utterly lacking in strategy and far too reliant on luck.“ His voice was solid and smooth, flowing into the kitchen like a trained orator.
Solomon smiled. “It sounds like you are being a sore loser.“
Thar raised a finger and scowled. "I am a sore loser,“ he pointed out. “I can respect an adversary displaying a modicum of skill and ingenuity. Or, at the very least, some brute strength.“
“But dumb luck?” He scowled. “Dreadful.”
Solomon shrugged helplessly. After a moment of thought, he tapped his chest with a thought.
His magic was around half full.
It was fairly slow to refill, though that would change with time.
The more he emptied and refilled his reservoir, the deeper it would become and the faster it would renew. But he was still quite a ways off from anything like a speedy recovery unless he was in an area truly dense with ambient magic
Once his magic was refilled, he would dump it to raise more troops.
These troops weren’t for him, however. They were for the person they were waiting on.
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They were late, but Solomon hadn’t really expected a half-mad necromancer to be timely in the first place.
“You know, Solomon, my lad,” Thar said as he tapped his chin.
Solomon raised a dark brow. At over 600 years old, not many called him lad. Though in the lifespan of immortals, 600 wasn’t much.
“I thought you decided to stop calling me lad yesterday?”
“I did. It slipped out. But something has been bothering me.“
Solomon rolled his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.
The corpse gave him a small smile. “Why me?“
Thar didn’t do anything. His posture didn’t change. His magic didn’t so much as shift. But suddenly, the giant loomed in Solomon’s vision, and a faint pressure shoved in from all around.
It wasn’t an attack. It was Thar giving Solomon his full attention.
Solomon didn’t let the weight of Thar’s gaze affect him as he considered the question, his cards forgotten.
Why had he chosen the Corpse In Chains?
Finally, he spoke, resting his hands upon each other as he studied the man.
“I am lancing a boil, Thar. Venting the pressure on a steam engine before it bursts and takes us all with it. I am going to war now to try to prevent a greater one in the future.” He met The Corpse’s gaze.
“I am strong, but I am not the strongest. I’m not even in competition for the title. I have some true powers on my side. But if the old players in the Pact decide to get off their thrones and out of their caves and strongholds to squash me, there was little I could do but delay them, much less stop them.“
The other man nodded, his green eyes intense. He played a card, and Solomon briefly looked at his hand before playing one himself.
Thar tapped his chin again, chains jingling softly. “You needed a trump card, so to speak. But surely things have not grown so dim that I was the only light?”
Solomon shook his head. “No. Not my only option. But you were the option aligned with my goals.“
“To prevent the most destruction in the long run, yes? Then again, why me? I haven’t looked into it much since my awakening, but there were some nasty tales about me during my time.”
He leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. “I highly doubt they have turned positive in my absence.“
Solomon’s lips quirked into a small smile. “No. There are some truly horrifying tales about you. But, there are tales of your mercy and your charity as well as your odd rampage or razing of a city. Your very being is a contradiction, according to every record I could find.”
“You want to rule, and you want to win. What you don’t want is the world to burn. You have understandable desires that are above base destruction. You can be reasoned with. Deals can be struck.”
He frowned. “The other options… not so much.“
The giant nodded once, his gray lips stretching into a wide smile. “Astute, and mostly accurate. One thing that I am certain stuck in the histories is my word. I do not break it, and I do not twist it unless prompted. Deal with me in good faith, and I will return it.”
His smile grew.
He played a card, a plus 2. “I like the way you think, Solomon.”
“Methodical.” He placed down another card, a second plus 2.
"Measured." A skip card joined the growing pile.
“You thought through your options before coming to me, but despite that, I can see fire in your eyes. The hunger.“
“I like it.”
Finally, he set down his last card, a plus 4.
"Uno."
Solomon stared at the pile and then at the immortal, amused. That had not been his hand before they started talking.
“You cheated.”
The Corpse’s grin only widened. “I won.“