Fortuitous Prodigy

A tall, dark man stood before a mirror, his only convenient view of the world outside his prison. A prison where he was the King, almost God, of all that he could see about him. Where every soul was loyal or too terrified to stand against him. A prison where the sun held no sway over the land, nor did the moon, unless at his say-so. It would be a paradise, but for two things. The woman he had sacrificed every scrap of honour and dignity for, even his soul, and something to do for entertainment. There were only so many times you could massacre the same reincarnating souls before they all stopped really being afraid. They still were, of course, but it wasn't the visceral "Oh Gods, what is that thing?" terror it once was. Now, it was a resigned, tear-filled horror, which simply wasn't remotely as gripping a part to play as the unholy demon striking the illusion of peace itself down.

And so he drank from his cup, a brooding smile growing on his face before the mirror as he sought for fools he could lure to his prison. Heroes that might restore hope to his playthings and revive the thrill of his games for him. And with any luck, he may have found one. A young child, he could coax along to become his foe, the idealism plain in the child's face as he played among ruins that the man recognized from long studies. A ruin that held secrets he could push the child to discover. The boy and his brother were playing Fox and Rabbit, each taking turns to hunt the other through the crumbling lost fort. The man wove a minor spell, dropping a rock onto a moss-covered chest, and the soft sound of buried metal drew the boy's eyes over. As the man expected, the boy set about trying to hide in the chest and unknowingly set his life on a far different track than fate had first ordained for him. For in that chest, as the man could sense across space and time, was a book brimming with arcane secrets that would undoubtedly drive the child to learn magic. Chuckling, the man thought, ' With his heart as it is, that boy will seek not to rule the world, but to protect it. The fool.' And now a hero was in the making, and his villainy could mean something once more when he brought the child to his prison.

The games he could play against him flitted across his mind. But patience was never in his skillset; it would be some time before that child could be baited here. And so, his search continued for more immediate entertainers to lure here, even as he made notes on potential heroes to entice to his hated halls, for what is a game if you have no opponent?