Atop one of the high cliffs overlooking Mayoi, Nithruvis the Cruel stood with arms crossed. Here in charge of a scouting party, he had left his followers and servants behind to spend a few moments in solitude, considering the land before them.
He looked over the hills, the sea, and the little valley in which the human town had been built. He let his thoughts wander to the days when all this land, the whole wartorn island of Dereth, had been ruled by his people, the watchers and witches of the Falatacot. The domains of the Falatacot had been wiped away by war, cataclysm, and climactic change thousands of years ago, the lands re-settled by their cousins and then re-settled by a seemingly endless supply of squalling, fearful, fragile humans. It was enough to make Nithruvis sick with rage at all that had been stolen from his people.
He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander back through the ancient memory that he and other powerfully blessed Falatacot shared. Even as his eyes surveyed the sandy cliffs and sloping grassy hills of this region, he could see within his mind the verdant jungle that had once stood here. Though he gazed upon the wooden hovels of the human interlopers, he could still see the glorious stone temples that his people had once raised. When he sniffed the air, he could smell the bread and meats in the cookfires of the human settlement mixing with the heady smell of the sacred herbs and living flesh that his people had sacrificed to their dark gods, millennia ago…
He was broken from his reverie by an excited shout from the valley below, where all his followers were still searching for something… To his ears, it sounded like they'd found something, possibly the thing that he and his counterparts around had been scouring all of Dereth for. Soon enough, as expected, his chief messenger Ssissanak came dutifully trotting up the hill. Nithruvis kept his eyes closed, listening to the Sclavus's labored breath wheezing through the metal faceplate it wore over its snake-shaped head.
“Commander,” the snake hissed, “the scouts have recovered this. We think it is the stone you seek.” Bending low in reverence, the Sclavus presented him with a chunk of iridescent stone, glowing faintly in the light of dusk. It still had clumps of mud clinging to it, but the power present within the stone could not be concealed by mere dirt.
Nithruvis held the hunk of stone close to his face, examining its every feature and facet. He ran his long, elegant fingers over its oddly smooth surface, delighting in the tingle of magic he felt from it. He sniffed it and found something familiar and comforting in it. Finally comforted, he smiled softly and looked down at the Sclavus, who took a wary step back. Ssissanak was well familiar with this infamous Falatacot noble's vicious mood changes, and he could not tell if Nithruvis was genuinely pleased with the piece of stone or if he was merely taking pre-emptive pleasure in yet another outburst of sadism.
“It will serve,” Nithruvis told the messenger curtly. “Dispatch four messages for me. Tell my masters, the Patriarchs, that I have chosen this location for a base. Inform my three fellow commanders of the choice we have made. Direct the sorcerers to re-route the fortress accordingly. And tell the taskmasters that the time is upon us, and they must open the breeding pens and the dungeons to assemble a raiding party. Quickly, now.”
Ssissanak bowed quickly and hurried off to make all the necessary arrangements. As he joined the crowd below, another one of Nithruvis' retinue came trotting up the hill. This time it was the herald, Dhissikh.
“Master, is it true?” the smaller snake asked him. “We found the stones of the summoning circle?”
Nithruvis nodded. “We have found the site of one of the great temples of our lost age. As the Wheel of All Things brings destruction and renewal, so will we gather up the bones of that which was destroyed and infuse them with the blood of that which still lives. We will complete the circle once more, and so raise the temple to serve our lord once more…”
The insolent herald interrupted him. “But it is a new lord! A different lord! The Matriarchs did not speak of T'thuun with kindness or fondness! Master, I ask you again to reconsider your allegiance to these upjumped Patriarchs! They are ignorant of the Lore of Blood and Bone, and do not know the Old Ways! By turning our backs on the Matriarchs, we risk our very --”
Whatever else Dhissikh meant to say was lost when Nithruvis spun and grabbed his throat with one large, strong hand. The ancient noble lifted the small, struggling Sclavus into the air and shook him like a rag doll.
“The Old Ways are lost! The Matriarchs failed us and their hoary hidden masters failed us! It is time we turned to a new power to reclaim what is rightfully ours! Your prattling about loyalty to those who have failed us, over and over again, has grown tiring, little snake. You are a slave! A creature entirely of our creation! It is not for you or the rest of your simple-minded brood to question my judgment or the judgment of the Patriarchs. To speak as you have spoken about the Lord of the Creeping Blight is blasphemy.”
Dhissikh hissed and gurgled protest as Nithruvis tightened his grasp. Finally, there was a crack and a final long hiss, and the little herald stopped struggling. Nithruvis looked over his shoulder. Down in the valley, all his servants had seen this confrontation, and the price Dhissikh paid for his insolence and presumption. He sneered at them and flung the small, reptilian corpse into the sea. Laughing in wicked pleasure, Nithruvis wiped his hands and started walking down the hill to rejoin his newly chastened minions.

