Scheming

[Anatieyre]

There was something soothing about rain, Anatieyre mused as she watched the numerous water droplets pour down on the street from her secluded bench. Having lived for so long, she learned to appreciate the significance of the little things in life, like the healing power of a pleasant rainfall or the beauty of a warm summer evening. The rain was always able to wash all her troubles away, no matter how great they were. But now that her plans had been successfully set into motion, there was little troubling her.

With King Osirus out of the way, carrying out her schemes had become much easier. Eltana took advantage of the vulnerable Queen Marcelle shortly after she inherited the throne, reducing her to a mindless puppet ruler through whom she could control the Knights of Osirus. With the Prophet Freya acting as her eyes and ears in the Order of Lumen, she would be able to intercept whatever moves they made against her, thereby maintaining the bloodshed indefinitely. The two factions would forever be locked in battle, each unable to conquer the other.

She turned to the man standing at her side, smiling sweetly. He was a young man of elven descent with sharp features and dark, spiky blue hair. Few would recognize this walking corpse as the final vessel of Baphomet, the unfortunate prophet who met his end at her hands a few months before. She kept the body around to serve as her servant, relaxing while she used it to take care of her daily household tasks. The great Prophet Baphomet, once one of the greatest figures in all of Alyssus, had been reduced to an errand boy. Even she was able to find a bit of humor in that.

Hearing the laughter of children, she looked across the street to find three brothers splashing in the puddles, getting themselves sopping wet while their mothers looked on in disapproval. This reminded her of why she was fond of Eten Took; it was such an innocent little town. No one would ever suspect that an ancient warmongering witch was living among such good-hearted folk. "Aren't those children absolutely adorable?" she looked to her puppet expectantly.

Exerting her power over the lifeless body, she made it nod in response. "Such energetic little things," she answered herself through its lips, adjusting the scarf that hid the festering gash on its throat. "Makes me wish we had some of our own, my darling Annette."

"Someday soon, my love," she laughed, giving the corpse a reassuring pat on the arm. She had been ever so lonely since Eltana had grown up and left the nest. It would be nice to have another child around the house, another innocent and impressionable mind to corrupt. Many children would be orphaned in the battles to come, so finding one wouldn't be much of a problem.

[Rune]

Through the relentless pittering of the rain, the slightest trilling of a flute could be heard. At first, it seemed that the rain was drowning out the melodious sound, but, one by one, the boys turned their heads away from the puddles and one another to the road. They could hear the flute, but just barely, and with young, curious minds, they wanted to figure out what it was. One of the boys began running toward the sound, but a shout from his mother made him stop dead in his tracks and, with his head hung, trudge back to where his two brothers stood, laughing.

Though the veil of rain, it was hard to see the young girl approaching the village. However, as she grew nearer, her delicate features became known. Her pale flaxen hair, soaking wet, stuck to her face and shoulders, her white dress clung to her thin, lithe figure, and water dripped from her ten ash gray wings.

As she grew closer and closer to the boys, she began playing her flute louder and louder, and her step became more and more dancelike. The boys could only watch in surprise as Rune suddenly stopped her dance and song and smiled, folding her wings in.

The boys only stared at her in surprise, but their shocked silence soon turned to enthusiastic laughs as Rune jumped back, beating her ten wings furiously, causing the water in the puddles to splash the boys.

And thus, the three humans and the tyraph became locked in a splash battle.

[Anatieyre]

"My knitting, please."

The decomposing cadaver that was once Baphomet nodded, reaching into its masters bag with one hand while holding an umbrella above her with the other. It pulled out a pair of knitting needles and a spindle of crimson yarn, then placed them on her lap.

"Thank you, darling," Anatieyre gave the body a sweet smile as she began knitting away, watching the children as they played in the puddles. She remembered the days when Eltana would do the very same thing, and how she would scold him for coming into the house sopping wet.

After knitting for a few minutes, Anatieyre stopped when she heard someone playing a flute in the distance. She had a great love for music, and would often attend operas with her son whenever she had a chance to visit him, but this particular tune was far too cheerful for her tastes. Being the Yearner of Woe, she was more fond of depressing and mournful melodies.

Anatieyre raised her brows in surprise when she finally saw the minstrel, immediately recognizing her as a tyraph. Quite a unique tyraph at that, sporting five pairs of darkly colored wings. She frowned as she watched Rune and the children splash each other, mildly annoyed by the sudden display of joy. She had been able to handle their shenanigans before, but things were getting out of hand. Besides, it was about time she had herself a little snack.

Resting her eyes on the puddle the four were playing in, the sorceress channeled her magic into it, slowly bringing it to a boil. Two of the children cried out in pain and leaped out of the puddle, only to find that the rain drops were now just as hot. The unfortunate things ran off toward their house, covering their heads.

The third was considerably less lucky. Just when Anatieyre brought the water to a boil, he was hit by several waves of water sent at him by the tyraph's wings. The small boy screamed in pain, covering his face and falling into the steaming puddle. The rain drops continued to pelt the crying boy, burning his flesh. This suffering created an invisible mist of suffering that was instantly absorbed by the Yearner of Woe, giving her an overwhelming feeling of euphoria.

"The poor dear!" Anatieyre exclaimed, bringing a hand to her chest as she stared at the crying boy. "He'll certainly be feeling that in the morning, won't he?"

"Won't be able to get out of bed for a week," she chuckled through Baphomet's corpse.