Ermos
A peculiar feeling ran through Ermos' body. For an instant, the whole world was dark around him, as though he'd gone blind. And then, he materialized somewhere completely unknown to him, feeling as dizzy as he was after a bottle of grape wine.
It was a cave, that much he was sure about, but it was rather more richly decorated than an average cave. A fire crackled in one corner, its smoke disappearing up a hole in the rock.
A regal red rug was stretched out across the floor and candles lit the spacious cave in a moody light. It was like being inside the living room of a wealthy man with the bookcases against a raw stone wall and the gold-framed oil paintings that hung here and there.
A movement next to him alerted him to the presence of someone else. A face that he recognized, looking just as baffled as he felt. Little Bell. The priestess that had healed Mane's arm.
All Ermos could remember was being hit by blue lightning and then the next moment, he was here, in this strange place. He didn't feel like he'd fallen unconscious. He had no sense for any past time. He didn't feel particularly dead either. His body felt as fleshy as it normally did.
"Visitors," a deep voice spoke up from across the room. A large broad-shouldered skeletal figure sat behind an old varnished wood desk, a black hooded robe over his head and a quill in his hand. "Not quite who I had expected," he said.
He had this refined way of speaking, each syllable was pronounced so clearly and he had no accent to speak of.
He returned his quill to the inkpot, pausing his writing upon the cream-coloured parchment and he merely observed them with the hollow holes of his skeletal skull.
"A priestess," he noted, passing his gaze over Bell, making her little body tremble, "and a… servant?"
"Chevalar," Ermos corrected, irritated at being reduced to the servant class for the second time that day.
"An unnecessary correction," the skeletal man said, standing up out of his seat, his robes billowing as he went, cloaking his massive frame. "Your title comes from the ancient tongue. 'Cheval, to serve, it meant. 'Chevalar', he who serves."
A glass ball sat upon his desk, with a little world operating in it. Ermos could see several figures moving about inside it, all frantic like, but he couldn't tell who they were, or what exactly they were doing.
"Regardless, your presence here is something of an issue," the skeleton stated, "a slight flaw in an otherwise perfect plan. I had not intended for Ozymandias to break free of his chains. It was he that was meant to be brought back here, but the residual magic caught you… and here you are, in the humble abode of a supreme being."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ermos said honestly.
"The resurrected being you encountered before you were transported here," the skeleton chose to explain, before tapping his crystal ball. "He seems to be entertaining your comrades quite splendidly. They shouldn't last too long. He was always a hearty man, that Ozymandias. It is a shame that his will did not dull in his five hundred years of slumber, for he would have made a worthy addition to my army… but alas, he can easily be dealt with."
"So, you're the one whose been making all the dead people come back?" Ermos realized. "You've been causing lots of trouble, you know."
"Trouble?" The skeleton purred. "I do love your use of that word. Indeed, I believe it to be the perfect choice, for this pales in comparison to what I will soon unveil onto the world. By my calculations, it will take but seven days at most before my army brings every human to his knees and I am named supreme Overlord."
"That would be pretty bad," Ermos said, "I should probably stop you from doing that."
"Hah!" The self-proclaimed Overlord boomed his laughter. "I've always admired the foolish. They're always so full of confidence, they know nothing of doubt. That's the curse only we intelligent are made to suffer." He briefly glanced again at the crystal ball, "oh, your Sir Mane is about to die. A terrible shame. Hopefully, Ozymandias does not mutilate his body too severely, for I'd hoped to resurrect him."
"Why though?" Ermos asked.
"What do you mean?" If his skeletal features could alter themselves at all, they'd almost certainly have worked themselves into a frown.
"Why bother trying to conquer the world? Isn't it too much effort? Wouldn't it be pretty boring once you achieve it? When everyone's a slave, then everything happens exactly how you expect it too, wouldn't that be really boring?" Ermos said.
The skeleton drew back for a second, surprised by the sudden question. "…I've spent nearly a thousand years preparing for this one moment," he said, "do you know nothing of satisfaction? When I defeat the last hero, when I enslave the last king, what kind of overwhelming pleasure will I experience? To finally exact revenge for my fellow Teachers… It will be positively blissful."
"I don't know…" Ermos said, scratching his head, "still seems like it'll be pretty boring to me. If it was me, I'd probably kill myself after a week... Can you even kill yourself?"
"Why is an obvious fool asking me such questions?" The skeleton fumed. "I am the product of a thousand years of cultivation! My destiny is to be the supreme emperor of this planet! I've brought back millions of dead men and I've forced them to sacrifice their bodies to me, in growth of my power, and I've brought back millions more to serve as my soldiers. In but a single click of my fingers, I could make your head explode, I could make Redrun turn to nothing but a cloud of dust. I am overwhelmed and mighty! I am god!"
"I dunno… You seem kind of lonely," Ermos shrugged.
"Lonely!" The skeleton boomed the word. He clicked his fingers and several more candles flickered to life, revealing the rest of that grandly decorated room.