Dread Fort Perilous - Legion X "Infortunatus"

Interlude: A Gathering of Connivery and Deceit

With the control of the dragon at stake, Magister Nezaroth colludes with his fellows and plots to steal the Grimoires of Akhenak, and also the dragon, by reporting Sergeant Ashama for the illicit ownership of forbidden texts.

The room was pleasant, lit by the peaceful glow of a constellation of candles hanging from a sculpted chandelier above. It was like a fountain of golden vines lit by flaming leaves of sorcery. Very nice, thought Magister Nezaroth, reclining on a cozy bear-furred sofa as he picked and ate sweets from a large glass jar on the low duskwood tabletop. Very relaxing. Onlookers would surely suspect nothing. Indeed, he comforted himself. They will suspect nothing at all.

Or would they?

He quickly rolled himself off from the sofa and proceeded to inspect the carpet, observing each strand of red fibre with an obsessive passion, laying himself flat on the floor to see the marks under the table, climbing up the backs of every sofa in the room so that he could critique the patterns and sculpted swirls of the paint on the ceiling. Because he was paranoid, he did this all over again, before finally sitting down and curling up in the soft fur with another handful of sweets. Mmm. Strawberry. The sigils were in place. No ears could pry uninvited.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed loudly, twelve times. They will be here any moment now. Adjusting his hood to make it obscure his head more neatly, Magister Nezaroth straightened out his legs and unfolded his arms to give himself a more welcoming appearance. Which by normal standards, was still positively terrifying - although with the added bonus of adorable little sweets, the intimidating effect of his Legionary mage's uniform was eased somewhat.

Darkness swirled, and candles flickered as a host of mages appeared, rising from the shadows like wraiths. Their faces were concealed with dark scarves so that only their eyes were visible from under the slits, yet Magister Nezaroth recognised them by their auras, as all mages could.

The key targets were already here, each bringing an accompaniment of their most skilled apprentices.

This was mage warfare - not a battle of strength and steel, but a battle of wits and skill. Magister Nezaroth tilted his head in approval. So they have brought reinforcements. It was clear that they didn't trust him, but being mages, they too were inherently traitorous and evil in their intent, and so his feelings remained unhurt.

Cold and barely detectable, the moonlit aura of Magister Istheral crept towards the edge of a wide bear-headed armrest and merged with those of her aides as all seven of them took their leisurely places on the sofas. If he didn't know better, he might have dismissed her as absent, or assumed that she did not deign to meet in person. However, Magister Nezaroth prided himself in having a healthy excess of paranoia and anxiety, and so nothing escaped his attentions.

Not even the annoying, tiny mosquito which had somehow entered the room went undetected. Magister Nezaroth hastily snapped it out of the air with a flicked ember from his fingers, and unclenched his fist. It wouldn't do to have his associates doubt his conciliatory intent.

Loud and bright red like the roar of a lion, the aura of Magister Renaire sent great waves of burning sensation over him, indomitable and powerful. She had only brought two apprentices, but numbers didn't matter here. Each one of those was alone worth at least three of Istheral's, with wits as sharp as knives. She will be a tricky one to convince. Yet convince her he would. He had rehearsed all the eventualities in his head, twenty times by now, and he knew exactly what to say in order to secure an agreement.

'Welcome, friends!' Magister Nezaroth put a smile in his voice and offered the jar of sweets. 'Please, feel free to accept my hospitality.'

A few of Istheral's apprentices reached for the jar, and Nezaroth joined them in taking another handful, popping a few into his mouth from underneath his scarf. Ah! Sour lemon! It was his favourite.