CHAPTER 3 – Questions and Answers

I spared the new prison complex just the barest part of my attention while tending to a myriad of other chores throughout my growing domain. Breaking a garrison was after all only the beginning of a conquest. The skeletal warriors, undead remains of both citizens and slavers of Ileth, had served me well in that regard, as I had expected. In my experience, most people reacted rather… extreme when they first happened upon the living dead trying to chew their face off and they had won me many a battle in the past through their effect on morale alone. Although, armed with the firestaffs, I could see their importance in my army increase. You only needed to point and shoot, just like their twisted, simplistic minds liked it.

With the Jaffa Warriors routed, their remains captured and corralled by normal Imps into the now enlarged tunnels, the captives disrobed, once they reached the prison complex, then were channelled into the cells proper, reminded by one of their numbers, nailed upside down to the wall, that I brooked no opposition at this point. In a few days, some of them would be sent back to the surface to help sort through whatever loot could be found, but for now I wanted the thought of them being prisoners to sink in.

And in a few more days after that, most of them would follow the path tread by their kin from Ileth, flesh stripped from their bones to take up arms again and join my growing army.

That left the humans to deal with…

Malek the scribe had seen things in the service of the gods. He had learned that the Jaffa were murderous assholes, most of them anyway, he had learned that your chances of daily survival were best when you didn't give them any lip, he had learned to anticipate their wills and whims and to evade their anger whenever possible. In short, he had learned to bend over and take it.

He saw no shame in this. It had allowed him to stay alive, to take a wife, to father two lovely children. He slaved away from sunrise to sunset, organizing their city for them and had barely any time for his family, but then again, to work and sweat and die, that was the fate of man, wasn't it? They all did their part, did what they had to in order to survive, did what the gods commanded.

Well, apparently that would change now….

When the ground had collapsed last night, when the screaming and the shooting and the.. dying had started, Malek had first seen one of the "Axe Demons". A swarm of them actually. His family had been huddled together against the back wall of their one room abode, while he had barred the door windows and watched for anyone coming for them. The children had been grumpy at first, from being woken in the night, then curious for that was a babe's nature. Then of course, their parents' obvious fear had seeped into their little minds and eventually, the crying and sobbing had started. The wall to the neighbouring house breaking open had not helped in this regard, neither had the horde of little monsters coming through. The door closed off, their only escape rout blocked by his own hands, they had pressed their children into a corner of the room, guarding them with what little armour their own bodies would afford them – but the gnomish, beady eyed things had apparently been otherwise inclined. The one with the pick had run straight through his house, opened up the opposing wall with a few well placed strikes, then disappeared into the hole framed with green dust. His armed and armoured companions had followed in his path as he disappeared in the hole, followed by a scream a second later, from whoever they had spooked now.

The following day had been unusual. Hectic. It had reminded him of a campaign he had helped prepare for once. He had prayed to the sun back then that he wouldn't be on the loosing side. That this, exactly this, wouldn't happen. That he wouldn't be pulled and pushed through the streets, away from his house, towards an uncertain though probably violent future.

When the shooting had died down again, he had hoped the Jaffa had won the day once more, a hope quickly dashed when another swarm of demons, this time accompanied by a walking skeleton of all things, had invaded his home. The creature had pulled him out on the streets with it's one remaining arm while his family followed behind, herded along by the cajoling demons, towards the northern city gate, where they had been waiting ever since. More and more humans, neighbours, friends, co-workers had entered the open plaza, pushed, pulled, sometimes dragged along by their terrifying jailers. Any time someone stepped out of line, a bone chilling screech could be heard, but thankfully, the monstrous dead hadn't started shooting them. Malek knew what panic could do to a mob like this and he was all too painfully aware that he and his family were right in the middle of it.

He had seen things this night. Had seen grown men soil themselves as the skeletal remains of a man screamed at them with a voice that could surely split rocks.

Had seen bored little demons play ball with what he only hoped was actually a ball.

Had seen Jaffa, broken, bleeding, in some cases crying like children as they were walked away by even more of the ivory coloured terrors ironically armed with the warrior's own firestaffs.

And he had wondered. He couldn't help it. While others had slaved away in the mines, on the fields, in the refineries and the ware houses, Malek had always worked with his mind. A mind that saw the signs, took notes and made calculations as the night neared it's end.

The Jaffa had been beaten. The city had fallen, the invaders didn't even bother to extinguish the fires.

The Jaffa were being herded away like kettle, down into the tunnels, and some of their wraith like jailers were wearing the remains of Jaffa armour, none of which boded well for their future.

But the humans were not. The citizens of Bahal were instead gathered up like runaway cattle. And with them, his children and his wife. So Malek prayed. To all the gods he could remember the names of he prayed.

And then the demon came.

I watched as the scared sheep retreated at my approach. It was near dawn. Time to wrap this up while I still had the majority of my forces around. Skeletons didn't exactly like the light of the sun, their corrupted nature spurning it, but Imps and daylight simply didn't mix. If I didn't want a rather unseemly display of melting demons to undermine my authority, I would have to pull them back underground in a couple hours and maybe have my more resilient troops stand in the shade somewhere. For now, I commanded the ring of diggers and workers to contract around the humans. There were so many more of them then there were of my skeletons, the process by which those were created simply took to long, requiring starving under very specific circumstances. The next Ileth batch would take a few more days.

"Who speaks for you?" I thundered into the bunch of wretches. Only fearful eyes looked back at me in what was not an answer. I had the time for this, but I sure as hells didn't have the nerve…. On my whim, five skeletons walked up to each side of me, staff weapons levelled at the crowd, which shrunk back in response. I could hear whispers and whimpers, crying and clamouring.

When they stopped, slightly behind me, their weapons snapped open and by the looks on the slaves' faces, they knew exactly what that meant. The crying intensified tenfold and the humans managed to compress their mass even further against the closed city gate. Truth be told, I was becoming increasingly fond of these things. The staffs were an awesome tool of terror. Just readying them to shoot had left such an imprint on these people, who were ready to claw and bite at their neighbours and friends and climb over each other to get just a little bit further away…

Actually ordering to open fire on the mass of bodies was probably a bad idea though. A frightened mob was good for business, but a panicked mob beyond control would stomp all over my troops and that was not what I needed right now.

"Who speaks for you?" I thundered again. Hopefully they weren't all sheep.

I swept my gaze over the teeming mass and quickly noticed the one human that moved against the grain. Everyone wanted to get away, only one moved towards me. Hard to overlook, really. My mood rose.

And then, there he stood. Almost ejected by the masses, the nearest of which kept alternating between frightened looks aimed at me, and what might very well be hopeful glimpses at their new envoy. Not much of an envoy, granted. Frail. Weak. Underfed. Much better clothed than the rest of this lot though…. Also had a female by the looks of the woman whose eyes were downright burying into his back now. And was that a babe she was clutching? Potential, potential…

"The Jaffa are beaten. This city, this land and all the riches of the earth around – are mine now." I gave pause here, just to see whether or not he would respond. When he tried to, I gave him a snarl and saw him shrink before me. Nice. The Jaffa had done some good conditioning it seemed. Not only were these people used to the whip, they expected it.

"I have made my use of the Jaffa..." And here I gestured around, indicating the undead. "I have a different use for your people." Well, probably anyway. If this was all the measly resistance this world could offer up against me, the contents of the armoury might very well suffice to conquer it and I wouldn't need to chuck them all into my magic prison cells. Otherwise, however….

"I need craftsmen, mainly. You will organize them. You will tell me what your people can do, what they need in order to do it. When I need something from them, I will talk to you."

Malek nodded, but the demon continued before he could contemplate making another attempt at speech. So far, the giant before him had kept his hands behind his back when he stood. Now he began to walk again and Malek could see his claws with increasing clarity as he approached. 'Gods protect me, he is coming towards me, his fear addled brain realised…' He wanted to run, he really did, but his legs refused. They had wavered the whole time. When he had tried to make his way here, when he had tried announcing his name, when the demon had growled at him. Wavered, yet for some reason, refused to buckle. And now, the traitorous things were rooting him to the spot entirely.

'It is okay', he told himself. 'You can't run anyway.' There was half the population of the city behind him. It had been hard enough to get here but he had no doubt in his heart, no matter how fast it was beating right now, that they wouldn't allow him back through. The crowd behind him might as well have been a wall.

His eyes rebelled against Malek as well. They remained rooted to the yellow demon's. When he finally stopped, so close that Malek could make out individual scales on his hide, the demon reached for him, a wide grin revealing pointed teeth as long as fingers, and the human was sure, if his bowels had anything left to give, they would have done so now – in this last moment before the torture began...

The pain of the little human was almost palpable as I burned my mark into him. My thumbs pressed into his temples, I murmured the ancient spells that would bind him to me as my first, real minion on this world. Imps were useful, skeletons were fine, even better with these new weapons, really, but neither had the brains to swing a hammer for any other purpose than bashing someone's skull in, not to mention that a standing army of Imps required an upkeep of Mana that defied all reason.

I had done this ritual so many times in the past that I could have recited the lines in my sleep, had so many bonds seen formed that by all rights it should be rather boring by now. But feeling the very essence of a creature twist and twitch in anguish as I chanted somehow never got old. His flesh, his skull, his very soul now bore my mark. Only mind shattering pain or crippling rage would be able to wash it away.

I let go of him and watched the little man crumble to the ground, then scramble onto his knees, putting his hands and forehead into the dust before me. A faint echo of his fear and pain was now barely noticeable at the edge of my awareness.

It was done.

He was mine!

"When the morning comes, my Imps will withdraw and the skeletons of your erstwhile slave drivers will retreat to the walls and fortifications. Any building that houses any of their weapons is taboo for you. Any weapon of theirs that is found in the city is to be turned over to me. I will send some workers to collect whatever I need, then return at sunset to have some questions answered. I suggest you get this shit hole in order till then. Other than that, you and your people are free to do as you please."

One Skeleton, the one with the most armour remaining, walked over to the two of us.

"This one will accompany you." No more. No explanation. He could see it as a guard, if he liked, the true purpose of the construct would be to lend some weight to his authority. They were quite good at staring people down, even in daylight. I turned to leave, then paused.

"Oh, and Malek?" He stopped rubbing the right side of his head, snapped back into prostrating position and almost bashed his skull in on the pavement.

"The next time we speak, you either look at me, or I will tear your eyes out, seeing how you obviously don't need them..."

His head whipped up immediately and I revelled at the torrent of emotion I could see in his eyes for another moment. Then I turned and left, the lone undead moving to position itself behind my new minion. On my way back to the nearest tunnel I contemplated this custom of theirs. Clearly he had been afraid that I would punish him if he did look at me, the lowering of one's gaze either a sign of respect or deference in his mind, but the clear opposite was my policy. Eyes were the windows to their souls after all. Anyone attuned to magic would surely agree. Which might have some weird implications for this place. It was high time I started the interrogations.

Midday. Torture Chamber. Below Ileth

Unlike my Jaffa prisoners, who were either wasting away in the cells or digging through the rubble in Bahal, this one, I had been promised, was a little something else. And unlike the bulk of the Jaffa, who would work until they could work no more – which wouldn't be all that long, since I wasn't feeding them – and then go back to their cells to starve and let the prison work it's magic, this one I would probably keep in one form or another. I lifted the possession spell and exploded into being once more at the entrance of the only of my torture chambers that had seen use so far, and light use at that. There had been no need for it so far. Wasn't really my expertise either, although I had of course picked up a lot over the centuries.

As the slightly dazzled Imp sped away to resume his duties, I strolled through the regrettably very empty chamber, the only guest currently nailed to a wall, simply because I had yet to find the time and muse to actually build any torture devices. Part of the spell that created the room were the mechanic and etheric interfaces that marked the ground in regular intervals, places to slot torture racks, Catherine Wheels, Judas Chairs or really whatever into and allow the master of the chamber to run those devices on the Mana I supplied.

It was kind off uncomfortable really, how so much in my dungeon relied on me calling upon the workforce of others to achieve the greater things. At least the workshops came pre equipped with stone anvils and forges and Trolls usually brought their own equipment with which to improve things. I stopped at a closed valve which upon opening would unleash torrents of hell-fire on the belly of whatever was mounted on top at the time and recalled Brazen Bulls, white glowing metal spikes and tubs filled with boiling oil.

"Good times, good times..." But this emptiness was just depressing.

I gave the metal frame that held my guest of honour a little jolt of mystic lightning and watched her spasm for a few seconds. When she latched on to me with her hateful eyes and made ready to throw another round of obscenities at me, like she had done at every meeting we had had before, I waited for her to start – then simply gave her another jolt. I cleared my throat, made sure she could see me grin, then judged her ready for a little conversation.

"You were saying… Lady Arihes...?"

"Insolent… My Lord will see you burn for this….!"

"I remember you saying this before, yes. Until he does, however, you will remain my guest. Did you bite your tongue?"

Another jolt, lower power this time. Humans didn't react all that well to electricity.

"It has been a few days since last we spoke and I have to say, I am still not any closer to the mystery you represent, Mylady."

Several mysteries, actually. For one, someone who had been prodded, poked, burned and electrocuted on an almost daily basis, not to mention fastened to a rack for over a week now should really not have that much spunk left in her. The hatred I saw in her eyes defied all the experience I had with humans so far. Then again….

"You are not Jaffa." That at least would have explained her healing abilities. I had had a few hours of fun testing the limits of those…

"You are not human either." Though her Aura looked deceptively like theirs, I had to say.

"And you are most certainly not a god..." That got a rise out of her again. She collected what little spittle and blood filled her mouth and sent it all my way. I really had no idea why humans found that insulting. I got sprayed with more and nastier fluids in every second battle….

"So.", I turned back to a table made of a large tree trunk I had ordered my imps to hack on the surface. The improvised furniture was still oozing sap and the rough metal tools lying on it were slightly sticky. Didn't matter. The chamber was currently set to default, which meant that nothing could die in here. Any infections or parasites the various knives, pliers and pincers might inflict upon the fallen god would not be allowed to do much more than weaken her before the integrated healing spell would activate and remove them. Picking a long knife, then pinching the tip of the blade between two fingers, I turned around again, grinning both for the effect I knew a nice set of teeth had on most creatures and because of the signs of distress that began to show on her face as the blade started to glow.

"Let's talk a bit about why exactly you were in that workshop in the middle of the night..."

Late afternoon, ruins of Bahal

Malek had his own office now, although calling the tent that was maybe a bit of an overstatement. As the demon…. the Keeper, a voice whispered in his thoughts, had promised, the little demons… Imps…. Had withdrawn before first daylight and only one of the dead Jaffa remained – the one stalking him. Were they really dead? They had to, hadn't they? True, usually the dead didn't get up and shot the living. Then again, this armour reminded him of something, someone. And every time he turned around to look the thing…. Construct…. The whisper again… it turned it's head, then tilted it in this weird fluid motion that he couldn't shake he had seen before on someone.

Malek shivered and returned to work. He had spent most of the early morning walking from one gate to the next and talking to the people that had been gathered at each one. Once he had explained the situation, the Skeletons at that particular gate had retreated, leaving the former slaves to their own devices, and most had promptly dispersed, returned to their own houses or wherever. Most of them had either seen him before or knew him personally, although he wasn't liked all that much, being a scribe to the enemy would do that to your reputation. But his ivory chaperone had given his words an amount of authority he never would have expected. And so all had given him much more attention than they otherwise would have.

Then came the routine part. Gather all the other scribes, see them set up somewhere, and begin to take inventory. The warehouses were still intact, that was good, so they had enough parchment and ink at least. And thus had ended the routine part…

He had sent some of the men around town to gather everyone in one place again, so he could properly list all the survivors, their names and jobs. But hardly anyone had turned up. A bit later the shouting and the smoke had started again and he had run faster than his guardian could keep up, back to the warehouses. One of them was on fire, with a few men trying to extinguish the flames, another was suddenly empty. Dead, wounded and fighting men he found in front of both and another group was trying to break open the third under the cover of their club armed companions.

Malek had almost despaired at that point. Almost. Then he had strode into the unholy mess, raised his voice, and when that didn't help, raised it louder, and when that still didn't work, had covered in sudden fear as his guardian had raised his own instead, the eerie outcry bringing the riot to a stop almost instantly. He had then spent an hour convincing the robbers that if this continued, none of them would likely see the light of the morrow, no matter how much food was stolen from the warehouses. He knew somewhere deep in his guts, that trying to persuade them to give back what they had stolen was probably pointless, but at least he managed to get the fires under control and a guard detail set up. All in all, it had been a lot more stressful than he had expected.

Now, as the deadline, very appropriate term, he thought, approached, he was finally compiling a list from the several others the scribes had managed to make. They had had to go from house to house in the end.

Well, at least cleanup had gone easier than expected. For some reason they had found not a single corpse in all the city, meaning the demon had probably taken the dead and Malek really didn't want to know why or what for. The buildings themselves were mostly made from clay, so while fire was a problem, spread was reasonably slow so at least it didn't threaten all of town with flaming death. Water was still plentiful, he had the hunch that no one would need food for the next day or so, the gates were still blocked, so they couldn't go work in the fields – or try and run away – and overall, everyone was still so damned scared that the rest of the day promised to be rather quiet. Good. Malek's mind needed some quiet before he could face that horror again.

Midnight. Workshop under Bahal

The sound of fired forges, the scent of molten metal and the occasional scream when someone put his hands somewhere unhealthy reverberated through the room and filled my dark heart with a joy I hadn't expected. Finally I could really begin. It would take some time for the appropriated blacksmiths and carpenters to get the workshop up to speed, and then of course I would have to see how skilled they actually were in providing the things I needed, but to some extend at least the magic of the workshop would make up for any gross incompetencies. This was looking good.

I had demanded that every craftsmen take at least three apprentices down here with them. I couldn't call on the endless Troll-reserves of the Underworld after all, so I needed to expand my workforce in a more untraditional way. They would learn soon enough and take their own apprentices.

After digging out a few additional rooms nearby for lairs and another for a mess hall and a kitchen I turned to my own devices, the buzzing of three dozen additional minions a pleasing background noise in my mind. They could build the chairs and tables themselves, surely, enough wood had been brought down, and the cook was already hard at work providing a midnight snack. I had been tempted to throw one of the mongrels into the next blast furnace when I caught him sound asleep in a corner of the room earlier, but had decided to rip his heart out instead in front of everyone – and then heal him of course, before he could succumb to his wounds. I didn't have enough workers as it was…. Now, I had a feeling, they wouldn't stop working until sunrise, at which point they would be free to collapse, that was what the lairs were for after all. I would have Malek draft a schedule for shift work next week or so, for now, with these numbers, I would have to be satisfied with following the rhythm of the sun.

All the while, in my private little workshop, there lay several staff weapons in various states of disassembly. None among the ex-slaves had known, surprisingly, how to build or even service them, and after some prodding I had found out that neither had the Jaffa. The most one of them, their leader, who was awaiting a more thorough chat with me in solitary confinement, had known was how to reload the damn things, although the amount of shots they allegedly held had boggled my mind. Getting to that little green glowing bottle had been hard enough, I lacked all the necessary tools to take these apart and had broken a number of knives already trying to brute force it. It reminded me very much of the first time I had ever seen a metal screw, a design that had struck me as ingenious at the time. Not that I used all that many of those in any of my machines. They were far too troublesome to make in any meaningful quantities.

Well, not that I cared. The bulk of my enemies in the area was broken, the number of my minions was increasing, all was finally right with the world again. I had the time to fumble around a little with crude mechanics. Maybe take some of that glowing liquid to the alchemy lab and play around a little. After, I remembered, the bumbling wretches had made some pitchers and flasks for me. My brows furrowed. Another day then.

Late Morning. At the Stargate

I looked up at the slender metal ring, now upright again and secured against tipping over with a new, masonry pedestal. After having a little chat with the old Jaffa last night, I had woken half the city and ordered it done. At the moment it was still mostly secured by a dozen strong ropes, the mortar hadn't had the time to dry yet….

"So this is a portal of some kind?"

The old man snickered. He was kneeling a few feet away, ironically guarded by two of the slaves he had lorded it over just a week ago. I had little doubts he could kill the two idiots if he really tried, even with the metal bar I had bend around his wrists to secure them behind his back in absence of shackles. They were there more to remind him of the turnaround than keep me safe.

"This, demon, is the 'Ring of the gods', the Chappa'ai. It is by my god's might that I and my warriors came here, and by his might more warriors will arrive through it and avenge us. The will of the sun cannot be denied."

Meaning I should really bury the thing. Then again, it was probably a faster way to find the remaining cities on this mud ball and speed up this campaign. Looked like the ideal bottleneck, too, so no harm in keeping it. I could easily fortify this.

"Where does it lead?"

The old man grinned. "To a thousand places, all ruled by the mighty Ra. All defended by forces a thousand times as strong as mine. This is just a measly mining world. The smallest of my Lord's possessions."

"Promising! How do I get there? How does it work?"

When the Jaffa didn't answer immediately, I turned around. His face was not the mask of defiance I had expected however. Instead he looked rather stupefied.

"You…. You want….?" his eyes darted in between the ring and me. Then a chuckle broke the surface of his wrinkled face. "You truly want to make war on the gods?" The chuckle grew into laughter and his two guards became uneasy, which in turn amused me greatly. They clearly thought they should do something about this, but it was even more obvious they were still afraid of the Jaffa, kneeling and bound though he was. I chose one of them at random and threw a fireball at him that send him flying for a few metres, where he hit the ground, already dead. Both his companion and the Jaffa stopped fidgeting and watched as the green flames danced upon the corpse and fizzled out a few seconds later. A new and stronger spell, accounting for the rather tough armour the Jaffa wore, and the slave hadn't worn any, hence the rather large crater in his chest.

When the two turned around, I addressed the remaining guard, right hand still surrounded by green ambers.

"Next time, don't hesitate!" He grabbed his staff harder and nodded fiercely.

"Well", the Jaffa remarked, humour gone from his voice, "You certainly have their attitude…."

I shrugged. I hadn't thought about it that much.

"But you cannot hope to defeat the gods. I don't know how we awoke you, what stone you crawled from under. But if I could hold against you, with what little I had, what chance do you have against the full might of the Supreme System Lord himself? He wouldn't be bothered by what you did to that man. He would suffer your fire like I would a summer breeze, and blow away your little demons with the power of a winter storm."

"So, your kind has magic after all. I was beginning to wonder."

"What are you talking about, demon? Look behind you! Is the ring not proof enough? The gods are invincible!"

I looked at the ring, more because of the surprise than because of anything else. Then I knelt before him to better see his face.

"The ring is magic?"

His angry look broke like a wave on a rock. His clenched jaw gaped open for a moment as he looked at me, obviously taken aback by my words, just like I was by his.

"Are the staffs magic too?"

I had found no evidence of either. Not that I had managed to completely take a staff apart yet – reassemble one for that matter – but so far I had found not a shred of magic, no runes of any significance or power, and the glowing liquid that supposedly powered them was so utterly mundane, so devoid of Mana… I had thought it a battery of sorts at first, as if some clever sorcerer had managed to somehow contain a couple fireballs inside it and build the staff as a means to unleash it, but had then concluded in the absence of Mana that it was most likely just a device instead, like a crossbow, just a lot more powerful.

There were a lot of crystals embedded in this great ring, so maybe I needed to take a closer look, but even an inactive portal should emanate something, shouldn't it? I couldn't have overlooked this, surely.

Do'Urden, wasn't that his name, was still flabbergasted when I turned to face him again. Well, skip that for the moment…

"And you can really sent people through this?"

"The gods move amongst the stars at will!" He seemed to be on auto pilot now, taking refuge in his Lord's propaganda. "Their mighty armies are without end! Their chariots blot out the sun! You are a fool to stand against them! They will come for you! And they will strike down all the infidels who follow you."

Probably a quip to the sorry excuse of a guard standing next to him. Truth be told, I was getting rather bored of this god talk, however peculiar it was. I had dealt with both gods and pretenders in the past. Had assaulted their followers, burned their churches, desecrated their holy places. Usually, parading a true believer around in chains in front of an object of worship such as this didn't get you mere insults from said believer. It got you hit with lightning by his patron god. I had somewhat expected that outcome, truth be told, and an Imp was standing on a deadman switch connected to several tons of gunpowder, three meters below us, just in case this sun god turned out to be the real deal. I couldn't just let these two run back to the city and undermine my authority while my dungeon shut down waiting for me to reincarnate. Digging the Stargate out of another hole was infinitely preferable to quenching a rebellion, I had just brought these peasants to heel after all.

This was weird though. If this "Ra" was just a pretender, he had to be a very impressive one, for him to invent the staffs, the cannons, and the ring and pass it all off as magic. For this guy to be this fiercely loyal to him. And if he wasn't, well, that begged the question: Why was I not black and crispy yet? Where was he? Busy?

Hm. One more idea.

"How does your god even know I'm here? I scrapped the portal, didn't I? You told me it doesn't work lying down."

"I told them, fool! When my Jaffa came to warn me of your attack on Ileth, when your little monsters came to take us and failed, I told the gods of you. They know everything now!"

"You mean when they ran away from me, tails in between their legs. Told them? How? Oh, don't tell me. You prayed to them….." I made it sound as derogatory as I possibly could.

"The all seeing Eye of Ra is mine, demon! Gifted to me by Lord Aker himself, so I could contact him directly in times of need!"

Now that sounded very much like a crystal ball. I would probably have to take a personal look through the barracks. Who knew what other knick knacks could be found there….

My thoughts must have shown on my face, for Do'Urden's distorted in a smile.

"Don't bother, demon. The eye won't speak to you! Only in my presence the gods listen to a plea brought before it!" Now it was my turn to laugh. And I did. I threw my head back and roared at the heavens, at the sky, at the sun this fool confused with his god. And this man called me a fool...

"You still don't get it, little man!" I raised my hands to the sky, still grinning like a madman, still a chuckle rocking my belly.

"You are beaten! Your men, what is left of them, serve me now! Your weapons have failed! Your city has fallen! Your gods have abandoned you!"

"My gods are invincigagh…..!" Very good timing for that smack over the head! That guard was learning….

"No one is coming for you! I will take your staffs apart, piece by piece, until I can build my own! I will take your men, and your Lady Arihes apart until I am bored and feed whatever remains to the wolves!

And everything you say! Every little detail, every new surprise you bring me, every remark you make just makes me want to take you apart as well!"

I strode towards him, picked him up and pulled him close so I could look him in the eye, pre-empting another attempt to spit at me by head butting him in the face.

"Lie to yourself, if you must, old man! But there is no one coming!"

End of Chapter

It has to be said….

Rooms – In the games, when you designated a room as a rookery, temple, training room, whatever, they came fully equipped. In this case, not so much. I want to keep the magical generation of stuff out of nothing to an absolute minimum, so every piece of equipment has to be built by someone. Libraries come without books or shelves, torture chambers without tools or devices, workshops at least get a fire pit and a stone anvil but nothing else,hence the Keeper missing the Trolls so much... Imps like to chisel stuff in their free time, but are useless at most everything else.

Rooms also had certain magical elements attributed to them. Libraries allowed warlocks to researchstuff at an amazing rate, Workshops enabled even the meekest lvl 1 Troll to craft whatever the Keeper wanted. I will try to bring over as much of the mechanics as I can fit into this story.

Afterword

I always feel very annoyed when by clicking the "next-chapter-button" I find myself immersed knee deep in answers the author of that particular story wants to deliver to his reviewers. I want to read the flippin story, not scroll through half a page of stuff, get out of my face, damnit….

Now, however, that I find myself in the position of those authors I suddenly have mixed feelings about the whole thing.

I am deeply grateful for any and all feedback you fine people can give me, I really am. If you enjoyed the story, feel free to drop me a few lines, If you hated it and can keep your anger civil, feel free to do the same.

I don't want to make you feel like you are throwing words at a wall. But the emphasis should still lie with the story itself, I feel, so I will address any reviews, any suggestions, any questions down here at the bottom of the page in the future, so anyone who has reached this part of the page, if you are only interested in the story:

Push teh Buton now!

Lastly, truth be told, if you DO ask questions, you have to be aware that I might stonewall you when you ask anything plot related. The answer will most likely come sooner or later in the story itself.

Also, this section will likely change if and when more reviews trickle in. I might take a look and update it every time I post a new chapter.

So, onwards.

I am not quite sure how to integrate the hole torture thing into the story. The Keeper is most certainly a sadistic bloke, so he might do some for fun every now and again, but at this point, he hasn't had either the time or the need for it. So no, no one has been turned.

Warlocks and Rogues from DKII certainly look human enough and they can enter into a contract freely, so torture is not an absolute requirement. Also torturing a human usually results in them not liking you very much, plus various nasty mental disorders. Then again, who knows. The Keeper is neither human himself nor has he extended contact to our species. He simply might not understand how fragile our little minds really are...

The story will contain elements and mechanics out of DKI, DKII and maybe WftO, the so called "spiritual successor" of the series. I will change some, add some, subtract some and extrapolate some, seeing how there was no Stargate in the games.