Hector- Fear

“You have an understanding, Boarlord, that is rare beyond my kin. A magister, are you not? You are not the first of your order who has visited me seeking answers. You know some dark magick, Boarlord, but you only scratch the surface. Tell me: what do you know of the Children of the Blue Flame?”

Hector had to think for a moment. He was about to shrug and shake his head, about to say that he knew nothing, when his left hand spasmed involuntarily. He raised it before his face, black leather creaking as the palm and fingers clenched.

Images flashed: the shaman of the Wyrmwood; the risen corpse of Captain Brutus in the Pits; pale blue eyes that flashed in the night.

“The undead,” whispered Hector.

The creature made the noise again.

“You are no stranger to the Children of the Blue Flame. You do not fear them?”

Hector puffed his chest out, confident he had the answers to the creature’s riddles. He pulled the glove off his hand, showing the beast the black mark.

“Fear them? I command them!”

The creature’s tongue snaked out, perhaps a foot in length, stroking the palm of Hector’s hand. He shuddered at the touch but kept his arm up, elbow locked. He couldn’t let the host see his fear.

B3 P3 C5