((Well, here is it. I shall have a description of his little portion of land for you soon, Light. Most likely in Necromion, though possibly up in the mountains of the Dwarven continent you mentioned.))
Arsyth Sylvanyth stepped back to examine the work he had done, smiling wickedly in assurance. The room was dark save for a row of candles on the table before him that graced his handsome – albeit cold – features with flickering light. His eyes shimmered wetly, the pupils odd and too large to be human. It was only temporarily, however, and he would look like any other man as soon as he took the ring off. It enhanced his vision, allowing him to see things he would not regularly see without the aid of a magician’s glass. The formula was perfect, and required masterful precision to get it right.
A disemboweled rat lay sprawled on the table, it’s right foreleg sliced cleanly off at the joint, and it’s left eye removed delicately. It was not a grotesque act, but rather a slow and careful one. Two rats, mutilated and cut apart were thrown aside; two failed attempts before this. A chuckle escaped his lips in how well it all worked. The rat missing an arm and an eye was yet another part to the puzzle, and the eye would be used later. Without a thought, Arsyth disposed of the arm over his shoulder and turned to his familiar, Kyrynn.
On a nearby chair a small skeleton of an imp perched, eyeless gaze fixed on his master. He regarded the arm that was thrown with growing interest, but laziness stayed his feet. Three feet tall and armed with a poison-tipped tail, Kyrynn was a dangerous creature, but nonetheless a servant of Arsyth. “So it is nearing completion then, I’ll wager.” the imp said in a high voice.
Arsyth nodded. “The Queen of the Caverns will be pleased.” The Queen he was referring to was the queen of the driders; centaurian spider creatures that shared his region. She was the goddess of them all, and her word was the final. His plan was to use her own legions to take the world in his fist, but she required the potion. The Curse of Much Measure, as she called it, Gullek an Berrik in her foul tongue. Silently, he looked over the regents again, awaiting their use in the great plan. Leaf of the Hopquick plant, tooth of a dire wolf, tentacle of a displacer beast, feather of a Pegasus, and a rat’s carefully cut body. The other three parts of the rite were yet to be discovered, save the rat’s eye, which he now had. Thirty years had he labored for the parts, and now, he finally had them.
A sacrifice and the eye of a beholder were the last two pieces, neither under his control. He had attempted once to attain a beholder’s eye, but it was in that that caused a hole to be burnt in his skin to the ribs. He looked normal on the outside, but were he to remove his shirt one could see the ribs where muscle and flesh was ripped away. No, nothing a mortal would have, but he was no mortal when he thought about it.
The sacrifice was the platform on which the potion would be created, but the rite was specific in the fact that the victim must be willing, and must be a woman. There were few women he knew, and it was interesting at what time he had received the message from one. He disliked her, but it was all a game of power. Of greed.
Thoughtfully, he retrieved the handwritten note from the woman, signed with elegant letters, “Sirena”. One of his numerous servants had brought it to him the day before, saying it had come in by raven. She wanted to see him again, and talk.
“Are you going?” the imp asked him impatiently, and Arsyth again nodded.
Setting the parchment down, he looked at his magic timewatch – a device that kept the angle at which the sun was in the sky. It was almost noonday, and nearly the time he was supposed to be there. He could arrive in a moment’s notice, but it was the ability to think things over that he wanted. But that which he wanted he usually did not have. An ironic part of life.
Turning, he removed the ring of enhanced sight from his finger and put it away in the folds of his cloak. He was in black from head to toe; such was the color of his fortress and possibly the very lining on the outside of his heart. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head and he was gone, disappearing into the very shadow.
