The ifrit known as Lecthar smiles broadly, flashing a mouth full of twisting dagger teeth. He caresses a large gem, which rests atop a stone pedestal in the center of a large domed room.
“How fares the subject?” a man implores from behind the outsider. “Is his torment great?”
Lecthar spins with a whoosh of flame. “As of now, he believes himself safe and sound. Far from our clutches in Varisia, being an adventurer.” The evil ifrit’s chuckle falls like ash from his mouth. “We will awake him soon to let him know he is, in fact, still in chains.”
“Good,” the man says, leaning closely to peer into the gem. " Zakiv must feel ultimate joy before we steal it from him again. Jahirak the Grief-maker does not allow his children to disobey. He will learn his place in time." The mad slaver chuckles deeply with joy at his own wickedness.