Morturion cursed as he fell to the ground. He had not expected the fool to turn into a raavening beast, but at least he would be prepared for that next time. His souleater, however, would not. The blue, horned humanoid was splattered, just like the one in the centre of the room. In an outburst of frustration, he addressed the whole council and said, "Could you stop using my servants as punchbags!?" Turning to Aidan and Alroy, he snarled, and slung a magical sphere around them with a flick of his wrist. Without a good degree of magical effort, they would not be able to leave the sphere's limits, and could not transform within it. The words 'japes of the night' blazed above the sphere in fiery letters.
Morturion spoke loudly, "I will not suffer a charade such as that again. Were you in my hall, you would already be dead. You are the fortunate ones, for I believe this council also wants you alive, ridiculous though that seems. I am no mere mortal, but a thousand year old necromancer; one, I feel, will soon become a Liche. Whereas you are a pair of vain adolescents who would dare to enter the Wastes in a flying castle! In case you haven't noticed, Tzeentch has his own flying fortress - originally the great wizard Fozzrik's, and it's much, much bigger than whatever petty tower you've got out there, which I could disenchant, if I felt so inclined. Then where would you be?"
A smile played on his face. Morturion needed something...bigger this time. Something more powerful. He smiled, and a vast flesh golem stepped forward, bigger than the average vargheist. It was an amalgamation of disgusting leathery browns, rotting greens, and cold, dead pinks, with bone and dark magic underneath. It had two sets of arms, and blades in each of them, and its face seemed to be moulded onto the top half of its chest. A formidable foe, without doubt.
Morturion continued, his calm attitude resumed. "I shall let you out now," he said resolvedly, "but if further incidents are to occur, then there will be consequences. I am not a mothering man, so I fear my discipline is a little on the harsh side." Morturion drew a slicing motion across his armoured neck, as if to indicate what the consequences would be. "And you may want to remember," he intoned quietly, before making the sphere dissipate, "punishment does not end with death."
Morturion surrounded himself with a protective circle of rotating, arcane shadows and blazing flames. He stepped within what he thought was a safe distance to be from Rowhaine, and ruminated on how he would get his revenge. There could well be revenge in store for these terrible twins. Already, a ghastly plan had formulated in his mind, and a letter was planned. The first two lines were to go like this, Morturion decided: "Dear Count Krieger, there are a certain pair of vampires I would like to report..."
