Watchdog look down upon that engendered such anger?
The Chancellor General looked out at his city far below. Normally dark and lit only by patches of spontaneous random fires, it now looked painted with blood. Algol's furious brush had daubed the roofs, the streets, the statues, the many-spired, huge edifices, and even the Keep itself in red. A world bathed in the blood of its souls. That, he thought, would be a more perfect world.
He found the vivid light beautiful, evocative, an artifact of the star so compelling that he sat on the window- ledge until Algol set. The city returned to its former self, dark and mysterious, its shades of black cloaking the horrors that he had helped create.
ADAMANTINARX-UPON-THE-ACHERON
Eligor, too, watched the star set as he waited for Baron Faraii to join him. Its remarkable fading light turned the Acheron into a shimmering red snake sinuously meandering through the city. He looked down at the bricks of the dome's parapet upon which he sat and saw a half-dozen souls' eyes staring out, the ruddy light reflected sharply in their glassy surface. What were they thinking?
Eligor heard the distant flapping of wings and saw one of his patrols circling high above him. Evidence of what Sargatanas had called a heightened readiness. He turned and cast his eyes up at the enormous dome behind him. Giant braziers were inset into its curving, otherwise smooth wall, spaced evenly around and reminiscent of the flaming coronet that sometimes encircled Sargatanas' head. At the moment, Eligor noted, they were an ineffective light source against the last rays of Algol.
The Baron was late, something that had been happening more and more frequently in the course of their meetings. Eligor wondered if there was some significance to this, whether it indicated a growing unwillingness on the Baron's part to continue their discussions about his travels. He valued the talks, realizing at that moment just how much he would miss them if they ended. The Baron was a vivid storyteller and his wanderings made for compelling listening, but more than that, Eligor found the demon's enigmatic personality fascinating. Faraii had proven himself time and again in the hundreds of wars he had fought in for Sargatanas; his weapons-skill and ferocity were unmatched and did not go unnoticed. Eventually, because of his indisputable prowess, his lord had seen fit to commission Faraii to create a special unit of shock troops composed of the most intimidating of Sargatanas' newly fashioned legionaries. But, even with this honor, Faraii rarely spoke of his battlefield exploits, and this only lent more luster to Eligor's opinion of him. Unconsciously Eligor clutched his vellum notebook and bone pen a bit tighter, as if they, too, might cease to be, along with the meetings.
He sat in a rare state of anticipation; this was the first time since Sargatanas' amazing decision that Eligor would be alone with Faraii, and he was eager to hear the Baron's thoughts away from the constraints of the court. The Baron was more than forthcoming about his journeys, but it was rare that he spoke of his own feelings.
Algol had just set when Eligor heard the light scrape of the Baron's footsteps as he climbed the stairs that led to the balcony. Wearing his black Abyssal-spine sword on a decorated baldric, he was armored as commander of the Shock Troops. Broad, thick pieces of blackened and tempered bone overlay his segmented torso, each skillfully fit piece inlaid with obsidian and jet. Special vents edged the cuirass, allowing flames to lick outward in the heat of battle. Though Faraii's was a lighter version of the armor his troops possessed, Eligor had seen how intimidating the effect could be.
'Eligor, I am sorry to have kept you waiting,' Faraii said. 'I was drilling my troopers and time got away from me.'
'They are, without a doubt, the best trained of any troops in Hell,' Eligor said enthusiastically, 'solely for their commander's diligence.'
'Thank you. Coming from the Captain of the Flying Guard, that is high praise.'
Eligor smiled. He knew that his Guard was drilled as well, if not as often, but coming from Faraii the compliment was gratifying. Eligor also knew that while his winged Guard relied on speed and precision, Faraii's heavy legionaries were a bludgeon, a nearly irresistible force upon the battlefield. Where the Guard was a lance, sharp and swift, the Shock Troops were Sargatanas' hammer, prized and pampered for their brutality.
Eligor looked closely at Faraii's breast-armor. 'There is ash upon your chest. Are you injured?'
Faraii looked down and, indeed, a wide, dull pattern of ash clouded the high, black gloss of the armor.
'It is not mine, Eligor. One of the troopers got a bit too excited. I had to ... correct him.'
Faraii unstrapped the long sword and, setting it beside him, sat down heavily on the parapet's low wall. He looked out at the remaining sliver of Algol's light as it sank behind the horizon. Eligor saw the weariness in his actions, the angle at which he held his hard, gaunt head.
'Our lord has chosen to place a heavy burden upon us all,' Faraii said, not taking his gaze from the city.
'We are at the start of something great, Faraii,' Eligor countered. 'All great endeavors are a challenge.'
Faraii did not respond immediately but instead looked at his feet.
'I wonder if our lord truly knows what forces he may unleash.'
Eligor looked at the Baron.
'I am sure he knows exactly what he is starting,' Eligor said earnestly. 'His powers and influence have never been greater. Believe me, this was not a decision that came easily. I stood beside him for days and nights while he considered it. He is certain the time is right.'
'What he is certain of, Eligor, is that he cannot stand another moment of this place and his subservient standing here. And this reminds me of someone else.'
'Really, Faraii, you cannot seriously compare—'
'Why not? From what I have heard there were few Demons Major as zealous as Sargatanas when it came to supporting Lucifer. And like him, our lord aches for something he cannot have.'
Eligor put the notebook and pen down beside him.
'We were all caught up in Lucifer's rhetoric,' he said plainly. Something was clearly troubling the Baron. 'Look around you, Faraii. We are all defined by this place, by the fire and the flesh. And the pain. We, like the souls, are Hell's inmates. But we are also their jailers. Is this how you would choose to spend Eternity? As little more than an embittered jailer?'
'Perhaps,' Faraii said quietly, gloomily. 'Is Sargatanas' rhetoric all that different?'
