The villa looked serene from here, comfortably nestled at the base of the mountains. A pair of minarets rose elegantly toward the sky adorned with stained glass and silver filigree. Gleaming brass walls surrounded the buildings within. The gates were open. It was a quiet country, far from the intrigues of the City and even further from the front lines of distant wars that seemed to lack purpose or resolution.
Bayle’s tongue flickered in the air. He could taste the ash from the forges behind the wall, and the dust from the mines nearby. Out here, so close to the border between Fire and Earth, the relatively cool breeze carried a different and fairly unpleasant flavor. It could hardly be 120 degrees, which was simply intolerable for any length of time. As he turned his reptilian head he imagined he could hear the labors of the enslaved alongside the frivolous debauchery of their masters.
He hatefully gripped his spear as muscles flexed along his arms and chest. Slaves, but not for much longer. Soon they would be freed, and become joined to his cause. The residents of the villa were nobody special. The least vassals of some greater Malik, paying tribute in weapons to live out here in the middle of nowhere. Also not for much longer.
Bayle left his vantage point and returned to his troops. He’d just recently seized the title of Malflamme Overseer, and it would only be trouble if he left them alone too long. He wasn’t as large or strong as his predecessor but he’d proven himself to be more cunning. However, his leadership would only last as long as he could keep the others in line and that meant being present.
Predictably, there was an argument brewing. Tempris and Pye, each with influence over their own factions, each believing they deserved his title. Who knew what they disagreed about this time. Pye was the largest of their band but he was stupid. He was confrontational to a degree that he might have to die soon. Tempris, on the other hand, was better. Smart enough to ally himself with Bayle and receive such glory as he deserved as a lieutenant. Not that he was anything but a traitorous sycophant, but he was useful for as long as Bayle exerted his dominance over the rest.
“Still your frost cursed tongues!” he hissed, and they abruptly stopped their argument. The other salamanders erupted into a chorus of hissing, gurgling laughter, pleased with Bayle’s witty insult. This was how you led; give them murder and amusement and they’ll follow gladly. “It is time to take revenge on the hated efreet and to free our enslaved brethren. To arms!”
Almost four dozen salamanders raced from hiding toward the open gate, their serpentine bodies undulating with surprising speed. They took their hated enemies completely by surprise, pouring into the main hall and interrupting the efreets’ last meal. The doomed fought back hard, but it was ultimately futile and they were quickly overcome. It was finished in mere moments; four of their own were killed, and two efreet, with two more taken prisoner and three salamanders liberated from their forges.
He sent some troops to the nearby mine to see what was there and others to loot the villa for valuables. He then inspected the survivors. The efreet were both injured but were healthy enough to make good sport, and the three salamanders had already picked up weapons, leering over their former owners and eager for revenge. Some of the troops wanted to start cutting right away, and it took more than a little effort to subdue the most ambitious would-be-torturers. He’d have to let the fun start soon, however. They’d had their murder, but the discontented hissing indicated their desire for amusement wouldn’t wait to be sated.
Before long his scouting party returned from the mine towing a chain gang of dwarves led by another salamander who must have been the slave driver. Bayle smiled to himself. This venture could be more profitable than he originally thought. Dwarves were creatures from the Prime, useless except as food or slaves. He could smell them, covered in dust and their own filth. Coldbloods that had no business being here, but were good for moving rocks if little else.
He puffed himself up into an intimidating posture as they were thrown to the ground before him. “I am the Malflamme Overseer” he spoke in his native Ignan tongue, not caring if they understood his words or not. “You are my slaves now, and if you wish to continue…” But he was rudely interrupted as one of the dwarves screamed, scalded as a boiling red liquid sprayed its face. Angry and confused, Bayle looked down, seeing a spearhead protruding from his stomach a split second before the pain finally registered. He looked back up just in time to see Pye looming over him, thrusting a second spear into him and spouting more hot blood into the air. The first weapon must have belonged to Tempris. The other salamanders hissed their laughter again, and Bayle realized their previous mirth wasn’t because of his wit, but because of the secret joke he hadn’t been privy to. And that was his last thought as he died under the spears of his own troops.
Pye raised his bloodied spear and pointed at Tempris. “Our Malflamme Overseer!”, and the salamanders yelled their approval. Tempris impaled a dwarf and shouted over the din “Let the feast begin!” A massacre of the slaves ensued, the screams of the dying mingled with the laughter of his troops. The efreet prisoners were dragged off screaming, with nothing in their future but a slow painful death. Tempris wasn’t as large or as strong as his predecessor but he knew how to lead. Give them blood and booty and flesh for feasting and they’ll follow you gladly. And he would lead them out of these blasted outer lands to someplace suitably hot. Perhaps to the sea of flame, or even better, to find work with a demon lord and make their way to the Abyss.
