Master Tigean

Xertyl watched through narrow eyes as the ragged band of Humans and their pet Silver scrambled back onto their skiff like rodents scattering for shelter.  The pleasant burn of satisfaction tingled in his chest; there were few greater joys than putting lesser beings in their place.  He turned back to his new companion expecting to share in their small triumph, but instead found him wandering ahead, his frayed black cloak dragging across the rocks.

“Such little creatures, don’t you think?” he inquired, catching up to the Tiefling.  “You would think they’d take a hint and look for trade in safer harbors.  We don’t really need them anyway.”

The Tiefling remained quiet, walking gingerly up the jagged incline towards the top of the Heap with his head bent low and his dark red horns jutting through the fabric of his hood.  Xertyl wondered if he might gain some favor by assisting him through the climb, and moved to do just that.

“I prefer the long way,” the Tiefling said, without so much as pausing or cocking his head.  “Gives me time to think.”

Xertyl complied and kept his distance.  He shared a glance with the guards, all of whom seemed equally baffled, if not concerned.  The Horned One had a way about him, clearly.  The Zechradarian had mystics of their own, of course, but even they weren’t quite this unsettling.

“It is unusual for your kind to leave the Isle, is it not?” the Tiefling asked, shaking them out of their confusion.

“It is,” Xertyl answered, “but the Metallics are known for being arrogant, even foolhardy.  He’s probably gone in search of a new life, maybe a little help for his feeble clan.  He won’t find any on the mainland.  None of us will.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” the Tiefling answered.  “After all, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Exactly: here.  You had to come looking.  Not many do that.”

“And fewer still offer you free passage back to the mainland, which is exactly what you’ll get, assuming your people comply.”

Xertyl couldn’t resist.  He reached out and placed a claw on the Tiefling’s bony shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.  His prey stopped accordingly and stood, head still bowed.

“You may have convinced the Council,” he hissed, gently digging in his claws, “but you have a long way to go before you get us onboard some Human craft.  We’ve gone through a lot – all of us – and we’re not going to throw it to the wind just because some old mystic shows up looking for one of our treasures and promising us the moon and the stars.”

He let that sink in a moment, grinning ever so slightly, awfully pleased with himself.  His guards nodded and smirked in assent; they had been waiting a long time for someone to say it.  Xertyl released the Tiefling, absently clicking his claws.

“Nothing to say, good sir?” he sneered, eager for a whimpering response.

The Tiefling remained still a moment, as if lost in thought.  Xertyl was just about to walk on when he saw the creature’s shoulder move ever so slightly, setting off the loudest, most sickening crack! he had ever heard.  He stepped back, reaching for his blade instinctively.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the Tiefling muttered in a soft yet piercing voice before turning, ever so slowly, to face his entourage.  “Nor would I touch me again.  I am old and ever so delicate these days.  A little too much force and I could lose a limb.  Which wouldn’t make me happy.  Wouldn’t make me happy at all.”

Xertyl stared into the shadow of the hood, waiting for some sign of life.  All he could make out was the faint, reddish line of a jaw – nothing else, not even the outline of the lips, was visible.  He wanted so desperately to throw off that hood, wrap his hands around that old neck, and wring it with gusto, but something stopped him – the strange, otherworldly sensation that danger was present. 

As if sensing this, the Tiefling lifted a long, gloved finger and pointed out to where his ship was docked.  Xertyl turned and saw the Human crew of the vessel swabbing the deck, raising cargo, checking the sails, all in slow but methodical fashion.  He had not paid much attention to them beforehand but it seemed clear now that something was amiss.  Something about the way they moved seemed false, as if they were being nudged and strung along.  Like puppets.

“The world is full of impetuous people, don’t you agree?” the Tiefling whispered behind him.  “I find that tedious.  There’s so much more we can do if we just bow to the greater good and get to work.  I tell that to everyone I can.  And those who don’t agree?  Well…I find ways of getting their compliance.”

Xertyl felt a sudden, violent force spin him around and yank him forward until the Tiefling’s fingertip was almost up his nostril.  Gripped with fear, he stared into the shadow of the hood and opened his mouth to beg for mercy, but he had no voice.  He searched the shadow for eyes, for cheeks, for a mouth, for any sign of a benevolent creature, but found nothing.  Meanwhile, his body was going numb, his mind retracting into the back of his skull, until he could only watch and listen to the world as if under water.

“Now,” the Tiefling began, his warped voice echoing in his skull.  “I need something here, something very precious to your people, and I need you to be the good soldier and show me where it is.  Trust me, it’s going to help everyone in the long run.  Now, are you going to be a good boy?”

“Yes,” came Xertyl’s voice, quite out of his control.

“Good.  And you?”

“Yes,” he heard the guards say, clearly joining him under the spell.

“Very good indeed.  Now, let’s keep walking.  We’ve got a ways to go.  Oh, but before we do – since we will be getting to know each other, feel free to call me Master Tigean.  Or just Master, if you prefer.”

With that, the Tiefling turned and started his slow climb back up the rocky slope.  Xertyl and the guards fell in line, watching from a distance as their legs and arms propelled them forward in the footsteps of their new master.