Death to the High Lords 5:
No Pain, No Gain
The screams echoed throughout the chamber as the figures landed on the dirt path. Asmodeus chanced a glance from his hiding place and his eyes almost popped out of his head as he spied the most perfect pair of female buttocks he had ever seen parted by a leather thong. He grinned and emerged from the passageway. He was going to enjoy this.
Seven Dark Mistresses, in all their leather-clad glory, were also grinning evilly as they saw the cowering Wizards who were feeling triumphant only moments before. They raised their hands in unison and let fly with several lightning bolts, aimed straight at one of the four old men. That amount of energy coursing through him made him keel over on the spot before the spell had finished it's work, his body twitching, but his heart silent. The other three retaliated with fireballs, which the lithe maidens easily avoided through their graceful movements. Two of the Mistresses darted into the room, laying open the throats of two of the Wizards, leaving one muttering prayers in the corner. They closed slowly on him, laughing heartily, their razor sharp glove-knives nicking little wounds into his skin. The Wizard was moaning with pain, beyond the ability to cast a spell. Asmodeus chuckled to himself in the doorway of the library, listening with rapt pleasure to the unusual combination of screaming and giggling coming from the back of the room.
Imps scurried into view. They knew it was now safe to approach, stamping their tiny feet in a frenzy to claim the paths around the library as fast as possible.
The Mistresses eventually emerged, having had their fun, and approached Asmodeus who smiled broadly at them. One of them broke from the group, smiled sweetly at the Mentor and promptly slapped him in the face with her unarmed hand. The Imps who were scurrying around froze in their tracks, staring with their already wide, black eyes at the Mistress and Asmodeus. They scurried away, wondering what wrath the Mentor was going to unleash at this insult.
Asmodeus looked deadly serious for a moment, then said, "Turn around." The Mistress obliged him, bending over slightly, and he slapped her bottom savagely. She let out a moan of pleasure.
"Ooh, Asmodeus, it's been too long," she purred.
"Welcome back to our Master's domain, Jella," said Asmodeus, "Come. Your chamber awaits you."
Jella and her sisters giggled a cacophony, following Asmodeus into the tunnel.
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Avatar Brandicor stood before his mirror, a tiny pair of scissors in his hand, trimming the unsightly hair that had taken to growing out of his nostrils. He was becoming impatient with a particularly stubborn hair that seemed to him to be hiding. A knock at the door made his concentration slip and he made a tiny cut on the end of his nose. He roared with anger rather than pain and snatched up a towel to staunch the surprising flow of blood that issued forth.
"Enter," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the towel.
Grell poked his head round the door, his conical hat in his hand. He saw the towel on his master's face and said, as prudently as he could, "I'll come back later, Highness, you're obviously busy."
"Wait," said Brandicor irritably, "Obviously whatever you wanted to see me about was of some importance or you would not have come to see me."
"Honestly, Highness, it can…"
"Grell!"
"As you wish, Highness," he said meekly, fiddling with the brim of his hat. He shuffled into the room like a naughty schoolboy awaiting a spanking from the headmaster's cane. "We have had a problem with one of our garrisons to the south."
Brandicor raised an eyebrow. So it wasn't to be good news then, he thought. "And this problem is?"
"The floor caved in…right beneath the prison, and…"
Brandicor's face began to colour. If the redness gets any brighter, there'll be steam, I know it, thought Grell. "Go on." The Avatar's voice was unusually calm.
"Flamuli's troop of Dark Mistresses escaped, Highness," blurted the Wizard. He cringed, hardly daring to breath. His eyes flicked around to see if Brandicor had his predecessor's sword nearby.
Brandicor slowly lowered the towel from his face. The cut had stopped bleeding and began to scab over. "I see," he said, the colour returning to normal in his face.
"Highness? What are we to do about this? Smilesville is vulnerable now that Flamuli has the Mistresses back with him."
Brandicor waved his hand for silence. "What may be a weakness for us is a weakness for them as well. Have Lord Melville and his troops invade Flamuli's stronghold."
"But is Lord Melville is killed, then…"
"Then another craven upstart is thwarted from vaunting my position. See to it Grell, and be quick about it before the Keeper plugs up the hole."
"At once, Highness," said Grell, bowing and grovelling as he left the room. Melkum was waiting outside.
"How did it go?" asked Melkum.
"Better than I expected," said Grell with some surprise.
"Does that mean that I don't have to deliver the message next time?"
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Jella and her 'sisters', as they liked to call themselves, inspected their torture chamber with a great deal of admiration. The attention to detail was immaculate, she remarked later, right down to the bloodstains that already adorned the floor. Asmodeus left them to have their fun.
In his Master's chamber, Flamuli was a pleasant shade of blue when they conversed about their latest gain. The Keeper was very pleased to note that the Warlocks were arriving through the portal quite speedily. Four of them were doing their studious work, gifting the Imps with their knowledge, and the Mentor and the Keeper with the spells that had been lost to them in their re-emergence into the Sunlit Kingdom.
"Now one thing only remains to be done," said Flamuli in his rasping voice.
"And what is that, my Lord?" Asmodeus said with a little smile.
"To find the Horned Reaper's temple and bind him to our cause. His power is the key to bathing the land above in blood."
"That is very true, sir, but unfortunately, as you know, we lost the talisman which we could call him by."
"The talisman does not concern me at this time. I am growing weary of campaigning, Asmodeus. My energies cannot last much longer. An all out war, even one in which I am ultimately the victor, could finish me."
"Nonsense, Lord. You are in your prime."
"Exactly. I am glad that Jella and her sisters of pain are back with us once more, but even they may not be powerful enough to bring me that victory swiftly. I need the Reaper."
"Yes, my Lord. I am doing all I can."
"Very well, Asmodeus. You may go."
Asmodeus bowed to Flamuli's glowing form floating within it's crystal chamber and shuffled off to float out of the chamber. As he made his way back to his study, he could not help but have a feeling of dread. His Master's words troubled him. He had never heard Flamuli be so defeatist before. There were times when the Keeper came close to defeat, but he always found a way out of trouble. And now he was speaking as though he were ready for retirement.
The Mentor sat down at the desk and glanced absently through a few scrolls. He threw them aside, their contents holding little interest. He sighed. He could understand how his Master felt.
Immortality could be extremely boring. Even for a Dungeon Keeper.
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