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The Council of Thirteen
Book Five: The Eight Lord
Trouble in the City of Lights
One-shot
Beta:
In a remote corner of southern France stood a recently refurbished medieval château. The castle was a relatively simple affair, just a motte and bailey built around a small rise and with a rectangular keep. Its greatest defence, at least in the contemporary age, was its isolation. Miles from the nearest community and located in hilly unwelcoming terrain, it was most definitely no tourist attraction. Looking at it from a distance, the Eight Lord of the Council of the Thirteen shook his head in disbelief.
"I honestly do not know whether to describe them as being cliche to choose to have their lair in a castle or smart to choose to base themselves so far from civilisation." The Eight Lord, Omer Robiquet, said with a shake of his head that sent his shoulder length blonde hair flying slightly.
"Oh well," the handsome, muscular lich with pale skin said as he pushed himself away from the off-road car he'd taken to drive here.
"Time to get down to business." He thought to himself as he examined the wards around the castle carefully, his eyes glowing a deep purple as they surveyed the magical protections. "Hmm… They seem to be primarily focused towards blocking scrying, which makes sense since it was impossible to locate the damned place with magic. Not that I don't mind the legwork but still it was such a pain. Limited protective elements though… Yes, it seems I'll be able to manage."
Satisfied, Omer let the magic flow out of his eyes thus returning them to their natural pale blue even as he pooled his magic for a Teleport.
"Once more into the breach!" He said with a laugh just as his spell took hold and he dematerialized.
He rematerialized inside the château's expansive former chapel, right through its limited protection wards and straight into the middle of a meeting of its owners.
"Greetings," Omer said, politely. Despite his purpose in coming, there was no reason to be rude. "I am the Eight Lord of the Council of Thirteen and I have come to call you gentlemen to task for all the chaos you've been causing throughout France lately."
The gathered vampires lacked his sense of courtesy however and hissed at his sudden appearance. Leaping to their feet, they drew the collection of guns that were their weapons. Well, most of them at least. Their leader, or so Omer assumed he was, just stood where the altar probably would've been looking unruffled.
"And what 'chaos' exactly are you accusing my coven of being responsible for, Eight Lord?" The man in a decidedly stereotypical vampire outfit consisting of an outdated suit and cape asked, raising his hand to stop his subordinates from opening fire.
"Oh, don't bother to pretend innocence. We have proof that you are the ones that have been manufacturing those FREAK chips that've been circulating around the country lately. That makes you responsible for all the madness that all the knock-off vampires created by those chips have been causing lately."
And it wasn't an insubstantial amount either. It never was when a Lord of the Thirteen had to go over the local magical authorities and step in. But this round was especially gruesome, at least by the standards of the relatively tame recent past. It seemed the FREAK vampires created by the chips had even less self-control than the already notoriously volatile fledglings of other vampire breeds and had a tendency to be driven into extreme homicidal rages by their transformation. A fact that had led to more than one bloody massacre in recent weeks.
The lead vampire sighed at Omer's words.
"I had hoped to avoid a fight if possible." He confessed. "But if you have proof then I have no choice. My children, kill him!"
At his command, his subordinates let out an eager hiss as they opened up on him with their guns. At the same time, their leader raised his hands and subvocalized a spell that in a burst of crimson light teleported in a small army of ghouls to complement his forces.
"I had hoped things would turn out this way." Omer said with a smirk as he used his magic to don his enchanted plate armor and summon his great sword, Frostmourne, emblazoned with a host of runes and which radiated an unholy chill.
Dozens of bullets shot by ghoul and vampire gunmen bounced off his armor without so much as leaving a scratch. Omer ignored it, instead swinging Frostmourne in a sweeping arc in front of him at the dozens of ghouls charging at him armed with various melee weapons. This sent a wave of chill and cutting icicles flying that eviscerated the entire front rank of the enemy.
This bought him some space and his smirk grew smug.
"You lot do know that I can summon minions too, right?" Omer said with a laugh as he did just that and called forth an army of spectral men-at-arms.
Pointing Frostmourne at the horde of ghouls and vampires that surrounded him inside the increasingly cramped chapel, he sent his spectres charging into their ranks. They cut and hacked at the enemy undead with their ethereal swords and axes, slaying them in droves. Even the vampires barely put up a fight. They might have had superhuman speed and agility but nothing too impressive. A few of their shots got through the protective guard that his spectres had set up around Omer, but those were few and far between and bounced off his armor ineffectively.
Hmm… This is underwhelming. I wonder… Omer pondered curiously as he watched the fighting. He wasn't the only one. The lead vampire too was just hanging back and looking onto the melee with a disinterested frown.
Not that Omer could fault him, letting your minions fight your battles could be, as the youngsters described it, so boring!
A flash of blue flame caught Omer's attention and he tilted his head curiously in that direction, spotting the body of one of the vampires that his spectres had decapitated burst into flames.
"FREAKS?" Omer said with a shake of his head. "Why am I not surprised?"
His head was still mid-motion when a shadow shot across the expansive room and fell upon him. Reacting at a speed well beyond what was humanly possible, Omer swung Frostmourne up to block the twisted Zweihänder made of shadow and bone that had been about to cut him in half.
"Not all of us are FREAKS," the lead vampire said as he pushed hard against Frostmourne.
"A Nosferatu, huh?" Omer said with a smirk as in a burst of strength, he pushed the vampire back. "And at least a few hundred years old. Am I right?"
Three of Omer's spectres tried to attack the Nosferatu as it recovered from the parry, but the vampire just blurred past them and they faded back into the afterlife as their link to this world was cut by its blade.
"But I am a bonafide knight." Omer shot back as he and the Nosferatu once more crossed blades, this time in a rapid series of thrusts, slashes and parries. "As impressive as your swordplay is for a dabbler, do you really think you can match my own?"
"No, I suppose I cannot." The Nosferatu said as he leapt back and the cloak it was wearing flared wide unnaturally and a dozen bolts of darkness slammed into the ground around Omer.
The Eight Lord could have attacked and dispelled the Nosferatu's familiars before they had fully taken form but he was curious to see what this vampire had at his disposal. He wasn't disappointed as the shadowy masses that the vampire had shot out expanded into a pack of a dozen hulking werewolves in their beastial but still humanoid glory. Standing hunched over, each beast was roughly about eight feet tall, with well muscled bodies covered in coarse hair, pointed ears, long snouts, vicious looking fangs and dagger-like claws.
"Werewolves?" Omer said with a smile as he charged at the nearest of the lycantropes. "Impressive."
Evading a wild swing of its claws, he cut it down with a powerful swing of Frostmourne and ended its undead existence. Two of its fellows tried to attack his back, but Omer simply spun around with his blade held out horizontally from his body and cut them in half.
Another five of the werewolves leapt at him, trying to pile on him but Omer just smirked.
"Flame Nova," The lich cast, unleashing a burst of brilliant blue flame from his body that incinerated the wolves in midair, causing a shower of ash to fall to the ground in a neat circle around him.
"Is that all you have?" Omer shouted at the Nosferatu as he searched the still ongoing melee for the vampire.
Said bloodsucker was in the midst of trying to make his escape, his four remaining werewolf familiars helping him to clear a path through the chaotic mob.
"How disappointing." Omer said with a sad shake of his head.
Stabbing Frostmourne into the ground, he channeled his magic into the earth. Fire magic was not his forte, but his mainstay necromancy and frost magic were just not very effective against his fellow undead hence over the centuries of his life, he had diversified.
"Eruption," Omer cast, causing the entire floor to explode in a massive firestorm with Frostmourne at the center, only his magic and armor keeping him safe from the elemental fury that he'd unleashed.
It took almost ten minutes before the massive conflagration that he'd unleashed died down and Omer pulled Frostmourne out of the notch he'd created in the stone floor. Looking around the devastation he'd created, he smiled. Of the old stone fortress that had stood around him before his spell, all that remained was scorched ruins.
"I-Im-possible." The Nosferatu wheezed a short distance away as it leaned against a half-melted wall. Its body was badly charred and bits of it was flaking off in bits.
"Entirely possible." Omer said as he sauntered over, Frostmourne held loosely but ready at his side. "Such is the power of a Lord of the Thirteen."
The Nosferatu just looked at him like he was a monster.
"Now then, where is your vault?"
"Go to hell," the vampire said with a growl, using the last of its strength to throw itself at Omer its fingers transformed into a set of claws.
Rolling his eyes, Omer just swung Frostmourne and cut it from left hip to right shoulder whilst unleashing a chill blast. Together the two elements of the attack, reduced the vampire to ash.
Omer sighed. "Guess I'll just have to find that vault on my own."
Even as he spoke, an army of his spectres materialized around him.
"Go find me that vault." He ordered the spirits who promptly saluted him and got to work.
"Good, you're here at last."
That was the greeting Géraldine Robiquet, a rather plain blonde woman dressed in a casual blouse and skirt, received as she teleported into the cuboid room where her husband was located. The room was lined with reinforcing strips of titanium and runic wards and contained dozens of chests of various types some of which her husband opened to reveal they were full of documents.
"Is that all the greetings I am going to receive, husband?" She asked him, crossing her arms and shooting him a mild glare. "Where are your chivalric manners? Are you not a knight?"
Omer rolled his eyes but obligingly put aside the documents he'd been rifling through, walked over and kissed his wife in welcome.
"Much better," Géraldine said with a happy smile as they pulled apart.
Even after centuries of being together - Even after losing their humanity to achieve the immortality of lichdom - such acts of affection still brought Géraldine great happiness.
"I aim to please," Omer said with that damnably handsome smirk of his.
"And you certainly know how," Géraldine replied with a chuckle, one which died as she surveyed the mess that Omer had made.
"When you want to, that is." She said, her tone icy as she looked at the piles of haphazardly arranged - if the messy piles Omer had created could even be called that - papers, scrolls, and books that were strewn across the room. "I take it that these are the things you wanted me to look through?"
"Yes," Omer replied sheepishly. "They belong to the coven of troublesome vampires I came out to kill tonight. The ones behind the FREAK chips. I was hoping looking through the records might help us locate any manufacturing centres and/or distribution channels for the chips that we might've missed."
Géraldine nodded in understanding.
"Next time, leave the intelligence gathering to me." She chided her husband as she summoned a cadre of pixies with a snap of her fingers to help sort through the documents.
Omer, the lovable scoundrel that he was, faked affront at her scolding.
"But I know how to go through information for intelligence." He said, pretending to look insulted. "Are you saying I do not!?"
Géraldine scoffed.
"Yes, and you're terrible at it. You have been ever since we were mortal back during the Hundred Years War and that has not changed in all the years since."
"That's true," Omer said with a laugh. "Then I shall leave the task to someone more suited to it."
"Yes, you should." Géraldine replied with a roll of her eyes. "Go on. I'll find you when I'm done."
Omer nodded and pulled her into a kiss that Géraldine happily returned.
"See you soon, my love." Her husband said against her lips as he teleported straight out of their embrace.
She stumbled slightly at his sudden disappearance and had to endure the amused giggling of her fairy familiars but nevertheless shook her head at her husband's playfulness.
"Alright ladies," she said, clapping her hands to gain the attention of the pixies. "Enough laughing at my expense. We have work to do, so let's get started shall we?"
This was met with a chorus of chirpy enthusiasm and Géraldine smiled as she put words to action and began the tedious task of finding the nuggets of useful information out of the slain vampire coven's records.
A couple days after the destruction of the coven behind the FREAK chips, Omer was in the training yard of his ancestral castle crossing swords with a trio of his summoned ghosts.
The three spectres moved with unnatural sync. Together they swung their swords in a perfect pattern that steadily boxed Omer in but he was unfazed. Just before he would be at their mercy, Omer used a quick Teleport to blink behind one of his opponents.
The ghosts all turned to face him but Omer acted too quickly for them to properly react and ran Frostmourne through the ghost in front of him before it could complete its turn.
The two remaining ghosts tried to avenge their comrade, thrusting their swords at Omer even as the first spectre was still dissipating back into the aether.
"Reflect," the Eight Lord cast, causing both ghosts' swords to be deflected by the protective shell his spell had summoned.
Before the ghosts could recover, Omer counterattacked and swinging Frostmourne horizontally he fired off an arc of icicles at his opponents. Caught off guard, the ghosts were unable to put up a defense in time and were dispelled by the frozen projectiles.
"Does that actually help you maintain your edge, husband?" Géraldine asked curiously as she walked into the yard. "They are nowhere near your standard."
"No, they are not." Omer said with a shrug. "No one has been a match for me. No one has, not since Gilles de Rais."
"Please do not mention that degenerate." His wife said, her face twisted in disgust.
"I merely speak the truth." Omer told her as he dismissed his sword and armor. "That man might have become a monster by abandoning necromancy to dabble in demonology, but he was, in his prime, nevertheless a great warrior."
"I'll take your word for it." Géraldine said with a disbelieving shake of her head. "But I didn't come here to talk to you about who is your equal as a warrior. I found something in the documents you recovered from the coven."
"What is it?"
"It appears that they were the ones who helped smuggle that African vampire, Incognito, into Britain some years ago. You know the one who caused that major incident in London?"
"I remember," Omer nodded, recalling also how that incident had precipitated the rise of Helena, his fellow Lord of the Thirteen.
"They were then part of a broader organization called Millennium."
"That name sounds familiar," Omer said, rubbing his chin in thought. "I believe the Fifth Lord dealt with them in the past."
"If that's the case, do you really want to pursue this matter any further?" Géraldine asked with a frown. "Doing so might cross into Helena's affairs."
"You're right." Omer agreed. "I do not want conflict with my fellow Lords."
Not only was doing so a decidedly unchivalrous act, it was also quite suicidal. Whilst he regarded himself as one of the greatest warriors among the Thirteen and possibly the world, he recognised that there were true monsters among their ranks. Monsters that whilst he would hesitate to class as warriors, could destroy him with little effort. He knew for a fact that both the Twelfth and the current Thirteenth could and if she ever overcame her morals so could the First. He had not survived as long as he did by being foolish and picking a fight with his fellows among the Thirteen and risking the wrath of those titans of magic was the height of foolishness.
"Then what will you do?"
"Gather together everything we know about that coven, especially anything that might be related to Millenium." Omer instructed his wife. "I will pass it along to Helena and have her decide how to proceed."
Géraldine breathed a sigh of relief.
"That's a sound plan. Best that we stay out of trouble whenever possible."
Omer nodded and walked towards his wife, who he was pleased to finally take note was wearing a dress that would not have looked out of place in the times of their youth. One that showed off her lovely shoulders and had a nice long slit up the skirt. Sexy and nostalgic all at once? How could his loins not be stirred by such a sight?
"I'll draft a missive to Helena for you to look over about the matter."
He nodded and pulled her into an embrace.
"Yes, but later." He whispered into her ear. "For now, since we've decided on a course of action, I think we deserve a break to do something to enjoy ourselves."
"Someone's in a lecherous mood, I see." Géraldine teased.
"You know what dressing up like you are does to me."
"Why do you think I wore this dress?" She said with a smirk.
"Then I think it's time I gave my lady what she's been looking for." Omer declared as he pulled his wife into a kiss.
"Are you sure about this?" Helena asked over the video call as Omer finished explaining to her what he and Géraldine had discovered.
"Yes." Omer confirmed with a nod. "Is something the matter?"
The perfect, doll-like beauty of his fellow undead Lord of the Thirteen was marred slightly as a confused frown spread across her face.
"To be honest, yes." She replied. "I destroyed Millennium years ago. Thoroughly so. There should not be any more remaining active cells."
"Perhaps you missed some?" Omer asked, frowning now as well. "Because I am certain that the coven I dealt with last week believed they were still part of the organisation."
"No, I am sure." Helena reaffirmed. "Sakura and Dom have double checked for me as well. I might've missed something, but all three of us?"
"Unlikely."
"Exactly. Omer, I'm sorry to have to trouble you but I think this warrants further investigation."
"Agreed." Omer said with a nod. "But first I will need to pass on what I have learned to the Hellsing Organisation. Considering the coven's involvement with the Incognito Incident, they deserve to know."
I had hoped that I was done with this matter. Omer thought even as he spoke. But it seems I've gotten myself stuck in something of a quagmire.
"Yes, you should." Helena said, looking visibly discomforted by the mention of Hellsing. He couldn't blame her. Considering their history it was a perfectly valid reaction.
"Then I'll do that and start on my investigation." Omer informed her. "I'll get in touch with you again once I know more."
"Please do." Helena said, with a grateful bow. "And thank you again for taking this matter on."
"No thanks are necessary. I am merely doing my duty as a Lord of the Thirteen."
Omer had just ended his meeting with the Hellsing representative, a surprisingly rather plain man attached to the British embassy, in a Parisian cafe and was watching the man turn the street corner as he finished the tea he'd ordered when something hideous walked into the establishment. It was a misshapen eight feet tall giant, that barely fit inside the building, made of bubbling ooze, tentacles and eyes clutching an oversized baseball bat. The recognizable faces of the vampires he'd killed last week bubbled out of the ooze occasionally, making it clear just who this horror was looking for.
Just my luck. The Eight Lord thought with dismay as he gulped down the last of his tea. It was a nice blend and he didn't want it to go to waste.
"What's a servant of Azathoth doing here?" Omer said to the monster in lieu of a proper greeting as it walked towards him.
It wasn't hard to discern the abomination's origins. The Atomic Sultan was perhaps the only mystic being who was associated with baseball bats.
"I am here for you Eight Lord," the twisted giant said in a surprisingly cultured voice for its appearance. "I am forged from the souls of the vampires you killed and fueled by their thirst for vengeance. A desire that my creator was only too happy to grant them in repayment for their service."
"So Azathoth took over the Millennium Organization after Helena destroyed its leadership?" Omer asked curiously.
"My creator is not above exploiting opportunities when they present itself."
"Or she's just too lazy to create an organization on her own." Omer taunted as he threw his right hand out at the monster and cast the spell he had been preparing since the monster made its appearance. "Kinetic blast."
Kinetic blast was a fairly basic spell but that just meant it could easily be supercharged and when one did that, it could yield some truly impressive effects. This was demonstrated by Omer's current use of the spell as it sent a powerful telekinetic blast that sent the giant flying out of the cafe.
It would have flown clean across the plaza outside as well but it slammed its baseball bat into the ground, using it as an anchor to stop its flight and pull itself back to its feet. It had barely done so when Omer leapt at it, swinging Frostmourne down to bisect it. To the Eight Lord's surprise however, the abomination successfully brought up its bat in time to block his swing.
"Good reaction time," Omer praised as he leapt back from a half dozen talon tipped tentacles that the giant shot out from its churning mass whilst his armor materialized around him.
"That's not all that I am good at." The giant said as it waved its bat like a wand, casting a wordless spell that sent a barrage of bolts of toxic looking sludge flying at him.
Deciding to be cautious, Omer used Teleport to evade the attack rather than to defend against it. A move that proved itself wise when he saw the holes that the sludge bolts had melted into wherever they'd hit. Considering that if he'd attempted to weather the attack, he'd have used a barrier that likely would not have been sufficient… He counted himself lucky.
"That's an odd choice for a wand," Omer noted with a grin, unwilling to give the monster the satisfaction of knowing that it had unsettled him, as he evaded its latest spell, a beam of toxic green magic that it had fired from the tip of its bat.
"My creator has always had an affinity with baseball bats," the abomination said with a chuckle as it fired off another barrage of sludge bolts. "She finds it amusing to grant the same affinity to her creations like me."
"Oh, I know. Quite the interesting affinity to have." Omer said as he used rapid iterations of Teleport to evade from the unrelenting sludge bolt barrage. "I'd always thought that a member of the Sapphic Circle would've had something more closely tied to her sexuality."
The abomination shrugged as it slammed its bat against the ground, causing the whole plaza they'd been fighting to explode in a burst of sickly green magic.
"Frozen Shell!" Omer shouted, seconds before the abomination's magic hit him causing ice to spontaneously form around his body vaguely in the shape of a orb.
The corrosive power of the abomination's spell quickly ate through Omer's frozen barrier however and he was forced to pour more magic into it to keep it from falling apart and keep himself safe.
"That was intense-" Omer began to say as the monster's spell finally died down, only to have the giant swing its bat through his weakened Frozen Shell and send the Eight Lord flying.
If he could still feel pain, Omer would likely have screamed in agony. The blow was powerful enough that even through his armor, it would have reduced a normal human's bones to powder! Thankfully, since achieving lichdom, his body was a lot more durable than that.
Using Teleport whilst he was still midair, the Eight Lord reappeared in a proper standing position behind the abomination where he leveled Frostmourne at it.
"Diamond Dust!" Omer cast, unleashing a blizzard of razor sharp, freezing, snowflakes.
The spell cut deep into the abomination even as chunks of it froze over.
"T-This is n-not e-enough." The giant said, turning to face Omer whilst struggling against its freezing body. "Dream's End!"
Omer stabbed Frostmourne into the ground, creating a thick wall of ice between himself and whatever the monster's spell did. He however was not expecting it to amount to the damned thing blowing itself up!
Nor did he expect the force of the blast. The sickly green explosion not only easily shattered his ice wall, it sent him flying. It was only through a hastily cast Frozen Shell, Reflect, Shield of Howling Souls, and a dozen more basic barriers that he managed to avoid being reduced to paste by the power of the abomination's final hurrah.
One that as the fury of the blast finally died down, Omer noted had likely leveled a good chunk of the Parisian arrondissement (district) he was in.
"Hiding this from the mundanes won't be easy," the Eight Lord said with a wince. "I doubt telling them this was a gas explosion will be enough."
"Omer," the Twelfth Lord greeted tiredly as his fellow Lord of the Thirteen teleported into his sanctum. "I've been expecting you."
"You should have," the Eight Lord shot back, his annoyance clear as day as she stalked over to the ancient. "What is the meaning of the Sapphic Circle's increased attacks in recent years? Azathoth's giant in Paris was only the latest in dozens of such attacks against all members of the Council."
"I know." The Twelfth said with a nod. "It appears they are invading."
"That doesn't make sense." Omer said, baffled. "The Circle are not conquerors, why would they seek to invade?"
"They do not invade with conquest in mind, my friend. They seek other ends, though what those are exactly I am uncertain."
"But you have an idea." Omer shot back. "I have spoken with the others. They say you have a hypothesis. One you refuse to share?"
"I do."
"Tell me then." Omer demanded.
The Twelfth Lord considered the matter. He could refuse to say anything but he knew Omer well. The man could be oh so stubborn. He would not take no for an answer and would likely kick up quite a fuss, forcing him to speak. Possibly before the whole Council, to the disastrous results that would have.
It seems I have no choice. I have to bring him into my confidence and hope he sees reason.
"Very well." The Twelfth said cautiously. "But keep in mind that this is merely a theory. One with little to no supporting evidence beyond the circumstantial. We must thus view it with caution at best. It could very well be unfounded and based on the Circle's deliberate misdirection."
"And that's why you have been keeping quiet." Omer surmised. "You didn't want us to fall into the Circle's trap if it is a trick."
"Yes." The Twelfth said with a nod.
"I understand. I will take this as the unconfirmed suspicion it is."
"Thank you." The Twelfth said with a sigh of relief. "That being the case, I believe that the Circle is trying to extend their influence over our world and through that attempt to use that to change us."
"Change us? The Council of Thirteen?" Omer asked, confused.
The Twelfth Lord nodded.
"Why would they care about us?"
"That I am afraid is something I do not know." The Twelfth Lord confessed. "Which is why I have said nothing. It appears that the Circle is trying to manipulate the composition of the Council of Thirteen. I suspect their hand in the love lives of the First, Seventh and Thirteenth."
"The Thirteenth as well?" Omer asked, surprised. "I suspected the First and Seventh. The Li boy's sudden contract with the White Spider was telling, even if it could have been spun as them simply making use of a spurned man. But I heard nothing of the Thirteenth being influenced by the touch of the Circle."
"I detected their presence in Sanctuary when she bonded with her wives." The Twelfth Lord told him. "Like everything it is circumstantial. It is just as likely they were spying on us constantly and I simply noticed because the surge of magic around the Thirteenth made me pay more attention."
"But you don't think it is?"
The Twelfth shook his head.
Omer frowned.
"And yet you cannot discern why they would bother to influence us in this way and so cannot decide why they are doing what they are." The necromancer concluded. "Hence, your worry that this is misdirection."
"Indeed."
"I can understand your hesitance to tell the others now." Omer said with a sigh. "Without any concrete proof, suggesting to the First, Seventh and Thirteenth that their love lives have been manipulated like you suspect it has would devastate them."
"Which is why we must keep it a secret until we know for certain." The Twelfth urged. "We cannot afford three despondent Lords at the best of times, and definitely not in the face of an invasion by an entire faction of Outsiders."
"I won't breathe a word." Omer promised. "But we need proof. We need to be sure of what the Circle wants."
"I know." The Twelfth agreed. "I will do my best."
"I will assist as best I am able." Omer offered. "Just let me know how."
"You have my thanks, my friend." The Twelfth Lord said sincerely.
I just hope it's enough. The ancient worried. That'll we'll understand what is truly at stake before it is too late.
Done!
If you're wondering how the Circle's intentions were furthered by Azathoth's giant attacking Omer? Well, he doesn't fit the kind of Lord of the Thirteen that they want. So killing him will open up a spot that they can then try to fill with someone to their liking. Why? Well, it should be obvious by now but I will refrain from outright spelling it out.
That's it for now. Hope you guys liked the one shot. Till next time, adieu!