This week, we turn a dark corner in Davis' ever-darkening tale, A Grey Beginning, as we enter into it's fourth installment. We witness the malevolent Szeethe at his grisly best and we watch him take his first full step upon the sorted and evil path that will eventually lead him against the whole of Crown and all within it!
Grozol returned after a short while, "The demon is drained as you commanded."
An evil smile spread across Szeethe's face. "Good, brother," he said with a hiss, "Then take what is left and throw it in the dark pool."
The were-rat bowed slightly in deference and returned to the others, who were stuffing the emptied body of his father into an oil-cloth sack. They lifted the grizzly parcel and quietly departed the macabre tannery. Szeethe watched as his brothers left, knowing it would take hours for them to give his dear old dad to the beast in the waters and then return.
They were the were-rats discarded by the demons, the small brood birthed by his mother before his own glorious creation. The Cult had taken them and raised them to be minions with complete and utter loyalty to the Grey God. They became very useful tools, carrying out the more loathsome tasks of the dark society.
In the future, they would likely be even more useful as they were bred, creating more and more minions with but a single master. In passing generations, they would make up an ever-increasing proportion of their population in the city, until a large percentage of their kind were wholly subservient to the Cult's wishes. In time few would be able to determine which of the rats were Cultists and which were merely low-born denizens of Crown.
Szeethe turned from the opened door and disappeared into the night once more. He carefully made his way through the winding streets and into the more populated areas of the city where report of all he had done this night must be made. Though he might command numerous underlings, he was himself a servant of a greater power. And this one did not like to be kept waiting.
He slipped through a narrow alleyway and stepped into a smoky tavern. Inside, Szeethe found the usual mix of people to be expected in what was a lower-end grogery, especially at this late hour. There were several dwarves holding a conversation in a corner, a saruulan drinking some kind of wine at the bar, and an odd party of two elves and a tiefling speaking with a badly-scarred Alonn. By their gestures, the demon-rat figured the slit-neck was about to suffer something unpleasant.
None of them paid him any attention. After all, he looked just like any other were-rat, simply one more member of that lowest class in Crown. He took no insult at their disinterest. Being anonymous made his work easier. Indeed, the more others ignored or under-estimated him, the better.
Szeethe made eye-contact with the balding bar keeper, a human who was also a member of the Cult. The rough-looking man nodded and glanced towards a back door. The were-rat returned the gesture and then made his way to the store-room. He opened the heavy-wooden door and stepped through without so much as a glance behind.
When the door closed, the were-rat stepped a few paces and then knelt, placing his fore-head on the floor. The stone was cool and wet against his skin. After a few moments, he felt the air cool as an even colder presence arrived. A wicked hiss escaped his lips as he raised his head and gazed into the darkness, seeing only two red eyes in the gloom.
"I have come," he said.
"Indeed you have, my most trusted servant," came an even more wicked voice, "And you have done well this night. Now rise, and tell me everything."
Szeethe stood, a sense of awe filling him as he faced Mahizor, High Priest of the Cult, his mentor, his master, his new father...
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