in Iowa
July 11th, 2003
Darsullus sat on his throne in the darkness of his caverns. He was scheming against the White King. He threw his black chalice in frustration. It crashed in the hallway as a servant was just about to make his report. The chalice smashed against his face. He fell backwards with a shout of surprise. He fell into the pit! He landed. The tiger-like Dirkons swirled around him. He cried out. Then, suddenly, the Dirkons whimpered and ran into their cages. Darsullus stood at the edge of the pit. He nodded at his gruff guards. They lowered a rope ladder into the pit. The servant climbed up, wine dripping down his forehead.
[Make your report,] said Darsullus.
[Well, sire, um, the Quirrox have burned the village to the ground.]
[Were there any survivors?] said the black one.
[Um...well...gulp...Yes?] For the second time, but this time on purpose, Darsullus threw another chalice at him. He ducked. It fell into the pit at the other end of the hall.
[You miserable little oaf! I give you a job and you can't even kill everyone with those monstrous wasps of yours! How in the pit of darkness did they ever escape?]
[Um...into the woods.]
[Who were they?]
[Uh...it was hard to make out their names, but I saw a boy from the town and a man with a bright sword strapped to his back...]
[Manthadon! So he is not just legend. Begone, you whining little shadow!] Darsullus raised another chalice to make his point. The little figure hurried away. [Rally all my troops,] Darsullus whispered to his guards. [Send them to the Forest of Naz.] The beasts nodded and walked off.
Since Darsullus had his crown/mask on, no one could see his devilish grin, but they sensed it.
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