Ifrit looked up to Shaige, before glancing back down at the pile of bony splinters that was, once, on of the most powerful forces to rage across the land. He tried to stand once again, but thundered down once more, even though he knew the effort had been futile all along. A beast of pride, Ifrit did not give up easily. He regarded the great shadow with curiosity when it said that The Infernal King had died. A deep noise, shaking the ground like thunder, roared out from his mouth. It could be considered the equivalent of laughter, though the meaning may have been missed by many. The Infernal King had been immortal- there was no conceivable way that he could've fallen in the short time that Ifrit had been locked up.
But the laughter died down quickly- Ifrit actually had no idea how long he had been trapped deep within the grasp of those winding halls of dust and stone- it could've been hours, or eons. While thinking, he realized how plausible his masters death could've been. Was the castle not under siege by some of the most powerful sorcerers when Ifrit was locked away? As those seeds of doubt blossomed in his mind, he began considering the offer the Keeper had made. Surely this being of such power could make a suitable master for Ifrit? It wasn't as if his other option was anything better.
But Ifrit was created by a prideful master, and he kept much of that pride in his own thought process. The King would kill him if he were to stoop so low as to accept help from this man. The fiery beast considered using the last of his energy to shoot a stream of flame at the shadow, simply to spite him. But nay, fear won the exchange, tainting his prideful will.
"I will serve you, if you can find the mercy in your heart to spare me." He muttered, in a low, respectful tone.
After the use of many materials, as well as hard labor, the construct was finished, a rather large thing, taking up most of the space in Viktor's laboratory. Though this time, neither he nor the construct emerged from the laboratory. The construct was a massive piece of machinery, held up by an array of wires, tubes, and pipes connected to the ceiling of the lab. Protruding from the mess of iron were a few sparse bulges of flesh and blood, pulsating rhythmically. Various arms sprouted out from the construct, like silver branches, each armed with an array of tools. It hung above the working table in the center of the lab, and had two longer arms that could reach anywhere he needed to across the room. The mechanical neck of this construct was adorned with a beautifully crafted mask, smooth graceful curves of white contrasting the dark geometry of the rest of it.
Viktor had put his very essence into the creature, deep within it's metal confines. No longer would he be restricted to such dull working tools, he was a factory on his own. Naturally, he knew that this would put him in great danger, should someone penetrate his heart, but he was willing to sacrifice that sense of security for the gain he would receive. Without hesitation, he called forth his human husks, and had them ensure his room be especially fortified. He was pleased with the work he accomplished- soon enough, he would have an army large enough to raze the land of his enemies, while he simply stood by and watched.
Nothing in progress
Location: His Dungeon, North-West of Altearx
Dungeon: A small stone castle, armed with a summoning room, barracks, Heart, and prison.
Minions: 2 Imps, 9 Humanoid husks, 31 Ogres, 76 Skeletons, 1 Minotaur, 5 Walking Ballistae, and Stamrad, the armored general.
Resources: Seemingly endless supply of stone, large amounts of steel. The village was equipped with sa couple of farms which feed the army. He has a pile of assorted organs, bones, and other various body parts, as well as 76 skulls.
Compendium Update- Viktor:
Not held by human chains, Viktor has put his essence into a massive machine adorning his laboratory. The massive machine hangs from the ceiling by various wires and pipes, and is capable of rotating around the room. Many arms branch off of it, each equipped with multiple tools, for the creation of whatever his heart desires. Adorning his neck is a fine mask, pure white, with gently curving features, rather unnerving when looked at directly. Viktor has a very one-track mind, and thinks of little more than conquering everything he can get his hands on. He builds an army of nightmarish beasts, roughly patched together combinations of man, magic, and machine.