A great hall, flames licked the walls while shadows flickered back and forth across the room. In the centre, a banqueting table with a dozen ornate thrones around it. At the head of the table sits Quayle. He examines the table for a moment before placing the sword of Velnashar before him where it sinks almost imperceptibly into the table and a wave of power flows from it. Moments later other weapons appear in front of most of the other thrones and their owners appear within the seats.
Quayle looked around the table, to his left a woman, dark and beautiful with a sword identical to his before her. Next to her an ancient looking zombie with a staff in front of him, beside him a pair of daggers sat before a dark hooded figure followed by a creature who seemed to be made from shadow. There were a pair of empty seats followed by a High Elf in blue Quayle recognised instantly, another Elven figure beside him followed by a golden skinned demon and another empty seat.
Quayle smiled at the ensemble before stating calmly, “I call this council to order.”
“You may have the sword but that doesn’t give you the right to summon us.” this came from the demon.
“It doesn’t give you the right to even sit amongst us.” added the woman.
“She has a point.” Quayle recognised Erathil’s voice “you are not your father. We should elect a new leader.”
“Someone’s just happy not to be the new boy any longer.” the hooded figure hissed causing Erathil to scowl.
Larweyella stood too “I am the most senior, I claim leadership.”
Several of the gods spoke at once, a couple in agreement but most in dissent.
Quayle touched the hilt of his sword and power flowed once more, into each of the other weapons and into the other gods, silencing them.
“My father formed this council. I claim all that is his by dint of conquest, including leadership of this council.”
Larweyella shook off whatever control the council table had over the gods to make them stop arguing and grabbed her sword.
“You are not your father.”
“No, my father took from each of you. Betrayed you and this council, murdered your followers.” he glanced towards the hooded figure before continuing. “He sought to destroy this world and all of you. He was a fool.”
Quayle saw the blade coming from his left and stepped back, avoiding it easily and drawing his other sword from its scabbard. He turned to face Larweyella.
“I’ll kill you boy.”
Quayle laughed “You tried, and failed, when I was mortal. What chance do you have now?”
“Now, you’re alone.” she swung the sword once more but Quayle parried.
He made a gesture to the seated gods who were watching the spectacle with interest, “Apparently, so are you.”
Larweyella glowered at those around the table before turning back and raining a flurry of blows against her foe, powered by pure rage. “I have waged war for decades!”
Quayle parried and avoided each one though they were getting closer “But this isn’t war. This is barely a duel.”
Her onslaught continued, “I’ll kill you and take your father’s power.”
She lunged, her sword finding a gap in her opponent’s defence. As the sword seemed about to pierce his chest he just smiled.
Larweyella’s flaming sword disappeared and as she lunged forward, Quayle grabbed her by the hair, twisting it as he pulled her face towards his, “That sword was part of my father’s power. Part of my power. Trying to use it against me was…foolish.” He let go of the goddess and swung his own sword towards her face.
As it struck the goddess it stopped, her blood trickled down the blade from the long scratch it had made on her face but it went no further.
Larweyella pushed the blade away and laughed in Quayle’s face, “And that sword was the sword of the furious blades, forged with blood spilled on Serke Kemi. My blood. My power. Using it against me was fool…”
She didn’t get to finish the word as Quayle’s punch sent her reeling. Quayle advanced, hitting her again and again, a brutal onslaught of blows that turned the goddesses face into a bruised and bloodied mess. One particularly vicious blow lifted her off the ground and she collapsed to the floor shaking. As she tried to stand Quayle kicked her again and again until she just lay there.
He knelt beside her, lifted her head up by the chin and kissed her deeply. It was an act of violation without tenderness or love or passion, designed to show her that she was broken. He used her hair to wipe the blood from his hands before spitting in her face. He stood up once more, letting go of her chin and her body went limp, her head bouncing off the floor.
As Quayle retook his seat, he smiled at the gods.
“Is she dead?” the demon asked.
Quayle shook his head.
“You aren’t going to kill her?” the voice was Erathil’s.
“No…not because I can’t. Not because I don’t want to. Not because I fear retaliation or want her to live knowing she was beaten. Very simply, by leaving her alive she’ll heal and then…I can beat her again.”
“Here is my promise to you. If any of you turn on me then I will kill all of your followers. Every. Single. One. My father didn’t watch the heroic community closely and so he missed them plotting against him, I will not make the same mistake. If I find your followers working against me, I will take out my displeasure on you.”
He looked around at the gods, his face brightening once more.
“Now…is there anybody else who wishes to question my right to lead this council?”
"And unconscious people always count as willing"
Tome of Magic 6.0