Misery of Others

Surprisingly, everything went well, Ted was able to dodge the potential proverbial bullet of Doira's sudden disappearance. He was constantly surrounded with such blind devotion that he almost forgot he was supposed to feel anxious.

Then a cultist was disobedient towards him and he exploded.

He did not remember, in his rage, what had actually happened. Eknie urged him to be calm, and this only enraged him further.

He was coming closer and closer to disposing of her once and for all, but he knew she never missed her mark and was insanely loyal to him. He had to save her death for a moment in the future where it could be actually more useful than harmful to him.

They were standing in the shadow of the cherry trees and Ted was squeezing a whip in his hands.

Eknie turned away, apparently giving up on her attempts to console him.

Ted had never paid much attention to the specific words spoken by the lowly and crass. He got the general sentiment, but he considered diving deep into the verbal inadequacies and the anti-high class sentiments of the common folk detrimental to one's mental health.

"Bare your upper body," he said to the trembling fellow who had made him so angry.

The man was of mundane blood, a postman, a milkman or something dull like that. He really only had himself to blame. Ted was sure that although he was not, in any way, actually hurt by the remarks – something about high class fashion being too feminine – he was absolutely within his rights to whip up the offender. Not that he was, morally speaking, in the right, but such things changed as traditions changed.

"Let's see me handle a whip with my ladylike hands," Ted joked.

He knew that his hands were rather large, but then again, so were his shoulders, and his considerable height as well.

No one dared to say anything against him. No one dared to raise a hand, either.

The cultist revealed a lanky upper body that would not be able to withstand a severe lashing. Instead, Ted opted for a few taps with a riding crop. It didn't feel like a whole lot to him. In fact, he quite enjoyed the anticipation and the sharp smack on the bare flesh. It was not much to him. It was barely enough to draw blood.

However, the victim did not seem to feel the same way about it, judging by the screams.

"A member of the Society has to be rough and disciplined," Ted said.

Corporeal punishment was not uncommon enough that any heads would turn, even if the word got out that Ted had been whipping people up. It was merely a matter of choosing the right target.

No one said anything until Eknie asked for permission to bandage the man.

Ted knew his new cultist name to be Radiant Ray. What a pompous name it was, for such an unassuming man, it really made Ted question whether it was good to take the input of the initiates themselves into account when choosing names.

"Sure, go ahead, and maybe wipe it with a rag soaked in alcohol as well," Ted said. "The stinging feeling will give him a nice lesson."

He tried his best to remember how much fun it had been initiating Dragons straight into their privileged positions as elder cultists. He didn't get much joy out of that thought.

Other people were in no way allowed to have as much fun as he had.

He provided the other cultists with words of reassurance. Yes, yes, it was only the lowly and the crass who got whipped – only the ones who deserved it. He lied until his mouth felt dry.

Now, it was about keeping a low profile.

Ted had committed his first act of violence towards a cultist. Something special had begun, a web of tension had started to tighten around those who felt a connection to him.

There was a name for the logical fallacy that kept people from abandoning something they had invested time, money or effort in, but Ted still could not remember what it was called. Nevertheless, he now knew that he had a strong grip on the cult. People were on edge around him, always eager to please him, to serve him, in small ways and in big ways. He even managed to ramp up the voluntary payments by doing certain business favors for one particular Dragon.

It took a scrying hag and some illicit booze to get the foretelling the fellow needed, but his investments went well. Perhaps it was a lucky accident.

Ted told everyone it was the reading of the stars and the planets that allowed such things to happen. In reality, he was not sure about that at all.

He did not know what the distant stars cared about, but surely it was not this small world. The stars had their own planets to torture with their light. Ted was rather happy that they were so far away that they were unable to form any demonic or divine entities to act on their behalf.

As to how he felt about the sun god now, he was so full of hatred and anger that it seemed unwise to even think about the matter. That could have been the purpose of the whole dog trick with the possession and everything. Perhaps it was hatred and fear that the sun god needed, and if that was true, the sacrifices were in for an unpleasant surprise.

Ted chuckled darkly, rocking in his chair, dangerously close to toppling the whole thing over.

He wrote down a few lines.

FUEL? Hate. Fear.

Whatever you do, it will win.

HAVE FUN, then!

He did not know why he felt himself speaking so loudly to himself inside his own head. Enjoying the misery of others was in no way hard for him. He did not need encouragement for that.

Feeling a slight heartburn rise inside his chest, he strolled to the kitchen. He did not feel like waiting for a servant to bring him his milk.

The door that was supposed to be locked was open.