The Return
Mar. 27th, 2007 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shosenAwareness returned slowly, creeping into limbs that felt heavy, weighted. He attempted to move, found then leaden, but responsive. Struggling into a sitting position, he became aware of his wasted flesh and unclothed state.
He became aware, also, of the unclothed and piled bodies surrounding him in this... basement? He did not even know where he was.
Forcing himself to his feet, he staggered across the darkened room to a ruined staircase, and the strip of light that signalled a door. That door opened onto a crumbling one-room cottage, the light coming from a single candle on a dilapidated work desk. The surface of the desk was covered with scattered pieces of parchment, some filled with writing, others blank. His attention was captured by a short letter in unfamiliar handwriting that sat in the centre.
He scowled, over both the content of the letter and the signature, and then looked up as the door to the cottage opened. A stick-thin, rotting corpse of a man stood there, wisps of hair tied back into a pony tail, face bound by dark leather strips that cut into the flesh and covered his eyes. Apparently, however, the wretch could still see, if the gasp was anything to go by.
"You think you can claim my name?" Lethandros rasped, cursing the unused sound of his own voice. "A common, pathetic little creature like you?"
The man turned to run, but words were faster than the motion, the curse easy and familiar. Lethandros watched, sneering as agony ripped through the already dead man, dropping him to the ground. More easy, familiar, words and further corruption spread through the plagued body, twisting it, making it dance in a parody of death throes long-since over.
When the body, a true corpse now, stopped moving, Lethandros turned to the cottage, searching the con man's belongings for something suitable to wear. He found, along with other armour pieces, a long, finely-crafted robe. It wasn't his preference (he hadn't worn a robe until joining the Cult and hadn't intended to wear one again after), but the Fel-tainted cloth screamed power, and he had sacrificed far more important things than style for that.
Dressed now, he stepped outside the cottage. Impatiently speaking the words of summoning, he pulled forth his smallest minion.
"What do you want, toots?" the Imp asked, and Lethandros snarled. A quick motion of his hand and the body of the Imp crushed in on itself, painfully forcing the impudent beast back to the Nether. Pulling the creature back immediately, he said simply,
"What was that?"
The Imp stared at him for a moment in shock, "You're not-what do you wish, my master?" The creature wasn't stupid, at least.
Lethandros pointed to the cottage. "Burn it down." He waited as the Imp cackled and carried out the order. Looking around him, he studied the diseased and dying trees that surrounding the now-burning structure. Had his King succeeded after all? How long had it been?
He didn't have those answers now, but he would soon. And then, he would go out and take every reward he was due.
He became aware, also, of the unclothed and piled bodies surrounding him in this... basement? He did not even know where he was.
Forcing himself to his feet, he staggered across the darkened room to a ruined staircase, and the strip of light that signalled a door. That door opened onto a crumbling one-room cottage, the light coming from a single candle on a dilapidated work desk. The surface of the desk was covered with scattered pieces of parchment, some filled with writing, others blank. His attention was captured by a short letter in unfamiliar handwriting that sat in the centre.
Dear Miss. Asharan,
It has come to my attention that you have mistaken received payment for my loan to Mr. Kedema. I expect the money returned to me immediately.
More over, as you were an unwelcome and unauthorized resident in my body for over a year, I believe it is only fair that you provide three times that sum in restitution payments, don't you?
I will be waiting; do not make me wait long.
Sincerely,
Lethandros Witherington
He scowled, over both the content of the letter and the signature, and then looked up as the door to the cottage opened. A stick-thin, rotting corpse of a man stood there, wisps of hair tied back into a pony tail, face bound by dark leather strips that cut into the flesh and covered his eyes. Apparently, however, the wretch could still see, if the gasp was anything to go by.
"You think you can claim my name?" Lethandros rasped, cursing the unused sound of his own voice. "A common, pathetic little creature like you?"
The man turned to run, but words were faster than the motion, the curse easy and familiar. Lethandros watched, sneering as agony ripped through the already dead man, dropping him to the ground. More easy, familiar, words and further corruption spread through the plagued body, twisting it, making it dance in a parody of death throes long-since over.
When the body, a true corpse now, stopped moving, Lethandros turned to the cottage, searching the con man's belongings for something suitable to wear. He found, along with other armour pieces, a long, finely-crafted robe. It wasn't his preference (he hadn't worn a robe until joining the Cult and hadn't intended to wear one again after), but the Fel-tainted cloth screamed power, and he had sacrificed far more important things than style for that.
Dressed now, he stepped outside the cottage. Impatiently speaking the words of summoning, he pulled forth his smallest minion.
"What do you want, toots?" the Imp asked, and Lethandros snarled. A quick motion of his hand and the body of the Imp crushed in on itself, painfully forcing the impudent beast back to the Nether. Pulling the creature back immediately, he said simply,
"What was that?"
The Imp stared at him for a moment in shock, "You're not-what do you wish, my master?" The creature wasn't stupid, at least.
Lethandros pointed to the cottage. "Burn it down." He waited as the Imp cackled and carried out the order. Looking around him, he studied the diseased and dying trees that surrounding the now-burning structure. Had his King succeeded after all? How long had it been?
He didn't have those answers now, but he would soon. And then, he would go out and take every reward he was due.