Sir Drenthor

Sir Drenthor was resting at his camp in some woods. The fire was burning mightily, and his tent - as well as the tents of his followers - were pitched around it. Horses were snorting and Sav'era could sense the presence of multiple humans below. She hovered above them, an unseen spirit. Their desires and wants called out to her. Not just their sexual ones, but everything. One man had suffered a wound in his side, and was terrified that it had turned septic. Such would surely kill him if he could not find a healer in time, and was desperately hoping that it would be okay. Sav'era dropped towards him, seeing the wound and knowing that he would not recover. It was infected, and would become septic within the next few days. The man was as good as dead.

She sighed, annoyed with herself as she reached out and ran her hands across his body. He stiffened suddenly, new strength flowed into him. Sav'era sterilised the wound with a blast of unseen power, and started him healing again. It took more energy than she would have liked, and she frowned as she turned away.

"Idiot," She muttered. "Always so soft. But a lingering painful **** is a terrible way to die. A miracle saved me from the same fate, am I so cruel as to doom another to it in turn? I am a demon, but I am not that."

Next, she turned to Drenthor himself. He was sleeping in his tent, and she took a few moments to get a good look at him.

He was handsome and powerful, with a muscular body and dirty blond hair. He must have been around thirty, and years of combat and training his made him powerfully built, with corded muscles and a wide chest. Yet his face was almost pretty, and had somehow managed to avoid scars or damage. Sav'era reached out, stroking one hand over his face, the closeness of their connection allowing her to read his desires more thoroughly.

What did Drenthor desire more than anything else? The answer came to her swiftly. He didn't want money or sex or land. He didn't even really want titles. He was motivated by a kind of ambition which took very few. Drenthor wanted legend. He wanted to be a legend. He wanted to be well known and famous, a hero who slew monsters and bested devils.

A sly grin pulled at Sav'era's face then.

"You are the sort we always loved to deal with back during the war," She told him. "Faith in no one but yourself. So easy to twist. All that matters to you is you."

Why did he want Susan? The answer came to her as she probed his thoughts. Susan meant nothing as an individual to him. He wanted an heir of good breeding. That meant he had to have a wife of noble descent. Susan was available, and Sylant would benefit greatly by bringing Drenthor into the royal family. How did she deal with this? She could not remove desire. She could sate it, or she could shift it.

In this case, she decided to shift it. Drenthor desired Susan because he wanted an heir to carry on his name. However, an heir did not matter if you did not intend to die. There were many legends of items which bestowed immortality. Drenthor had already considered this, but thought the quest doomed from the start. Hardly any knight setting out to acquire one ever returned.

"But you will," Sav'era whispered to his subconscious mind. Beguiling and enchanting, she fed her ego, his confidence, his secret mania. "Of course you will succeed. You are a legend, a hero. It will form the cornerstone of your myth, and endure that you are remembered for thousand and thousands of years. You must dedicate yourself to this quest. You have no time to marry, the years march on and every moment wasted is one you will not get back. Find your grail, discover immortality. Prove yourself to be the hero you know you should be."

His mind accepted her words easily. After all, they were things he already wanted to believe. She had not told him anything new, nor suggested anything against his nature. She knew that when he woke up tomorrow, he would be totally convinced that it was his own idea. He would abandon the marriage and turn his full attention towards seeking immortality.

And he would probably die because of it.

Sav'era felt a small ping of guilt, but only because of her promise to Susan. She had little sympathy for men like this. She had told Susan that she would not kill the man and it had been true. He would die by his own actions, judged by his own arrogance.

Besides, he still had a small chance. If he truly was as good as he thought he was, he might succeed.

It was a cruel trick to play perhaps, but Sav'era was a demon after all.