The Greyman Saga Ch 09

Author's note: Sorry guys, hopefully the delays arent driving you too crazy. Ive acutally been writing quite a bit, but TGS isn't the only story I give my time to. Anyway, here's chapter! It's time to meet the villains...

p.s. If you want updates on my timing and work schedule you can always check the bio on my profile! Thanks, and remember to rate, favorite, and comment!:)

Chapter 9:

Caryanor

"Good. We can begin."

Leciel Zayliss shifted in his seat in response to Margaret's high pitched keel, his eyes flickering away from the girl chained to him as he sprawled in his throne. The little Izanorian had remained impressively quiet despite having the heat from her body slowly drained from her. That said, she was beginning to break.

"So I take it, it's true then? The Vermyr really escaped huh? She made it through the Ba'rau?" Zenet growled the words between bites of his grotesque feasting, asking the question like some meaningless passing thought.

Leciel rolled his eyes, openly showcasing his disgust for the wolf-like Dread. The Lumyr had piss for brains, and dung for a personality. Leciel hated him with a passion that exceeded even his distaste for residents of the overworld. At least the people of Izanmoor had the ability to think. That was a skill Zenet verifiably lacked.

He had showcased that with absolute clarity by laying siege to Sellaris without first getting the permission of the other Saishi. Because of him, the Vermyr had managed to slip through their fingers. Because of him, Leciel was forced to sit in this drafty room discussing matters that should have never been worthy of adressing in the first place.

Below him and to his left he heard the Izanorian girl whimper, the effects of the sudden wave of cold that was rolling off of his skin proving to be her undoing. Her pain was like a well seasoned meal, soothing his suddenly irritated state.

"Yes she's gone. But, thankfully, that don't mean she's lost ta' us." Morriar's heavy southern drawl echoed across the dark room, the frustration in her in voice mirroring Leciel's own.

Leciel turned towards the Othen Vempyre briefly, curious if she had more to say.

The Dread Empress of the Blud'Sugeis was a short woman who defied nearly all the stereotypes set in place by her father Vladde. Her skin was deeply tanned, and her mid-length blonde hair was crimped and curled to perfection. Her plump lips sparkled with a pink gloss that Leciel could only describe as garish. She was as far from gothic as one could be and she accentuated this further by wearing bright colors, such as the red pant-suit she wore over an astonishingly yellow blouse.

However, the luster of her Morriar's outfit was largely dwarfed by the gifts of her natural appearance. Specifically, the massive pair of breasts that were attempting to crawl forth from her low-buttoned blouse. Leciel was nearly amazed that her shirt hadn't simply burst open.

Nearly.

The Blud Empress was meticulous in everything she did, including her wardrobe assembly. Those buttons would most certainly hold fast.

"We acted brashly, attackin' Sellaris like that. Y'all shoulda called the council b'fore makin' such a rash decision." Morriar eyed Zenet accusingly, but she refrained from singling him out as the sole culprit.

The Lumyr barked in sharp annoyance anyway, his large black nose flaring with obvious indignation.

"Obrakai, lag nar Ouss. This is our world. We take what we want, Bloodling."

"But you didn't." Leciel spat out with focused annunciation, responding before Morriar could.

The Empress of the Vempyres showed little to none of her anger, but Leciel could see the rage boiling underneath the surface of her poised smirk. Calling her a simple Bloodling was near heresy by her people's standards.

"What did you say to me, Icling?" Zenet growled, nearly rising from his seat as he glared in Leciel's direction, all thoughts of Morriar gone from his mind.

The term 'Icling' was far less impertinent. In all reality, it simply showcased the Lumyr's single mindedness and lack of relevant knowledge even in regards to an attempted insult.

"Are you deaf, Zenet? Or, does a doggy like you need to be addressed in a more commanding tone to understand such simple things." Leciel said playfully, lounging further in his chair.

The Lumyr nearly climbed on to the section of the table in front of him, his mouth foaming at Leciel's words.

"ZAYLISS I'll BITE YOUR FUCKING COCK OFF AND STUFF IT DOWN YOUR THROAT IF YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN." The Lumyr's eyes went from a pale blue to a deep red as he bellowed across the room.

He truly was a feral, and brainless, beast.

Leciel chuckled, gently winding his long green hair through his fingers as he watched the outraged wolf.

"That anxious to get your mouth around it, eh?"

"THAT'S--"

"Zats Enough. Zenet your shouting iz giving me a frightful headache. Lezziel, let it be. You're being var too hot blooded for one of your kind. Bezidez, we have only one rule at zis table. Let'z not push anyone to break it." Silence filled the room as Leciel turned towards the woman speaking.

Ballinor met his gaze knowingly, her long orange hair crackling and fluttering around her head with intense heat. The ends of it burned a blinding yellow that was matched in vibrancy and color only by her pupil-less eyes. Strands of orange light cracked from beneath the broken surface of her dark red skin, visible across the entirety of her bare body. She was smiling, despite her stern tone.

**Ballinor.**

The Safir of the Sprytes was blindingly, and infuriatingly, desirable. Heat poured off every inch of her in a way that made Leciel hopelessly want to quench it. He wanted to see her reduced to frost and snow, shivering at his feet. It made his body stir with nearly uncontrollable lust, but he kept his face a cold mask of calm. He had never desired something, or someone, more.

**One day I'll freeze out that light of yours.**

"Gahh...as you wish, Ballinor." Zenet rumbled, bowing towards the fiery Dread.

Leciel resisted the urge to openly sigh. The expression 'whipped dog' was all too accurate an expression to describe the furry fool. He barely bit back his desire to openly call the Lumyr a 'good boy'. It would certainly lead to bloodshed, but he was far from afraid of that. Not directly at least.

Mutt though he might be, Zenet was a King amongst his clan in his own right. An Othen Dread Lumyr, standing well over nine feet tall and brimming with power and bloodlust. The yapping hound induced fear in plenty. However, Leciel Zayliss, Kaidis of the Zephyr was not 'plenty'. The wolfling would freeze as all things did if it came to such a fight.

No, he was not afraid of that mewling pup in the slightest.

The problem was what would come after. The council of Caryanor had only one rule, and if it was broken, he would face the wrath of the other Saishi. He was strong, likely stronger than each of them individually, but not strong enough to withstand all of them. That was how the council ensured its survival.

Balance. Balance through fear, caution, and a singular rule.

A group such as this could not survive in any other way. They were all, each and every single one of them, merciless. Dreads did not know pity, nor lenience. They lived to obey their cravings and, as the heads of their respective clans, each of them had proven themselves capable of fulfilling those carnal desires above all others.

Leciel glanced around the room, which had once more gone quiet. His eyes first traveled back to Zenet, gazing at the remains of the warrior the Lumyr had been happily gnawing upon since first arriving. The Izanorian had been alive when the wolf had started.

He let his observation carry further around the ring-like table they all sat at, returning once more to Ballinor. He felt his body stir with arousal again, meeting her ember-like eyes. He could picture them being reduced to blackened coal in his mind, robbed of all warmth. The thought made his body vibrate with anticipatory need.

Gritting his teeth, he looked away from the Spryte's blazing gaze, observing the two young men that were slowly burning to death on either side of her. Their screams of agony were hidden by the metal muzzles that had been seared to their mouths as they were cooked alive from simply being in her proximity.

The rest of them had similar entrees to feed their enjoyment during the arduous meeting. Morriar occasionally gripped the neck of one of the chained prisoners in her possession, draining the blood from their veins with her bright pink nails before casting them aside.

Joruss of the Inthys, sitting just to Morriar's left, gave no visible attention to the captive on his right, but the hallucinations he was likely inflicting on his prey were feeding him a steady meal regardless.

Margaret was a bit of an odd case, but the Norvs were a rather strange race of Dreads. They fed off of overall displeasure, and more vague feelings of terror and despair. This meant Margaret had no need for additional food. Each one of the tormented souls attending to the needs of the other council members were providing all he could ask for.

The Scab Lord, Corlayis, looked thoroughly bored, but the two prisoners on his sides that were covered in boils and green, cracking, skin were keeping him from falling entirely asleep.

Lastly, there was the welp at his own feet. The girl's lips had gone a deep shade of purple now, and her body was shaking violently as the beginnings of hypothermia overtook her. He smiled at her with sadistic pleasure.

All in all, it was a near impossibility that a group such as this could exist. And, it was for that reason each of them tempered their nature for destruction, humoring the strange alliance. The Lords of Caryanor were an anomaly of Dread culture, but they would live on as they had for a thousand years.

It was necessary.

Many had tried to see the old ways fall. Upstarts like Sungehi, Kuriass, and more had done their utmost to destabilize them but, in one way or another they had all failed. More often than not, it wasn't even due to the Council's retaliation.

Pride and arrogance in their own fleeting, individual, power had pushed those now fallen Dreads to challenge even greater foes. Foes such as the Witches of the Beyond.

The Priestesses of Azzerai.

Even Kuriass, who had fought the infuriating Witches and lived, eventually met his demise at the hands of Illeya'Ithelayis. Their arrogance repeatedly proved their undoing. The day might come where power could be consolidated into the hands of one, powerful Dread, but it was not now. Leciel knew that much.

Now, more than ever, they needed to use each other's strength. Now, when a Vermyr once more walked the lands afar, they would need to remain patient with one another. They could not risk another gathering of the cursed Siphons reemerging.

**Not now...*

Leciel tapped his finger lightly on the stone table, breaking from his speculation. The other Saishi had fallen quiet after Ballinor's reprimand, but there was still business to tend to. He took the brief lull as an opportunity to make his bid.

"I'd like to send Tath after the Vermyr."

Heads turned towards him, varied in response, but each carrying a familiar suspicion. However, Leciel was only looking toward the pitch black eyes of the Norv Lord, Margaret Gollestrias.

The short Dread stroked the thick mustache sitting above his pursed lips, nodding to himself. A massive tome lay open before him, spectral purple words glowing on the pages. Margaret was a portly individual, his face babyish and his cheeks tinged with an ever present red. Spectacles sat low on his nose, and his black, three-piece suit was impeccably maintained. As the council's Chairman it would be up to Margaret to ratify sending anyone, let alone Leciel's chosen Vicca, through the Breach.

The Norv nodded again and tapped the tome in front of him. The pages flipped rapidly, before settling on a blank set of sheets.

"That should be fine. No regulation's restrict such a thing. However, are you certain you would like to send your next in line to Reora? We are still unaware of where exactly Illeya'Ithelayis has settled. There is a great deal on unpredictability so far from our reach." Margaret watched him closely, his hand hovering over the open page of his book.

Leciel simply nodded.

"I would like to send Gilaed as well." Jorrus's moan of a voice caught Leciel off guard, and he shot the Inthys a glare.

The eyeless Dread smiled shortly at Leciel before continuing his plea.

"His skills are comparable to my own. He can subdue the Vermyr and bring her back to us."

Leciel hissed loudly, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the room.

"Tath will do that. There's no need for your assassin, twink." Leciel said the words in off handed dismissal, but Jorrus merely continued to grin, waiting for Margaret's response.

"As I said before, there is no issue. Saishi may not pass through the breach, but your Vicca may. Foolish though it may be..." Margaret pushed his spectacles back up his nose as he finished his comment, waving his hand over the book again.

"Vut of Illeya'Ithelayizz? Have we truly heard nozzing of zeir whereaboutz? Vut if he finds our prize?" Ballinor asked, furthering the topics needing to still be discussed.

A ripple of distaste passed through the room.

Leciel, however, felt little. He had not dealt with the meddlesome knight as the others had just a few years prior. The Saishi who had come before him, a Nogra Dread named Bolisk, had taken on that burden. In fact, Leciel technically owed the helmet wearing fool. He had cleared an easy path for him to make his bid as the newest Lord of Caryanor. Yes, Illeya'Ithelayis had been a most timely tool.

"Ah. Yes. If they were to find the Vermyr before the council that would be a rather poor showing wouldn't it. However, it seems quite unlikely." Margaret bobbed his head, attempting to calm the bristling Lords, "There is little chance that they even know of her existence." The Norv added the last snippet with calm confidence, but Leciel could see that he looked perturbed.

"Even zo. I vorry about vut vill happen if she izzn't found zoon. Her exziztenze begzz za creation of ozerz. She vill reduze zer phenomena infrequency wiz every day she iz left alive." Ballinor gazed around the table, waiting for others to agree.

Zenet growled his affirmation nearly instantly, followed by several others. Leciel chuckled aloud, glaring at the Spryte knowingly. Before long, all eyes were turned to him.

"You just want to burn her like you do with all other pretty things, Balli. Don't pretend to care about anything else." He said the words with so much spite that a small fog of frost floated from his nostrils and mouth.

"I'd luv to melt you into a luvly little puddle, Lezziel." Ballinor responded, her eyes glowing as she smiled, "Zeeing your chilled corpze zizzling vould put me into a deep heat." She began to run her hand along her chest longingly, her eyes briefly closing at the thought.

Leciel laughed again, cocking his head playfully as he watched Ballinor squirm. Between the lustful Spryte's words and the chattering teeth of the nearly frozen girl beneath him, he was beginning to thoroughly enjoy himself.

"Regardless her reasons, Ballygirl is right. If Tath and Gilaed fail, we may have'ta consider sendin' one of us through the damned breach." Morriar broke the growing tension with her heavy drawl, looking at Margaret.

"Out of the question." The Norv responded almost immediately.

"Why? We done went and let Kuriass do it." The Blud'Segeis Empress snapped right back.

Margaret sighed, his empty black eyes showing a surprising amount of annoyance.

"That upstart was never a true Saishi. He strong armed his way into Caryanor, and neither I, nor any of you, accepted him. Besides, despite his intentions, he never actually did cross. Illeya'Ithelayis saw to that..." Margaret removed his spectacles as she finished his retort, wiping them with his pocket square.

"It's still a precedent." Morriar said with a shrug.

"Does this look like a Court of Law?"

The two continued their bickering, verbally striking and countering as Morriar tried to sway him. Bored, Leciel turned his attention to the Izanorian at his feet. The girl was nearly frozen solid.

Nearly.

Reaching down, he took hold of a section of her hair and began to slowly pull it. Ice cracked and splintered, chunks of frozen flesh pulling free of her scalp. He could see she was trying to scream, but her jaw was rigid and unmoving from the cold. Bubbles of ice slowly began to grow at the corner of her eyes. She was little more than a husk now, her body beginning to reach a state of paralysis. Soon she would enter a state of deep cryosleep, never to awaken, but never allowed to truly die.

Leciel looked at her appraisingly, taking in the pose she was in and the expression on her face. It was good.

Very good.

A figure full of unspoken terror and docility. He ran his finger along her frozen cheek. Yes, she would make a lovely addition to his collection at Mount Lockreth.

He let out a small growl of pleasure, then looked up at the squabbling Vempyre and the Council Chairman.

"You would go to Reora, Morriar? I'm surprised." Leciel said with exaggerated amusement, interrupting the ongoing banter.

Morriar shot him an irritated look and he shrugged innocently.

Margaret was analytical and intelligent, but he didn't understand Morriar in the slightest. He couldn't out maneuver her with reason and regulation because she didn't actually care. She had no intention of crossing the breach, only in planting the idea in others' heads. The more he argued with her, the more she could advertise the idea.

"I never said that." She replied with pursed lips.

Leciel feigned surprise.

"I would have supported you all the way. Whatever you needed, Lady Morriaris Lymor Dracula, Queen of Laeth, and Emperor of the Blud'Segeis. It would have been my greatest pride." Leciel stood, then bowed deeply.

Morriar rolled her eyes, then tilted her head just ever so slightly in acknowledgement of his correct titling.

"That said," Leciel continued, watching her closely, "What about your boy? Drace? I'm sure he's itching to live up to his grandfather's reputation in Reora."

Morriar let out a dismissive puff of breath, waving her hand.

"Not worth it. The boy is an idiot." She turned as he spoke, grabbing a chained man to her left who desperately tried to flee as she lifted him into the air.

Leciel could see the punctures where her nails were digging into the man's neck begin to bleed for a moment, before the liquid was sucked back inward. It wouldn't take more than a minute before the man's life blood had been thoroughly drained from him by Leciel's approximation.

He must have effectively annoyed the Vempyre for her to begin stress eating so.

"Gah! Kuriass and his silly brigade may have been weak, mewling fools, but they had spines! I grow tired of sitting around idly chatting. I want to run beneath the moon's light and rip reoran limb from reoran fucking limb! Edinmoor is stale! Reora is fresh. We should--"

"Cease your yapping dog." Leciel said seethingly, turning his attention back to Zenet.

It appeared the Empress's words had reached their intended target. Leciel shot her a scathing look and was met with a small wink. He gripped the table, frost bleeding from his fingertips.

"I tire of THIS. I will inform Tath of his goal. We came to discuss the Vermyr and Zenet's blunder. We have done so." He pushed away from the table, turning towards the distant exit from the meeting hall of Caryanor.

He was only a few steps away before he paused, turning back towards the frozen body of the Izanorian he had crystallized. Waving his hand, a flurry of ice condensed from the air and lifted the body into the sky, forming into the jagged shape of a large hound. He shot Zenet a cruel smirk, then turned back the way he had been leaving. The the icy creature followed him subserviently, carrying the girl on its back as they made their leave.