Page 20 of The Dark Lord Awakens
Mistress Pokey. I vaguely remembered thinking her thorn-covered arms looked “pokey” and the name had amused me. I’d probably been sleep-deprived at that point in my character creation marathon.
“What is the state of our food production?” I asked.
“Sufficient to prevent starvation, but only just,” she replied, her tone practical. “The eternal twilight limits what crops will grow. We have focused on shadow wheat, nightshade vegetables, and blood fruit orchards. With additional labor and resources, we could increase yield by perhaps thirty percent.”
“That will be a priority,” I said firmly. “A hungry population is an unstable one.”
She looked surprised but pleased. “Indeed, my lord. I shall prepare proposals for your review.”
The final department head was an amphibious demon with webbed hands and feet, luminescent eyes, and skin that glistened with moisture. He made a gurgling sound before speaking.
“Duke Splashypants, Lord of the Murk Marshes, Master of the Moist Dominion, at your service, dread sovereign,” heannounced, his voice bubbling as if speaking underwater. “The ancient water dynasty of House Splashypants renews its eternal pledge to your darkness.”
I was going to murder past-Beau. Splashypants? Really? I must have been absolutely hammered when I created this character. Probably during that weekend when my roommate brought home that bottle of mystery alcohol with the snake at the bottom.
“Duke Splashypants,” I acknowledged, somehow keeping a straight face. “How fare the marshlands?”
“Rich in resources but dangerous to harvest, my liege,” he gurgled. “The marshwalkers do what they can, but many have been lost to the deep sinks and the predators that dwell within. With proper equipment and training, we could triple our yield of alchemical ingredients and rare minerals.”
“Prepare a proposal,” I instructed. “The marshes may be key to our recovery.”
He bowed deeply, water dripping from his elaborate headdress. “The Moist Dominion lives to serve.”
I managed not to snicker at “Moist Dominion,” which I considered a personal victory of willpower. My inner twelve-year-old was having a field day.
With the department heads introduced, Azrael stepped forward again. “My lord, your personal companions have awaited your return most eagerly. They are gathered in the courtyard, if you wish to greet them.”
“Of course,” I said, genuinely curious to see what my “companions” were like. In the game, I’d designed several pets and mounts, each with unique abilities.
We exited the Grand Hall through a different set of doors, these leading to a long gallery lined with portraits. Each painting depicted a different demon, all wearing elaborate formal attireand expressions of extreme constipation—or extreme dignity, it was hard to tell the difference.
“The Ancestral Gallery,” Azrael explained. “The noble houses of Iferona.”
I paused before one particularly stern-looking portrait. The demon had six eyes arranged in a circle around his head and was holding what appeared to be a severed human head.
“Lord TBDlater the Disemboweler,” Azrael supplied. “A most loyal vassal until his unfortunate… retirement.”
The way he said “retirement” made me suspect it involved something sharp and permanent.
“And this one?” I asked, pointing to an empty frame with just a black smudge where a face should be.
“Lord FixNameInEditing the Treacherous,” Azrael replied, his voice suddenly cold. “His image was magically erased after his betrayal. As was Lord FixNameInEditing himself.”
I suppressed a wince. Those were definitely placeholder names I’d thrown in during a late-night gaming session, intending to come back and give them proper demonic titles later. Apparently “later” never came, and now these ridiculous names were part of Iferona’s noble history. Even worse, the demons probably thought these were ancient, dignified titles passed down through generations.
Also, mental note: don’t betray the Dark King. Bad for your complexion. And existence.
We continued through the gallery and down a spiral staircase wide enough for ten people to walk abreast. The stairs descended at least five stories, passing landings that led to different wings of the castle.
“The eastern wing houses the libraries and arcane laboratories,” Azrael informed me as we passed one landing. “The western wing contains the armory and training grounds.The northern wing holds the guest chambers, though they have been… underutilized… in recent centuries.”
“No surprise there,” I muttered. “Nothing says ‘welcome’ like a fortress called the Dark Citadel.”
“The southern wing,” Azrael continued, ignoring my comment, “contains the kitchens, servant quarters, and various storerooms. Below us are the dungeons, the Chambers of Torment, and the wine cellar, as previously mentioned.”
“Let’s skip the Chambers of Torment tour,” I suggested. “I’m not really in a torment-y mood today.”
Azrael looked almost disappointed. “As you wish, my lord.”
