Hold still my lord, you must not move!”

Yandarah was bored and raised the back of his hand to his mouth to cover an impending yawn

” Yaaaawwww … Is this going to take much longer!” said Yandarah as he removed the hand from his face. He was seated on a throne that had been made especially for this portrait, it had been constructed entirely of human bone and wood, and all the pieces seem to delicately meld together with no visible joints, setting the mood as what could only be described as exquisite evil. Yandarah had become accustomed to the look of evil over his many years among the living. He was neither good nor evil he just was, doing whatever took his fancy at the time because he thought it would aid him in his quest, whatever that may have been at the time. Yandarah had lived many lifetimes, some good, a few pleasant but for the most, there had been war after revolt followed by invasion and then more war.

Yandarah’s longevity was an unexpected gift that had been bestowed upon him nearly three thousand years previous, he was supposed to die at the hands of the dark brethren the night it happened, having been used as bait to draw the brethren out and subsequently to their demise but the gods had seen fit to spare him after he received the eternal bite, at first it was seen as a miracle and people of his small village rejoiced at his remarkable survival, that was to be short lived once his true nature was discovered. Now he ruled his domain with an ageless face by the cover of darkness never to feel the suns warmth nor embrace ever again.

Now was a time of relevant peace and Yandarah was becoming lethargic and despondent, he has lived every moment of his existence by one rule, grasp each moment as a new, no consciences just survival, but there was very little to grasp now and he was looking for anything or anyone to challenge him.

“I am an artist my Lord, my work can and will not be rushed.” said Bulya, a very talented painter from Porthos but not a smart man, he had heard that taking this job could be hazardous to one’s health but the money was far too great to be passed up.

The doors to the great hall burst open “My lord! I have urgent news from the north.”

Yandarah turned his attention to Cho’bai now entering the Grand Hall. Cho’bai was two and forty years and had the build of a battle-hardened warrior, unlike that of his mentor Yandarah who held more the look of a scholar, thou his battle talents and skill with many weapons was exceptional and better than that of any man under his control. Cho’bai was like a son to Yandarah, he had fostered him and watched his growth after one of his blood bathed raiding parties where he found him as a child in his dying mother’s arms and declared that there had been enough killing for one day. He had taken the boy as his own and never looked back.

“Cho’bai my boy all good I hope!” Yandarah exploded from his position to the dismay of his painter and greeted his adopted son.

“My lord, really this is too much!” Bulya was waving his arms around in a fit showing his unhappiness with the present situation but Yandarah just ignored him and approached Cho’bai with open arms.

“Well my boy, what do you have for me?” he now had an air of excitement about him as he grasped Cho’bai by the shoulders and looked him over, “I had a dream that you brought me good news my son, is it true?” Yandarah had a calmed and peaceful look about him but that was all about to change, Cho’bai swallowed hard and released the words that he knew would shatter this happy reunion, “The Northern clans have joined and are sending fifty mounted riders towards your dark forest”

Yandarah’s whole domineer darkened in an instant, his once deep blue eyes turned jet black and he looked as hard as any man could,” Is that it?” asked Yandarah now emitting an energy that Cho’bai could physically feel. The hairs on his entire body were responding to the power that Yandarah wielded.

“No. We believe that one of the riders is a Seeker. One of your own my lord” Cho’bai was fully aware of Yandarah’s anger and lowered his gaze to the floor, he loved Yandarah for all that he had done for him over the years and for all the moments of true generosity and kindness that he had bestowed upon him but was also aware that there were times when you did not want to incur the wrath of the master.

“My lord I must insist that you sit back down, we must finish.” Bulya had become quite loud now.

Yandarah‘s head snapped hard and unnaturally fast to meet and lock the gaze of his intended victim, “BE QUIET!” he commanded as he raised and punched forward his open palm towards the artists face some twenty feet away. Cho’bai could feel the surge of power that Yandarah had released towards Bulya; the artist expelled a call of pain that Cho’bai had not heard or felt in many years. Bulya fell to the floor where he laid thrashing on the cold stones, his cries of pain muffled by the gurgle of blood now purging and erupting from his distorted mouth.

“I want them all dead and bring me the head of the Seeker!” said Yandarah as he turned and strolled back to the solitude of his throne. Cho’bai could barely hear what Yandarah had to say over the gargled screams that constantly bellowing from the artist. “It will be done, father.” Cho’bai had great sympathy for the artist but could do nothing to ease his suffering, he was on his own. Cho’bai turned and retreated from the hall leaving Yandarah to his business.

Yandarah slouched back into the comfort of his throne and studied the pain that his victim was releasing “Unlike you my poor fool I feel no pain, so I give it all to you!” he was addressing Bulya but his attempts were futile, he was now beyond any point of conversation. Once he had witnessed enough torment and the screaming had begun to annoy him he ended the artist quickly, with a twist of his wrist in the direction of the artist his head twitched, his neck snapped and then there was only silence.

“Come out my dear, thou you are getting better.” Said Yandarah, another of his gifts was to be able to sense when he is not alone.

“You truly are very good my lord” said Chase as she emerged from a shadow on the floor, raising into her beautiful full form before Yandarah like she was rising from a pool of water “I see you had a little trouble with your painter?” she said as she walked towards her biggest benefactor, she now stood before him some six feet of woman with long fiery red hair that she happened to be twirling through her fingers as she spoke to him.

Yandarah had a soft spot for Chase his beautiful assassin, he didn’t trust her just tolerated her, she was good at what she did and besides with her came her four brothers, best described as a highly proficient killing family.

“Could you be a dear and remove him for me?” he was now lying back in the throne with one hand over his eyes and the other making a flimsy gesture towards where the dead artist now lay.

Chase snapped her fingers and a shadow formed around the dead body from which a dark hazy fog appeared, several hands from the dark abyss reached out from within the mist and taking hold pulled the artist slowly down towards his final resting place. Rumors suggested that Chase has direct links with hell and gets paid for all the work she brings it but then they are only rumours.

“Done! Anything else my lord?” Chase was still rolling her hair through the fingers of her spare hand as she spoke to him.

“Yes. Find me another painter!”