The tyrant then looked back at the visitor.
The old dwaren didn't seem to be bothered at all.
His red eyes were closed as he drank a little more of his wine.
The visitor then offered the tyrant another sip.
As the tyrant slowly opened his helmet and drank, memories of an almost forgotten time stormed into his mind.
Not all were pleasant.
Not all were good.
Then the tyrant thought to himself.
What if he hadn't failed his last campaign?
What if he did manage to pull through?
Would he be able to drink the wine daily?
Alas, it was not possible to rewrite mistakes.
Then the tyrant demanded the visitor to answer his question.
Why are you here? This time don't try to dodge the question. My patience is not as limitless, as the authority I have in this Fortress.
The visitor took one last sip, stood up, and gave the tyrant a small parchment.
Looking at the parchment, the tyrant saw a red sign.
A sign made of blood in the image of a bull's face.
A sign from the council of the dwaren.
Opening it, the tyrant read the line.
< After your failed campaign at the bright city, the council gives you a mission to go to the Wastes of the damned, specifically, to it's capital. Your mission is for you to make sure that a piece treaty with the lord of the deviled ones, who is currently residing in it's capital. If he does not comply, you must make sure to eliminate him, and secure the place. After which, the council will send another Dwaren lord to secure that perimeter, while you return to the black fortress until further instructions. Signed: Azarok the dark.>> After reading through the parchment a second time, the tyrant simply tossed it into the fire. 'Azarok, of course you had your play in this. Sending me here was not enough. You also wish for me to attack the lord of the deviled ones? With what forces? All I have are only a few loyal Dwaren, a few machines and a bunch of Hobgobrons and laborers. And exactly when my plan was about to come to fruition.' "You don't look to happy about it." remarked the visitor. "What gave you that idea?" Asked the Lord in a rather sarcastic voice. The visitor only looked at the fireplace. Then the tyrant sat down. "Let us be honest here. I am sure you somehow knew the context of the parchment. And we both know that there must be another reason for me being sent there. You, with your connections in the council, should know what they actually want." The visitor then looked around, as if thinking about something. Then, he answered: "As you probably guessed, Azarok wishes you dead." "No way," retorted the tyrant, with his voice full of sarcasm. "Yeah, and he realized that even with his power in the council, he still isn't capable of outright execute you because of your *special* situation. He was very unhappy of not being able to get you executed after your return from your campaign." The tyrant's mood became worse, even if he did not show it. His helmet also wouldn't allow the visitor to see his expression. "And now, he decided to let it be both ways. As you know, the current lord of the deviled ones is young, and the one actually ruling the place are his generals, and his sister. The other part about your mission is true. The council wishes to have a piece treaty with the deviled ones. Atleast, for now." "You mean until the hero is dead, am I right?" "Correct." The tyrant then realized the predicament. The council was afraid of the hero and his party marching through their territory. This could happen in only two ways. Either, they would have to come through the Wastes of the Damned, or they would have to go around the dark mountains, where their first opponents would be the army at the black fortress. In other words, his army. And so, the visitor continued: "Azarok managed to convince the council to send you to the aid of the deviled ones, in case the hero decides to attack them." "And what makes them think that he would attack them?" "Because he has made an oath that he would only accept the position of a paladin if he kills the lord of the deviled ones. We do not know if he knows about him being a child, but that does not matter. It is only a matter of time." The tyrant then stood up, and aproached his window. Looking out, he could see everything inside his fortress. From the buildings, to the altars of worship, and even his survants. He looked at the hordes upon hordes of Hobgobrons making the more rebellious laborer's submissive. A single man caught the leash of an incoming attack from an Hobgobron, pulling him closer towards him, and, throwing him out into the burning lava under them, started running away. He did not manage to get far off, as he was almost instantly shot down by patrolling Dwaren-inspectors, just about starting their new patrol. As the laborer fell down bleeding out, the last thing he saw was an approaching Dwaren with a blood-red crystal. The Dwaren, not showing off any emotions on his face, while approaching the dying man, whispered something that the man could not understand. No Hobgobron, Dwaren or other laborer even looked back at the fool. In fact, they tried to move slightly away from the man. The man knew what was about to happen. He saw the same thing happen to his grandfather, his father and even his long dead brother. He just prayed to whatever god he worshiped that his death would be a painless one. It was not. What happened was that all the blood the fool had was forcefully sucked out of him. If it wasn't enough, the mans very soul was not allowed to leave into the afterlife, as not far away, a second Dwaren held this time a rather shining crystal. The fool's soul joined his family, and the souls of thousands other unyielding laborers and Hobgobrons in eternal anguish, as their very souls would soon be put for further use. The other laborers didn't exactly react to this, as this was an almost daily occurrence. They just continued with their work which mostly consisted of mining, carrying precious minerals, and giving birth to more laborers and, worst case, Hobgobrons. The lifeless husk of the fool was, under the orders of the Dwaren, hacked into smaller pieces by other Hobgobrons, who then carried each piece of meat to the feeding pits, so that the meat could be put to good use.