The Fall of Illidrandon, part 2

Slender hands working quickly; the blade easily sinking into the exposed flesh of deceived kin. Stuttering gargles escaping from the abused throat, new slits forcing once-life-giving air to mingle with the frantic breaths of the killer.
     Vexa’tu stood over his brother’s convulsing corpse, dagger in hand. His pupils grand and excited, his hatred painted as a wicked smile upon his lips. His victim was now silent; a pile of soon-to-be decay; a gift for the God of Rotten Death. Vexa'tu pushed the body out of the window, into the bushes and beyond. The house was silent. None had awakened. Good. Ever slowly he dragged his first offering towards the town square. It was heavy, Vexa'tu felt his strength falter as the adrenaline left his system. The large, black book dangling from a setting in his belt, making the process even more difficult. A long streak of green blood followed his deed as he slowly made his way.
     In the center of the town square stood a grand dais — a foot in height, about a body in diameter. Perfection. Vexa'tu placed his burden upon the stone, spreading its legs and arms out and then folding them into impossible angles shown to him in visions by the Putrid One. Loud cracks from the breaking of bones echoed between artful buildings.
     The first moon was gone by the time he was done. Vexa’tu let a deep sigh escape him as he took a step back to admire his work. He sat down, loosened the book from his belt and set it out before him. The wanting pages opened, its symbols moving in hypnotic patterns on the leathery parchment. All he had to do now was sing the toxic words taught to him and power would be his. He parted his lips. Tongue twisting, the dark speech tormenting his throat. Croaking words fled his dry mouth as arythmic vomit; painting the ground dead black — shadowy tendrils choking grass and stone alike. The horrid chanting grew louder and it’s echoes amplified it further still. Vexa’tu fell down on all fours, desperate to steady himself as the overflowing unwords spilled forth from his perverted throat. Rancid shadows grew and darkened the already night-veiled, tenebrous town. A deep and rumbling tone forced its way out of Vexa’tu's entire being; a long drawn out unsound that felt like it lasted for eternities. Until it did not. A moment of sisilenceA pause. Then screams, hundreds of them. Pained and loud, so loud. Distorted and echoing; creating a mismatched choir of death. The townfolk waking from excrutiating pain, running out into the streets, clawing at their eyes and ears as sludge and decay filled their vision and muffled their hearing. Vexa’tu saw it all, tears forming at the edges of his dry eyes. The sight was horrible. Terrifying. He wanted to flee, escape what he had brought. He couldn’t. He felt the Ox breathe down his neck. He felt new power given to him. He accepted it.

The Traitor let himself smile.