On the Throne
Lothar Suncross sat in the Nazinian throne, mirrored black eyes distant as the immortal creature was lost in thought. He slouched on the regal golden chair, his elbow resting on the carved arm, chin resting atop his fist, an oddly animated gesture for a creature so clearly dead.
The deposed king, Agrapio D’Falco, sat next to the throne, atop a child’s dining chair to make a mockery of him. To further diminish the monarch’s royal bearing, Lothar had the man’s arms severed just below the elbows, and his legs removed beneath the knees; the cruel stumps were bound in delicately ornamented caps made of solid gold. There was a damp wound in the center of Agrapio’s forehead, a narrow slit that seeped grayish fluid and was the likely cause for the distant look in the king’s eyes as his head lulled and his gaze drifted around the room, a string of drool running from the corner of his mouth.
Agrapio’s son, Sargon, had likely met a fate more gruesome still, but the death knight couldn’t be sure; he had simply handed the boy over to Bliss, his lead interrogator, with the instruction to “be creative.” That had been three days ago.
A thought had weighed heavily on the bodak’s mind in the days that had passed since his arrival in Nazianz, though he wasn’t sure why he’d even given the occurrence a second thought. Why had the dragonborn gotten back to his feet after he had been felled by the bodak’s deadly gaze? What power had returned him to the world of the living? Lothar had some ideas as to the cause, but there was only one thing he could be certain about: he would not allow another dragonborn to stand in his way.
That was why he had sent for his assassins.
Two lanky figures stood before the throne, one clad in tight leather straps that formed some manner of armor, the other wearing a veil and gray robes ornamented with skulls. Neither of the creatures bothered to bow before the undead overlord.
“When I came to the throne room,” Lothar began as he turned his black gaze upon the duo standing before him, “There was a group of five mercenaries here: two humans, a deva, a shifter, and a dragonborn. They were seen stealing a ship called the ‘Highspire’ and heading west. I want them found; kill the others, but bring the dragonborn to me.”
Lothar didn’t give the pair any more information, they wouldn’t need it. With these two on their trail, the death knight was confident that this new group of adventurers would not be a concern for much longer.