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When Respin, Master Mage of Dunsin, returned to his king, his master's repulsive throne room, it was bathed in utter darkness. "Master? Master?" his voice lilted. "Are you here? Hallo. . .hello. . . Where are you now. . . Grathulus?" He was about to turn and leave when the dull gravelly boom of Grathulus's voice froze him where he stood.
"Respin." The red flames of torches burst into life, illuminating Grathulus in its hellish glow.
"Yes, my master?"
"Do not speak. Do not say another word to me until I command it!" His fingers gripped his knees until the nails drew blood.
"Give me the potion, Respin, give it to me now." Grathulus took a small stone vial from his wizard, and somehow, as was always the air about him, he seemed to not only be looking at the vial's contents, but through them. "I'm sure I need not remind you of what will happen if you ever dare treachery with me again. Though it has been years, I'm still somehow sure you have learned your lesson well." His smile was subtly taunting, and Respin slowly lowered his head.
"You know I can never betray you, my lord," said Respin, bowing.
"Of course you can't," the king smiled, jerking his head back to drain the vial of its dull milky liquid. Grathulus took a deep nasal breath, and when released it seemed he melted into the sparse comfort of the deathly throne. He took off his blindfold. The torches blazed brighter in their sconces, his sigh was deeply relaxed, and his regrown lidless eyes, for only a moment, were glazed. When the vacant look faded from them though, he shook, shuddered, and his eyes were as clear as a mountain spring. The eyes were not naked, though, in their brisk clarity; the secrets behind them were as well walled as was his cold stone fortress. The king's eyes roved to take in the carnage of the throne room, and he smiled. "Ah, the pleasures of vision," his voice hummed.
"But enough of the carnal. Seeing all this about me, well, it seems I'm forced to say that some things never grow old. I would say that one likes what one likes and that it is a simple thing, simply the way you see things should be. I look forward to a time, Respin, when I do not have to keep such grisly things around me to remind me of what I must do. I must. You may speak, Respin, there's no need to brood. You know better."
"Of course, my lord. Everything will work out just as it has so far. Everything -- "
"Things haven't been perfect, but I'm sure nothing ever will be. Are your spells holding?"
"Of course," Respin said with an arrogant snarl, "Your will drives them well." The snarl deepened. "When, except for a few exceptions, have my spells ever utterly failed you? I am the greatest sorcerer that exists in this time, and when I tell you that Gogalath will die -- "
"Gogalath? That horrid travesty of life? He won't have a life much longer. Not when the Orcslayer is complete. When all those hairy, leathery orc bastards lives are twitching in their own blood around him the coward'll probably kill himself just to deprive me of the passion." Grathulus half stood, hands paling with the pressure of their grip on the bloodstained skulls that headed the armrests of his throne, his body sweating from the shakes. "However he dies -- it matters not when he's dead -- I'll drink orc blood from his skull before I rape that red-haired Bitch of his."
Grathulus sat back, and his breathing heaved until he again had it under control. His voice was almost a calm, low whisper.
"Maybe, maybe I'll rape her before I kill him, if the bastard's still alive, and maybe I'll nut in his face after I nut in her dragon-fucking cunt. Then maybe I'll slit that dragon-bastard's fucking throat, if I don't hack off his diminutive member first!" His eyes seemed to swell, and were as red as the walls.
"You must calm yourself, my master," said Respin with a panic-driven waver in his voice, "Or your eyes will explode again. Think of how painful that was the last time."
"You're more concerned with how you were dealt with concerning the matter than you are of my health, but your point is well taken, Respin."
Respin flinched. Grathulus chuckled with true mirth, a thing that was rare in his advancing years. "Remove the eyes before they burst, Respin. I won't be needing them again until every orc in the world lies dead at my feet." He smiled again, his teeth grinding audibly.
"You've said so many times before, my lord. I, of course, believe your words to be most sincere," he managed without a trace of sarcasm.
"This time it's different. This time I actually mean it, and the sword will be the reason. The sword. Now there's pleasure in the making. When completed, the Orcslayer will call all the orcs in the world unto it. They'll think they're going into the arms of the Creator or something. They'll throw down their weapons and gladly welcome its embrace. And who knows? Maybe they will find their God on the other side."
Respin removed a small bag from beneath his robes, and pinched a bit of the dust inside and replaced the bag on one of the many hooks on his belt. He approached his king on his throne and violently flicked the dust into his master's eyes. Grathulus's head spasmed with one great heavy jerk, and the false bulging eyes withered from his scarred visage and he wiped the dust they became away with the rest of the dust.
"Go, Respin," Grathulus bellowed wearily, "and continue to work with the orc. I would not recommend failure."
"Of course not, my master."