And so did the pair continue onwards. Saqqara, thrall make to Oleander, never liked the scientist who held his leash. Though that's a given when said person owns the one thing that binds you to this plane. Saqqara was once human, still is on most accounts, save for his pseudo phylactery.
Saqqara is what one might call a litch. However instead of a walking skeleton commanding a host of undead, he was a living body that commands a legion of demons. Or, rather he did. His rise to power was cut short, not by and army of heroes, not by the accursed anti-mages that this country is so fond of using; no his rise to power was ended by one man and a drugged bottle of wine. Saqqara, under the influence of whatever the spider gave him, divulged his secrets to the nine times damned poisoner.
The Diabolists scowl deepened at the memory.
Oh how foolish he was, he thought himself invincible and let his guard down for but a moment. This was a lesson he will not forget unto his dying day, which hopefully will be well after he watches Oleander burn in a pit of living fire. That will be the day Saqqara can smile once more. Until then however, he must wait and bide his time. Eventually Oleander will slip up, it may not be today, but one day he will have his revenge.
"Saqqara, we will be coming up to a town soon," his master warned. Saqqara knew what that meant, and threw his hood over his tattooed head. How he hated this country, so ignorant they were to the truth of the world. They denounce the very fabric of existence as heresy! What stupidity! Oh, he loathed them but he did not hate them over much. For Saqqara pitied the folk, for they knew not of true beauty.
As he and Oleander passed into the village, he spied a boy no older than five. This one he could tell is gifted. With proper training and time, he could rival the best from back home. But alas, his only fate would be death or worse should he be found. Such waisted potential.