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"Bring forth the IMAG bitch."
Helen Back, Assassin herself, stood proudly, feeling right at home under the hateful glare of Malechai, her face radiant, as she watched a group of Assassins tug on the chain reeling in a sphere of darkness.
To her left knelt Metro Gnome, and Butt Ugly (who was still rolling a piece of grapefruit skin thoughtfully around in his mouth). Out to one side, in a painted square on the floor, stood Ron da Vue in idle contemplation.
Inside the sphere of darkness was Connie Chi-Wa, IMAG priestess and final member of the not-so-Camp Evil party, and now-captive of the Malechais.
Priest Papa spoke to Connie but his eyes were on Helen's lovely form.
"We will be putting a Malechai Heart Geas on you, IMAG slut," he leered. "And you will be controlled by our hated-heart Helen here. You may refuse the Geas, of course, but then we have no need for you. Malechai hates not to welcome the soul of an IMAG priest, slut or not."
Connie grunted reluctant assent.
The Priest smiled.
"Bring forth the captive," he said.
A naked woman was dragged in by two orcs, her neck and wrists chained. By her musculature and macromastia, she was probably one of the Shield Maiden captives that the group had seen earlier in the day.
She had many signs of recent torture all over her tanned body, but more disturbing was that her eyes had been burned out and her lips sewn closed. By the distension of her cheeks, Helen knew that there would be foul acrid herbs stuffed into her mouth cavity to cause further suffering, and to stop the stump of her tongue from bleeding too much. Two Assassins roughly placed the woman onto one of the iron slabs next to the High Altar. They forced her on her back and then chained her, wrists and ankles, painfully spread.
Priest Papa spoke some guttural phrases and two orcs waded in to Connie's clot of darkness. It suddenly winked out; a leather hood had been shoved over Connie's head, covering the IMAG darkness source on her helmet. The orcs stripped her roughly, tearing her clothing into tattered shreds. They man-handled her weedy, pasty, lily-white body over to the Assassins, who hauled her off to a another iron slab next to the spread Shield Maiden, and chained her in the same position.
Priest Papa walked between the two slabs, eyeing the chained occupants.
Helen and Ron both watched, fascinated.
Butt leered openly, never having seen his mistress exposed like this.
Metro guessed what was coming, so looked away.
Priest Papa pulled from his robes a small leather case and eased out a scalpel, the blade obsidian and wickedly sharp, and stood next the Shield Maiden. He began to chant, then bent over her, and traced a line with his finger on her belly following the line of her bottom ribs. She yanked on her chains and made a sobbing muffled pleading noise.
Still chanting, Priest Papa deftly flicked the scalpel, and he made a deep incision along the same line. Her struggles became violent, her pleading changing to a hysterical muffled scream. He worked swiftly, opening a hand-sized hole. She suddenly slumped, still and quiet. Then he quickly reached into her body cavity, up to his elbow, and tugged violently. Out came her heart in a fountain of arterial blood. It was still beating.
Muttering incantations, and well-drenched in blood, he stepped over to Connie and placed the dripping, still-beating heart onto Connie's sternum. Connie twisted and fought her chains, shaking her hooded head. Priest Papa's chanting reached a crescendo, then suddenly, the heart shrivelled up in a matter of a few seconds and became a dried husk, about the size of a thimble.
Papa intoned "It is done."
Connie trembled, soaked in sweat and blood from the heart, and tugged weakly on the chains.
Papa picked up the shrivelled heart and pressed it into a small iron ring. Then he attached a loop of fine chain to it.
He walked over to Helen and gave her the grisly medallion.
"Wear this next to your heart," he said. "You can control your IMAG whore with this. Simply squeeze it and she will feel pain. Should you stab it with your Malechai scalpel, she will die. But be very careful to keep her away from it."
"Why is that, Extremely-Hated Papa?" asked Helen.
"Should she possess it and perform the right ceremonies, Malechai's Geas can be broken. But we would HATE for that to happen, wouldn't we?"
"Perish the hateful thought, O Hated One."
"Because then," he added, "Malechai would hate that too."
Helen nodded slowly.
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