The tyrant was clad in a strange, dark armour that covered his tall figure from head to toe, only leaving his eyes exposed. It seemed as if it was simultaneously solid and liquid, almost flowing over his mighty muscles and broad, powerful shoulders.
All while in the place where his face should have been, a smooth and empty expanse of polished bras reflected the faces of the Hobgobrons, and the newly arrived visitor, back at them. Only a single red rune was right in the middle could be seen in it. Only the visitor knew the true meaning of that rune, and as one of the Hobgobrons named Duvrem saw his own reflection staring at him, he was again reminded of how small and weak he was in front of this dark giant.
The legs of all Hobgobrons trembled.
The pressure emitting from the tyrant on the space around them was almost palpable. All the people except the visitor were going through something similar as Duvrem. Their once green faces were now pale, their eyes wide, and drops of sweat were appearing on their temples. The visitor seemed only slightly uncomfortable, affected be this oppressive aura just like the rest of them.
"It's you", said the tyrant.
"It's nice seeing you too. I see you are doing fine."
Then, staring at the Hobgobrons, the lord of the black fortress demanded the green-skinned to leave.
No one dared to disobey.
All of them ran away.
Because all of them knew how their lives could be ended should their master be angered.
"Come in", continued the tyrant, "I guess you have a lot to tell me."
The visitor did just as told.
This room has changed a lot compared to his previous visit.
The walls were no longer empty. Instead, weapons, plans, maps, and even paintings of the last rulers of the Black Fortress were now hanging on them.
In the middle of the chamber lied a beautiful table made from brass. Curios, the visitor decided to look at the different drawings that lied on top of the table. These were different types of drawing.
Something massive.
"You do know it's very impolite looking at someone else's stuff without their consent, do you?"
The visitor did not react. He just continued studying the little papers on the bras table.
"Interesting", said the visitor. "This could truly be a magnificent creation."
I know", said the tyrant.
"But I hope you know that this little project of yours never would realistically be completed. There is no such power or fuel that could allow this behemoth to function. At least to my knowledge."
"That would be my problem. And trust me, I would not even consider starting a new project if it wasn't possible to complete it."
The visitor said nothing. Neither his demeanour nor his face showed any changes at all.
"Why are you here?", asked the tyrant, "What does the council of prophets want from me?"
"Nothing much. I just came here for a little inspection."
"Don't lie to me, I am sure that if they were to send someone for an inspection, they definitely wouldn't send "You" here."
The visitor only sighed.
"We've known each other for so many years, and you still don't trust me."
"That's exactly why I know trusting you is more detrimental than trusting an Hobgobron. What do the Prophets want?"
For a few moments no one said a thing.
"Sit down" said the tyrant.
The visitor then did as told. The tyrant didn't. He was slowly walking around the room.
"Do you have anything to drink?" asked the visitor.
"Nothing but a bottle of elven blood and some oil."
"That's great. Can you give it to me?"
"No"
"…why not?" asked the visitor quite perplexed for not getting the bottle. Wasn't he supposed to be treated like a guest. Has the lord of this place totally lost his manners?
"I am not your servant that brings you food or drinks the moment you demand for it."
"But you have many laborers here. Surely you can ask one of them to give me a drink."
"You want me to ask an Hobgobron to bring you a drink?"
"…on a second thought, no, it's better to take it myself."
It is common knowledge that Hobgobrons are a treacherous bunch and trusting them with personal job like preparing food would most likely just end with them poisoning that food and the poor master dead. It has happened one numerous occasions, not only for the Dwaren, but also for any other stupid race. In fact, these bastards betray each other more than their so cold masters. Then the visitor remembered that the tyrant in front of him somehow managed to control not just one, but an entire fortress of Hobgobrons. How he did so was utterly baffling.
"You should really start with getting more laborers my friend. I would recommend you getting some elven, human or beastkin. They may not be so numerous, but they are much more loyal, if you broke their mentality."
"Do you think I have only Hobgobron labourers? I don't. In fact, the amount of labourers almost rivals the Dwaren kingdom's capital. The Hobgobrons are only the ones that look over them. They are the little force that bully and punish the rebelious ones. It's quite funny that these guys are happy with just being at the top of the garbage hill, even if it's only just that. A garbage hill. As for the other Dwaren, they have more important things to do."
"More important than serving you?"
"They are serving me. And it's better that they they do what they are doing, rather than just being here in my room cleaning and serving me drinks from time to time."
The visitor became silent.
Then he looked at the brass table.
"Yes, my little project is almost complete."
'You call that little?' thought the visitor to himself.
The visitor than took out a bottle out of his attire and made a quick sip.
"Do you want some?"
The tyrant said nothing. He just stared at the bottle.
"It's Dwarven wine. Don't worry, it's not poisonous."
The tyrant then just took the bottle and drank a little bit of it.
"Not bad. Now, what does the council of the prophets want from me. Have they finally decided to forgive me?"
"That is why I am here" answered the visitor.