“Welcome back Master Seregor, Anylia. I trust everything is well?” asked Rathernal as the two entered, a wry smile upon his face. Seregor immediately felt faint upon hearing the voice, his weight leaning against Anylia and causing her to stumble slightly. His arm was over her shoulders, her arm around the small of his back to provide him with extra support.

“Come on,” she whispered to him soothingly, “we’ll get you off your feet.” Seregor nodded slowly as she began to lead him towards his chair. He shut his eyes and focused on regaining his composure. Even then, he could feel everyone watching him. It felt like their gaze was slowing him down, forcing him to walk through some unseen barrier. Finally, he opened his eyes as he felt Anylia come to a stop, finding himself next to his seat. Guiding him gently, she helped him ease into it.

“Thank you,” he said with a grateful nod as she slipped from beneath his arm.

She smiled softly and dipped into a dainty bow. “You’re very welcome m’lord.”

Seregor’s crimson eyes cut across the table to Aertha. She rolled her eyes at the two of them and shook her head slowly. He allowed himself a quiet snicker before directing his attention back to the head of the table. Anylia was already seated in her place, far off to the other end. Now everything else seemed to fade away. The table was empty, the room naught more than blackness. Only Seregor and Rathernal remained, their eyes locked.

His dislike of Rathernal was likely crystal clear in his eyes, but only those gave it away. Somehow, he had managed to control his sickness. The fluids in his stomach were suppressed, his vision unclouded, and his head free of pain. His side still bothered him, but he had learned to get used to that pain since he’d woken up in the castle. Seregor continued to watch Rathernal in silence. Waiting, as a proper guest, for his host to begin.

Rathernal’s smile twisted up into a grin, his fiery eyes beaming. “Now that you are here, Master Seregor, and apparently well, we can begin our talks.”

Seregor arched a thin brow ever so slightly. His eyes studying Rathernal’s face discreetly, he could feel his ailments amassing to invade his body and plague him once more. He clenched his teeth to prevent their return, his temples tightening. But he did not let his gaze drift from Rathernal. There was nothing else to focus on in an empty room.

“Each of us gathered here tonight have things in common. Whether or not you know it, and whether or not you believe it, this is the simple truth,” Rathernal began. Seregor felt his face relax in shock as Rathernal’s smile faded, his host getting a solemn look. “The fact is, we are all drow. Every person within this dining hall has the same blood coursing through their veins. We are all the same, we are all one people. And we all share something else.

“Our people, the drow, are engaged in a war with the ‘high’ elves, who we once thought to be our kin. Every soul within this room contributes to our efforts to defend our blood in some way. Be it leading soldiers on the battlefields, crafting weapons and armor for our brothers to wield against the enemy, our tending to our wounded. We are all involved in this war.” Appearing to be organizing his thoughts, Rathernal paused.

Seregor narrowed his eyes, his gaze still solid upon his host. A speech to unify the drow. It seemed like it could only help. Still, he sensed something behind Rathernal’s voice. Something that he didn’t care much for. It just seemed too good to be true.

“Yet, we do not fight as one. This perplexes me. We share blood, we share race, yet we do not truly combine our efforts to defeat a common enemy? This must end.” Rathernal suddenly rose from his chair, quickly glancing at all the faces that lined the table. Seregor did not look to them. They were not there, the reactions they might have meant nothing to him. He kept focused on Rathernal. “Friends, we should be ruling the world by now. We are clearly superior to any other beings that walk this world. Our intellect is unmatched. Our warriors cannot be touched. Our people can adapt and survive in any conditions. Drow should be the masters of all others, drow should walk the earth as kings and queens, ruling as we please. But we let petty differences, differences that should make us stronger. We let them get in our way.

“When the world came into being, there was night. Daylight, the sun, none of that existed. There was simply darkness. And this was the way the gods left it. They never wanted the land to be bathed in golden rays of sun, for the sky to be a soft blue. These things only came to be out of pity,” Rathernal paused again, his gaze creeping to Seregor. Trailing, trailing, it seemed like an eternity before their eyes once again met. Seregor shuddered. Rathernal kept his eyes upon Seregor as he continued. “Pity for those races that feared the night.

“Where elves and dwarves and men fear the darkness, drow flourish in its blanket of shadows. While they cowered, to scared to set forth, we prospered. We were at home in the night. We were at home in the land of the gods. It is due to the frailty of the rest of the world’s inhabitants that we are not still in that paradise of darkness, the sanctuary of shadows. It is because of them that we have been denied our divine right to rule. And I say the time has come to take back the world that was ours to begin with.”

There were dull murmurs about the table as Rathernal stopped speaking, the wry smile slowly creeping onto his face once again. His eyes burned holes through Seregor. Just as the gaze grew unbearable for its victim, it was over. Rathernal’s fiery orbs drifted across the rest of the table, the smile continuing to twist its way upwards. Seregor blinked a few times, having heard every word but not truly believing that they were said. He’d grown up with high elves. How could any of this possibly be true? Slowly, he turned his head, looking down to the far end of the table, the people lining it suddenly fading back into his view.

“So I say we fight!” Rathernal suddenly shouted, his voice powerful and echoing through the chamber, demanding silence from the other occupants. “By the will of the gods, this world belongs to us!” He slammed a fist upon the table. “We are perfection. We are in the likeness of the deities that breathed life into everything you will ever see. And they created us to rule over it all like only we can. You have let this task slip from your view. Now open your eyes, and witness the future that is the supreme empire, our darkness in a world of light that was spawned by fear, the drow empire. Fight alongside me, and we can crush our enemies!”

The guests stirred. Rathernal’s words were ablaze with passion, penetrating and arousing the souls within the room. The murmur returned, this time much louder as people stood up proudly and began to spit out “yes,” and “I will fight.” It spread like a disease across the table, Seregor noting the people rising one at a time at first, and then in larger and larger groups. He furrowed his brow, wondering why they believed any of that propaganda. Was it because the will of the gods was supposedly behind it?

The sickness crept up on him too. Every bit of his spirit fighting against it, he felt himself rise from his seat like all the others. He expected the nausea to return, his head to pound and his vision to haze over; for he was disgusted with himself. He had no will. He was swept up in the mentality of the mob, of the group. He was following something that was greater than he, if only in appearance. He wished that he could sit down, he wished that he could defy the group. Being able to stand alone against many was perhaps the most courageous thing one could do, but Seregor was not courageous. He was weak. He couldn’t possibly go against a gathering so respectable as this.

He shut his eyes tightly. Words were crawling up his throat, ready to spew out, and he could not stop them. “I will fight for my people,” he said through gritted teeth. Not being able to see the others, the words actually meant something. He would fight for his people. For the drow. Not because they were superior to any other race, or because they held divine right to rule, or even because of Rathernal and his speech. Seregor would not fight for any of that. He would fight because he loved his people, because he was a drow and his brethren were being threatened by a formidable foe. He would fight because he was already too deeply involved to back out.

Rathernal raised his arms, stretching them out to each side, his palms facing the ceiling. There was a wicked grin upon his face, one of triumph. “Brothers and sisters, let us together, through our combined blood, sweat and tears, take back this world.”

His words were met by massive approval. The guests applauded and cheered, whipped into an instant frenzy that craved victory. Deep within, Seregor was shaking his head. He pitied them for being manipulated so easily. On the outside, however, he was one of them, though not nearly as inspired. He clapped weakly, his watch swinging from them and to the head of the table. To Rathernal and his splendid victory, to Rathernal and his mask; complete with silken tongue.

“My brothers and sisters,” Rathernal dropped one arm to his side, his other hand moving forward to hush the guests. They quickly fell silent, their eyes shooting to Rathernal eagerly like moths to a flame as he spoke. “A new drow army will be born tonight. One of unrivaled strength. One of unparalleled skill, of unequaled leadership and unity. The army that will reclaim our lost kingdom, the army that will reclaim the world. And there is only one person I see fit to lead this army, fit to be its head.”

Seregor found himself immediately pondering the identity of this one person. His eyes shifted to Zefrenilx, whom was legendary for his brilliance as a military strategist. Of all the people in the room, Zefrenilx was perhaps the best suited for this position. This did not help him shake off the anxiety in his gut. It couldn’t stop the nausea that rose in wait. He quickly looked back to Rathernal.

“I will tell you of him, so that you too may agree he is fit to be leader of the army under the new drow emperor.” Rathernal’s eyes moved slowly through the group to keep everyone guessing, lingering here and there to add a bit of suspense to the situation. He tossed his hand to the side carelessly. “Please, be seated.”

The weak wave of sound swept over the room as the entire lot of them sat down. Rathernal remained standing, eyes ardent as he watched with that triumphant smile. He leaned forward, placing his hands upon the table, and resumed speaking. His words were not directed at any single person in the room, his head moving about from face to face at a leisurely pace. “This person I speak of…he is, of course, amongst us. Never before have I heard of any who fight with such passion. He sacrifices much for his people, he puts his life constantly on the line to ensure that we will emerge victorious. He is a drow who strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies, who makes them fear for the wellbeing of their children. They say he comes in the night like a fog, and leaves only death behind him. No others were willing to take the risks that he takes. No others were willing to bravely battle the enemy as he did.

“His thoughts are always for the greater good of the drow people. He knows that the enemy is inferior, that the enemy is nothing compared to us. That their lives are to be valued over nothing. Some might call him a coward…others might say he was some sort of demon. But neither of these are true. No, he is nothing like that. He is a hero to our people, someone to be looked up to and praised. Someone who can inspire his soldiers to greatness with his passion and firm loyalty, and send them into battle ready for victory. At the same time, he fights alongside them, immensely courageous in the heat of combat, with unmatched skill. He is a role model for each of us.”

Rathernal closed his mouth, still smiling devilishly as he continued to scan the gathering. Seregor followed Rathernal’s gaze, looking at the same people and wondering who it would be. He followed Rathernal’s eyes as they floated over to Zerfrenilx. The older drow had a serious look upon his face, his eyes planted like stone on Rathernal. “Please rise, Master Zefrenilx,” the host said, his hand motioning towards the sorcerer.

There were a few hushed whispers around the table as Zefrenilx slowly pulled himself up, standing tall and proud. His back was straight, his shoulders squared, and his head held up high. He held his arms stiff at his sides, almost rigid with discipline. But his eyes seemed cold as they remained locked on Rathernal. “You have been appointed as the first general under the leader of the new army.”

There were more whispers, confusion diffusing through the air. Rathernal’s grin seemed to grow, though Seregor had thought it would fall off his face had it gotten any bigger. Seregor replayed the words in his head. You have been appointed as the first general under the leader of the new army? It did not make sense. Perhaps Rathernal had simply made a mistake in his choice of words.

Zefrenilx seemed to understand entirely, giving a confident nod to Rathernal. Rathernal then let his gaze drift further down the table, sliding over guests like liquid fire. Seregor watched in quiet bewilderment as Rathernal’s eyes stopped upon Aertha. She did not flinch. Her face had always been serious, and now Seregor could feel hate pouring from her eyes. But it was all directed at Rathernal. Glancing back to the host, Seregor saw Rathernal’s eyes taking in Aertha slowly, the corner of his grin perking up a bit. “Lady Aertha, please rise,” Rathernal said, his voice now slow, almost sensual. She did so, her eyes locked on Rathernal. It looked as though she was trying her hardest to hold back a vicious scowl, though the corners of her mouth were turned slightly downwards. “You have been appointed as the second general under the leader of the new army.”

Aertha’s right eye twitched as Rathernal spoke, but the rest of her body remained stiff. These people were not commoners, they were soldiers. They had their training on the battlefield, they had learned discipline. Showing emotion or questioning orders was unacceptable. Seregor knew this, and he was sure everyone else did. He could tell that Aertha was well aware of it, and by the look on her face it was quite clear to him that she hated it. Despite her obvious hatred of the situation, she forced a nod of acceptance.

Rathernal again began to allow is eyes to roll across the crowd. All he was doing was creating tension. “Master Orthynx, please rise.” A young drow towards the other end of the table rose. Seregor turned his head to see the third general. His jet-black hair was short and slicked back. His face was thin but strong, his features sharp and angular. His eyes were of the purest yellow, bright beneath his thin brows. His build was small, but he held his head high and proud like Zefrenilx, though this Orthynx was perhaps filled more with youthful arrogance than anything else. The young one allowed a bright smile as he looked down the table to Rathernal, evidently lacking much self-control. “You have been appointed third and final general under the leader of the new army.” Orthynx nodded so energetically that he dipped into a bow. Rathernal snickered softly, and soon his gaze was upon the table in general.

“These three brave souls have been chosen to rank highest in our new drow army beneath its leader. They have proven themselves in battle, ranking amongst the most skilled soldiers in all the world. Now all that remains is to announce the leader of this army,” Rathernal’s eyes brushed over Seregor, causing his stomach to churn for a brief moment until they had passed by. Seregor’s guess had been incorrect, and he hadn’t a clue as to who would be chosen from the gathering. He knew few details about those remaining in their seats, mostly just names and vague reputations. His eyes scanned the other guests, pausing as they hit Anylia. They exchanged tender smiles, and then Seregor turned his attention back to Rathernal.

“He will certainly bring us to greatness in name of the drow, in the name of the gods themselves. A drow who will not back down from any challenge, who will boldly stride forward through danger, regardless of consequence, and battle for his people without tiring. I know he will humbly accept the honor we bestow upon him, but I also am certain that he will fulfill the duties we give him above and beyond our expectations,” Rathernal paused for a moment, his eyes returning to Seregor. They flared suddenly as Rathernal’s grin grew to show some teeth, and for a split second Seregor swore that he was looking upon the face of a demon. But the gaze would leave him in another moment. It was always like that.

Seregor’s own eyes widened slightly as Rathernal’s view remained locked, staring straight at Seregor. He swallowed. Nausea erupted within him, tiny beasts clawed at his insides, sweat beaded on the back of his neck. Rathernal was not looking away.

“Master Seregor Itheax.” It was a hallucination. A dream. “Please rise,” he didn’t have to get up because Rathernal wasn’t talking to him. His ears had just twisted the words, his mind was but swirling in a pool of confusion. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten all night, and was becoming delirious. “And accept the title of Supreme General of the Imperial Drow Army.”

Seregor’s mind rattled. He felt a sudden dizziness as his vision fogged. Jarring suddenly, all eyes were upon him. He glanced about the table. All appeared eager to see him arise as their leader under the new emperor. He didn’t even know who the emperor would be, though he could guess it would very probably be Rathernal. Swallowing again to suppress the sickness within him, he felt his arms pushing him up to his feet. No, he didn’t want to stand. He didn’t want to be a Supreme General of any imperial army. He tried to close his eyes as he felt his head slowly turning to Rathernal. Why couldn’t he control himself?

“Do you accept this title, Master Itheax?” asked Rathernal, his grin never wavering for a moment.

Seregor knew that he could give but one answer. Rathernal had spent the whole time setting him up, manipulating the crowd so Seregor could say nothing but yes. After all the praise and kind words, after making out Seregor to be such a great hero, he knew that he could not refuse the offer. No, it wasn’t an offer. He had no choice.

“Aye, I most humbly accept,” he said firmly. He didn’t know where those words came from, for they did not emerge through his own will.

Rathernal’s eyes lit up, and his wry grin tore through Seregor. The crowd rose to their feet, cheering and applauding their new general. Breathing becoming a struggle once more, Seregor searched until his eyes found Anylia. She looked happy, a warm smile across her lips. Her face changed when she noticed his own. His eyes were full of sorrow. His face asked the same question that he had in his mind. What had he gotten himself into?