<div class="floatleft"> (http://i132.photobucket.com/albums/q15/doogieporker/Dark_Castle_by_vimark.jpg) </div>Cormac, the Dark One, strode down the long foyer that led to the two massive iron doors that were the entrance to his castle home.  Behind him, a procession of loyal subjects, from his Vizier to his trusted generals moved along at an even pace, sure not to pass him or even step in line with him.  He was the bloodthirsty warlord who had subjugated an entire realm beneath his armored boot.  None dared challenge him in his own domain, preferring to catch what meager scraps fell from his coffers than to catch the falling of his axe.<br/><br/>Red eyes gleaming eerily from behind his horned helm, the warlord strode with confidence and the easy gait of a warrior.  Though his skin was ashen, long ago tainted by the poison of a great Shadow Wyrm, his muscles were as hard and strong as ever, and his speed was unsurpassed in battle.  It had been twenty years since he'd taken Harogard Karte as his own, and he seemed not a day older, not an age beyond the night when he had invaded from the Muir Urdine ocean.  He was power, raw and savage and ruthless power, and those who had dared stand against him had fallen, beaten and bloodied, into their graves.<br/><br/>The procession continued, the warlord's pitch black cloak sliding along the darkened marble floors, until they passed through the double doors, and out onto the veranda overlooking the gathering of servants, slaves, and soldiers, all members of Castle Cormac to one degree or another.  The assembly had been served after a failed assassination attempt, one in which the Dark One himself had personally beaten his would-be killer, single-handedly, and with no weapon.  Now, the enemy agent was hung with heavy chains about his arms and chest, his ankles shackled together and his entire body suspended upside down from a set of gallows.  He was naked, save for a simple loin cloth covering which barely hid the loss of control on his bladder when he saw Cormac approach.  The King stopped, eying the man coldly, then raised his voice, speaking loudly enough for the entire assembly to hear.<br/><br/>"Before you is the one that thought me weak!" he cried, anger and fury obvious in his preternatural voice.  "The sneak thief who thought to take me as I slumbered, to snatch my life away and return victorious to the traitor Volrath.  But I am not weak, nor tired, nor failing in my rule.  I am the Dark One, the Iron Gauntlet on Harogard Karte, and I will not be defeated.  Those who try, those who seek to end my life and claim its worth as their own will be punished with such severity as to send a message to their fellows..."<br/><br/>With that, he nodded to his executioners, who both took up long, curved swords, their eyes devoid of mercy or pity behind their black death shrouds.  They both held them high, and, as one, brought them swinging down, both weapons crossing within a hairsbreadth of one another, before biting into the man's neck at the same instant.  The assassin's head rolled free, blood spraying onto the dark earth, and before they could sheathe their weapons, the assassin was well and truly dead.<br/><br/>"Let his be a warning.  Death awaits those who betray the Dark One.  I will eat the hearts of mine enemies, and drink of their blood.  Cormac shall never be defeated!"<br/><br/>More out of fear than anything, the servants and slaves all cried out in response to Cormac's boast, cheering their King lest they become the next to fall to the executioner's blade.  The only ones who showed any exuberance in their joyous cries were the various knights and legion soldiers in the crowd, their devotion to the Dark One almost religious in its zeal.  As the cries faded, Cormac descended the winding stairs, moving toward the bleeding, headless corpse.  The crowd fell silent then as he approached, and when he came to stand before the dead assassin, his hand shot out, digging into the man's chest.  Viciously, he pulled it back out, the still beating assassin's heart in his grasp.  He raised it high, his soldiers cheering, before bringing it to his lips and savagely tearing into it with his teeth.  He bit again and again, devouring the organ, until nothing remained but the blood stains on his hands.<br/><br/>The cry of Cormac, chanted again and again, went up from the crowd, and the King receded, once more returning to the innards of Castle Cormac.  His procession turned to follow him, though as he passed, he ordered the steward to round up a slave for his amusement, and to have her taken directly to his chambers.  The blood-letting had aroused him, had fueled his ever-present lust into a roaring fire, and he had need for diversion.  Plus, it would do to put one of them in line, to further reinforce what happened to those who displeased the King.  The steward nodded, and hurried away, moving back out to the assembly and signaling the knights gathered.  They began prodding the servants and slaves back inside, pushing them if they moved too slowly for their liking, and the steward watched, eying the women gathered and trying to determine the one to best receive the King's attention.<br/><br/>"You!" he called out, pointing to a busty, scantily-clad woman in the crowd.  "Come with me.  You are to be the personal entertainment for the Dark One this eve.  Best hurry, girl...you know he doesn't like to be kept waiting..."