The deals offered made of the darkest pact,
Agreements sworn and signed the dark contract,
But the devil shall lead the first attack,
For your dark hearts are best stabbed from the back.
Empty. All of it empty. False promises and hollow pacts. How interesting that he of all things be visited and tempted with an offer. Teased with words just as empty as his heart, did Kil'threx truly believe that hunger itself could be so easily tempted? Like the beckoning steam of a pie laid out to cool on an open windowsill, Kil'threx wafted through the air in his presence. Shifting ever shifting, and yet the essence of it all was still the same, leading them all to evil. Had it not been their age-old friendship, it was almost insulting to He Who Hungers that his counterpart thought it needed to bait him with such flattery. To stoke the flames of hubris with one hand and to quench the thirst of vanity with the other.
Amusing as it were to know of these others, although the irate pirate was one he had not expect to see so far away from sea. Aborath, Aesir, Niddhog, Khata Nyarlith, Vortigern, Iona, Deos Risleth, names of which he has heard of, but never quite so desired to acquire. For too filled where they, far too filled and they may never accept his offerings, as the Pirate may. For Captain Baker was a man after his own dark heart, a hedonist who lives an unlife for the luxuries of this world, a true despot and hellish rake. And the pirate would be a fine middleman to have to extend his reach from the desert to the seas. But for now it seems, so it seems, they have been gathered by their father. But to him alone did Kil'Threx refer to Zhystkrexas as brother for indeed long since had they walked the world together, immortals who embodied the forces, primordial beings which shaped the very cosmos as they manifested themselves into being. For what was evil without intent? Without motivation and without desire, could an action be truly evil? Perhaps it was wrong, but wrong itself was not evil, a mere child does wrong, but what does evil?
Now explains why Zhystkrexas did not himself appear amongst them, for if he did it would only be that much easier for Kil'Threx to sway them to his cause. Words gnawing from one end as desire ate away from the other. And worse, their individual desires would destroy any loyalities Kil'Threx may have desired to seed. See? Inevitable indeed, but not only that, but inescapable, not even a god was beyond thirst or hunger. For his old friend has answered the question with his grandiose and long-winded promises: freedom. The bound fool desired to return, to return and seek vengeance upon the world that had shunned him so. That subtle hint of envy, jealousy even, that twinged his brother's voice as he spoke of their contrasting status. The pride it had in subjugating all of them, believing itself one to which Zhystkrexas would bend his powers for. Lend perhaps, as often the Demon of Desire did to sate his prey, but bend? No, Hunger would never kneel. But it was only fitting that the God of Evil fall for the very things Zhystkrexas leads his victims too was it not? For they were farmers of the same field, tending the very crop, but it was Zhystkrexas that feasts upon what Kil'Threx harvests.
So then, at the crux of it all, eight and one discussing their tacks and tactics. Young ones talked of strategy, but the Old ones speak of logistics. For an army marches not on an empty stomach, and a city which starves can hold no festival. But the reverse was also true was it not? For an army cannot march upon a stomach bursting at the seams, and for a city showered in excess everyday itself as a festival. Either way one tips the scales, Zhystkrexas wins, and that is why famine is given scales as the greatest imbalancer. So plot, scheme, and think of every plan they may have, ruminate on the thoughts of betraying each other you may have, tip the scales. And they would send your heart closer and closer into the jaws of the devourer.
Sitting upon his golden throne, far away in in his glorious city of I'Zhystana, there the True Zhystkrexas sat pondering over what these children thought of. The locusts his eyes, his voice, his ears, controlled by his will as they clambered atop themselves in writhing masses. Like him they hungered, and like him they shall feed. His servants too blinded by their devotion to see, and the other eight too concerned with their own devices to understand. There upon the platters offered by a kneeling seriving girl, a meal worthy of the Dark King. For it was a dog-eat-dog world out there, why should it be any different in here? Taking his time to reach for the sweetmeats and savour the taste upon his lips. He had hungered for eons, why rush into so quickly? A ravenous swarm of locusts would devour anything within minutes, but the Lord of the Jaria was no swarm of Locusts. It was settled then, as he called for his covetous general to assemble his forces, and more so take the coffers, the fakirs and the bakers, the porters and chefs, the musicians and dancers, the servants and all. It was time to let Meloran know the pleasures of I'Zhystana. Prepare the Grand Caravan.
"Enough talk. You have all spoken well." The swarm buzzed as Zhystkrexas' attention returned to the assembled group of dark servitors, they who would willingly enslave themselves to their own desires. They who thought themselves gods and yet, crumbled from within. "But now perhaps it is your turn to listen." The chorus of tens of thousands of beating wings, rising from the whispers as they droned on in a voice as consuming as their master. A voice which commanded with suggestion, crawling into the ear, and nibbling at the mind. "Though some amongst you are born of war and conflict, and others of shadows and secrets, the conquest Meloran is no simple task. Those who plan to put it to the blae are fools to believe in the delusion that force is enough to make Meloran kneel. And those of you who plan to come in like a thief in the night are fools who believe their skills are enough to make a city which has kept evil itself imprisoned bow. So I ask, which among you children would do as you expect of the city before me? Which of you would subjugate themselves when struck with sword or spell? By the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars it shall not be for within your dark hearts you would never desire to serve one who has enslaved you..."
"But now I ask, would you not bend your wills to the promises given to you? Bear this in mind as you assault the city, for the strength of the will is stronger than you all."
With the cryptic piece of advice, or rather ad vice did the swarm disintegrate itself. Taking flight once more as each insect was released from the grip that held them into form, and they ate away at the walls of the shack, table and all until nothing remained. A storm was coming to Meloran.
And a plague of Locusts was merely the first of things to come...
