The pirate captain did not rise from his seat, merely eyeing each new arrival in turn, feigning the same kind of wise, knowing air that the others greeted each newcomer with. In truth, he didn't know shit about any of these people - not the dragon, not the mist-man, not the masked man or the masked... whatever.
He observed with bored interest as tempers flared amongst the motley lot - the pale mist-man had something to say to the thing in the mask, and he made his point with a fairly banal show of force. "Oooh, scary," the pirate called out at the Vampire Lord's aura filled the room with the stench and the feel of blood and fear. "That must really get all the old women and little girls wherever you're from, yeah? Bet it knocks 'em dead." Trenton guffawed loudly and put his boots up on the table. "I'm sure we're all above fancy magic tricks here, though."
For all his talk, though, it would be a lie to say Trenton didn't jerk back a bit when the locusts started pouring in, more from shock than anything. The writhing swarm slowly formed together, took the shape of a throne, a man, and Trenton relaxed. This one, at least, he knew.
"Zyrthrexas!" he shouted, a broad grin forming on his face. "Just the horrific beast I was hoping to see here. I swear I was just thinking, 'If only this was fuckin' weirder,' but now here you..."
The pirate's words were interrupted by the loudest rumbling he had ever heard.
Slowly, tendrils of black smoke began to worm their way into the cottage from underneath the walls. The trickle turned into a flow, and then a flood, as gouts of the wispy substance poured forth and swirled through the air with a will of their own, encircling each one of the assembled company in turn. The rumbling from the floor changed in pitch and rhythm, became a steady, beating sound; laughter. But this was not the giggle of a madwoman, the chuckle of banal evil, or the mocking pitch of the conqueror. This laughter was low, and slow, and almost... grandfatherly.
"My
friends," the laughing voice spoke, booming from every direction. "My
family. When your father calls you, you come. You... honor me." The smoke swirled into the center of the room, forming a long column equidistant from each of the assembled company. "My sweet children, I have come home to you. Father is here, father has returned, and I aim to set right this blasted world and remake it as it always should have been. For I am Kil'threx, Father of Evil. It was my hand that seeded the edges of the world with spirits and demons, who placed the fire of war and greed in men's hearts and filled the black seas with unknowable terrors. It was under my banner that the mightiest army ever known was raised, a legion of the foul and corrupted that was toppled only narrowly, and will not be toppled again. But... I cannot yet manifest my true glory. Not unaided."
"Ten thousand years ago, my army was shattered, my power sealed away by holy magics. My might was too great for any conventional binding and so the Children of the Light locked it away in a great black statue of mine own image, and sealed it deep in a dungeon. They raised a great city atop of it to better keep me jailed... a city known as Melaron. You may know it."
"This is my charge to you - in seven day's time, the loathsomely 'good' denizens of this city will hold a festival; they know it not, but this celebration marks the ten-thousandth anniversary of my defeat. The nine of you will destroy the city, slaughter its forces, recover the statue and
destroy it. Only then will I be free to manifest... and you shall be rewarded as my most trusted servants. The instruments of my vengeance. My
Harbingers."
The smoke coalesced, forming into a dense orb in the center of the room. From this ball three tendrils emerged, shifting their hue between black as night and red as fire. They extended, gradually, towards the Blackscale Tyrant, the man who was no man. "Niddhogg..." the voice rumbled again. "My mighty son, the breaker of kingdoms and devourer of heroes, who has carved his kingdom from fire and mayhem. I can offer you more. All the glinting treasures of heaven and earth, the power to take and to rule and to dominate this land. Take the offer. Become my Harbinger of Dominion, and I will make you a force that none could oppose."
Then the tendrils snaked away and shifted their color again - a dark blue dotted with points of gleaming light, like the night sky, as they wrapped around He of Whisper and Shadow, the Spiritbinder. "Vortigern, oh clever child! Long have I watched you, and admired the skill and the knowledge with which you assail the spirit and dominate the will. You who has learned to call the young spirits of this world and win them to your power. What is it you desire, my son? Do you wish to unravel all the mysteries of this world, of all worlds? Do you crave power, greater power, the power to take vengeance for every slight, every wrong ever dealt you? Recognition - worship, even? I could make you a god-king, Vortigern, lord of a million loyal subjects, the object of their adoration, their praise, the vessel of the true god as his Harbinger of Magic."
Once more the tendrils shifted - becoming the color of burnt bronze, reaching towards the masked man, the Apotheosis of the Court. "Aesir, who has won the day on a thousand fields, the warrior who will never feel the sting of death. To you I offer the chance to lead the greatest army this world will ever seen - a host of villains and monsters, a single battle line miles long marching ceaselessly across the world. I would make you the general who conquered the world, whose soldiers overthrew every castle and bloodied every battlefield. My Harbinger of Conquest."
Then, slowly, haltingly, and almost shyly, the orange tendrils turned to the woman by Aesir's side, reaching forward as though they might stroke her cheek before pulling back. "Ahwaan..." the voice spoke, seeming almost heavy with emotion, "My most beautiful daughter. Who sang my praises and slaughtered my foes on a dozen battlefields, my perfect creation, my Angel of Chaos. But you are no longer my Ahwaan, are you, Iona? The Children of the Light have... taken this from you. You serve a new master now - but serve me too, Iona, the memory of my daughter. Take up your blades once more in my name and regain the glory and the power that was yours... and be my angel again. My Harbinger of Chaos.
The tendrils retreated back into the ball, and now the entire mass of smoke moved, sinuous and rope like, slithering through the air towards the Sovereign of War. "Deos Risleth, the burning beast of the battlefield. You have slain numbers beyond counting, made brave men rout in terror of your blood-soaked might. Turn your power to my cause, and fight in the greatest battles this world will ever seen, that all may bear witness to your fury and the joy of bloodshed. Do this, and when this world is mine you may build a new Yirthalx, in this world, where you may sit on a throne of a million skulls while all the finest warriors in the world spill each other's blood in your name. Become my death dealer, Deos Risleth - my Harbinger of Battle."
"And you, my brother..." Kil'threx rumbled as the smoke swirled and mingled with the swarm of locusts, passing in and out of their humanoid shape freely. "Zyrthrexas, my first friend, who walked by my side in a young world. Time has been far kinder to you than me - but still, your appetite is nowhere near sated, is it? I know what you are, Zyrthrexas -
inevitable. It is into your great maw that all things will one day pass, a truth greater and deeper than any other. Aid me, brother - bend your cunning and your power to my cause, and in return I will open the very heavens to your desire. No deal will be too great, nothing beyond your reach - my Harbinger of Hunger, to whom my world shall someday pass."
The smoke coalesced once again, shimmering and rolling in an almost liquid like state as it curled towards the pirate, regarding him coolly. "Trenton Baker, the mad dog of the seas, the only man who ever heard the sweet music I taught to the things of the next world. You have mastered life and death as no other has, and I have need of your talents. Serve me, baker. Conquer the seas in my name and raise an army from the bones of my enemies, and in return you shall be granted everything you might hunger for - all that is needed to whet your every appetite. I will make you strong, unconquerable, beholden to none save me; my Harbinger of Death."
The gaze of the coiling material moved again, circling around the Grave Knight and lunging for his neck before halting. "Aborath, the bloodsoaked. Heir of the power granted to Cain, the lord of the night, the bloodsoaked king who slaughtered dozens of the light's children and lapped the blood that ran through the streets. I offer you power, prestige, but most of all a new world - where the children of Cain, your children, shall be worshipped like the gods they are from one corner of the world to the other, where not even the smallest fledgling of the blood will fear the rising sun or the torches of his cattle. In return I need only your power, and your wickedness - to destroy all who would oppose me, openly or not, and paint this blighted world red with their gore. My Harbinger of Slaughter."
Finally, the gel-like substance that floated through the air budded, splitting into a thousand lashing tendrils that stormed and raged aroung the masked thing. "Khata Nyarlith, my strangest child. You have heard the sweet whispers and the wracking cries of the things that claw at this world, and you have turned them to glorious wickedness. Serve me, child - reveal the hidden horrors to this world and you will be granted power, insight, and the chance to raze this world of walls and laws and wretched order. You will be beautiful, Harbinger of the Unknown."
Finally the substance began to dissipate, whispy tendrils flying out in every direction as the whole became more and more translucent. "Reflect on the gifts I offer, children," the voice of Kil'threx purred, "And know that it is best to serve. I am Kil'threx, the Eldest Evil, and I will reward loyalty just as soon as I will punish any wayward child. Slay the humans - turn their city to rubble and their gods to ash. Set me free, my Harbingers. Set me free."
And just like that, the cottage was silent again.
