Metamorphosis: From Dretch to Demon Lord - Ascension Released!
- Thread starter BLACKDIRGE
- Start date
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OurManMute
First Post
I agree: get well soon, Blackdirge.
And BUMP (almost on the third page. Sheesh!)
And BUMP (almost on the third page. Sheesh!)
gloomymarshes
First Post
Bump.
gloomymarshes
First Post
D'oh!
and bump
and bump
blackshirt5
First Post
I've recently started reading this.
You need to work on this more Dirge. I command you. Seriously. I need my fix.
You need to work on this more Dirge. I command you. Seriously. I need my fix.
robberbaron
First Post
Just found this thread and I NEED MORE!
Having read several low-level SHs I find the epic proportions of 'dirge mighty stirring and inspirational. Gripping stuff.
Having read several low-level SHs I find the epic proportions of 'dirge mighty stirring and inspirational. Gripping stuff.
gloomymarshes
First Post
yesh, more please 
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Howdy all, update time.
Sorry for the delay but yet another move, and some new writing projects have kept me pretty busy. I will try to update as often as humanly possible.
Dirge
************************************************************
Part XI - Ill Tidings
Hazergal drifted formless in a void of dark silence, blissfully unaware of the events that transpired beyond his mental domain. He had disconnected from everything, simply switching off his conscious mind and existing in a state of comforting mindlessness. Although badly wounded in his recent conflict with the great balor Hedrenatherax, Hazergal’s demonic body should have recovered from such an ordeal completely unscathed. But he had not awoken after Hedrenatherax had delivered his limp unconscious form into the hands of Gemnez, and had remained insensate and unresponsive despite all the considerable skills of his infernal captor.
In truth Hazergal’s coma-like state was intentional. The pain and confusion of these last weeks had become unbearable. He had forgotten everything of his former life, as the demonic flesh that now housed his mind slowly consuming his identity. The battle with Hedrenatherax had been his limit, and he had willfully refused to return to the waking world and face the horror that his life had become.
So here he remained, buried deep within the vast uncharted reaches of his own mind. There was naught but darkness and silence here, and that was enough. Time had no meaning, and Hazergal found some sense of peace, however tenuous, in his veritable non-existence.
But Hazergal’s respite was not to last, and he felt the beginning tugs of his conscious mind, eager to return him to the world of sight and sound. He fought frantically, resisting the urge to wake and in his struggles he sensed another presence.
Who are you!? Hazergal screamed in the sightless void of his own mind. Coherent thought bloomed within the silence as Hazergal flailed about, blindly searching for the alien presence.
I think the proper question is: who are you? A barrage of monotone syllables assailed Hazergal as the invader droned its reply.
Hazergal suddenly found himself standing in a room that was oddly familiar to him. It was obviously a throne room, with the dominating seat of power carved from a single block of gold-flecked onyx. The throne sat at the far end of a long narrow hall and was highlighted by an immense backdrop of scarlet fabric. The floors were of onyx, like the throne, and polished to a high sheen. Hasergal’s gaze drifted to the reflective surface of the floor and saw to his dread the leering face of the creature he had become.
Hazergal was not alone in this dream state concoction. A figure sat in arrogant splendor upon the onyx throne, a wry smile twisting his bearded face. The figure and the face were hauntingly familiar to Hazergal, achingly reminiscent of something terribly vital.
The man on the throne was human, with a well-trimmed black beard and cold, humorless eyes. He stood, and spread his arms wide, his smile growing to allow his straight white teeth to gleam through the darkness of his beard. Dressed in a loose flowing robe of shimmering black fabric and a wide flaring cloak of deepest scarlet, he cut a striking figure of ominous potency.
“Well, well. This is quite a place you have here.” The man spoke and his words came out in the grim emotionless drone of the intruder.
“What is this place?” Hazergal asked, his eyes darting about the massive hall for anything that might spark his rapidly dwindling memory.
The intruder’s smile faded and his flat lusterless eyes found and held Hazergal’s own. “You must know, I pulled it from your mind.”
“I don’t understand. I have no recollection of this place or of you.” Hazergal replied, frustration leaking into his words.
“How odd.” The bearded man said and slumped down into the throne. “You truly have no memory?”
“No! I don’t remember anything!” Hazergal bellowed, his frustration bursting through. “Now tell me, who you are!” Hazergal flexed his long talons and made a single threatening step towards the throne.
Hazergal’s outburst had not pierced the calm exterior of the intruder, and he simply smiled again, that flat humorless creasing of his lips that conveyed not an ounce of joy or mirth.
“Who I am is not important, as I have said.” The intruder replied, the slightest hint of irritation creeping into the buzzing monotony of his words. “I will say only this, I am one who would see you reach your full potential, realize your destiny, become what you were meant to be. My reasons I shall not reveal to you now, but know this, I could be a very powerful ally or the most dire of enemies.” The intruder’s eyes blazed momentarily. “The choice is ultimately yours.”
“My potential!? What are you talking about!?” Hazergal raged. “I cannot even remember my own name, and you are blathering on about allies and enemies and my destiny. This is all utter nonsense!” The words to a dozen powerful spells flew to his mind as Hazergal vented, each one capable of reducing his tormentor to so much vapor, but he kept a firm grip on his anger. Even enraged as he was, the tiniest flame of hope still existed that this stranger might be able to tell him something, anything about his former life.
“Well then, it seems that this meeting may not have been wasted after all.” The intruder said in response to Hazergal’s tirade.
“What do you mean?” Hazergal hissed through his clenched fangs.
“I mean, that I can provide you with at least one piece of information you lack”
“What information? More secrets?” Hazergal asked suspiciously.
“No, no more secrets. I will tell you your name, demon.”
The rage drained from Hazergal as his hunger for this vital piece of information consumed him utterly. “Tell me. Please.” He whispered, wincing at the pathetic eagerness in his voice.
“As a mortal man, your name was Hazergal, Hazergal Redcloak.” The intruder said, the smile on his face finally reaching his eyes. “But, you are more than this now, and I believe that name shall soon lose its significance to you.”
Hazergal could not hear him, the rapture of those three syllables held him completely. “Hazergal…” The word rolled off his tongue like the kiss of long forgotten lover. “My name is Hazergal.”
Obviously tiring of Hazergal’s self-indulgent reverie, the smile faded from the intruder’s face and he stood. “Now, you must awaken and meet your destiny, for good or for ill. Awake. Hazergal. Awake.”
Hazergal opened his mouth to give voice to the near endless stream of questions that strained his mind to near bursting, but the walls of the throne room had begun to fade. Darkness trickled back into his mind like a sluggish stream, and Hazergal found himself struggling to keep hold of rational thought. The trickle became a flood, and he fell into the void once more. This time the darkness was fleeting and soon gave way to a scalding blur of bright light. Tactile sensation returned, and as Hazergal made the laborious ascent to consciousness, one word, buzzed hideously in the intruder’s monotone drone, lingered.
“Awake.”
“Is it dead?” Hedrenatherax rumbled, trying to peer over Gemnez’s looming bulk.
The huge devil was crouched toad-like over the prostrate from of a babau, the folds of his massive belly almost obscuring the smaller demon from sight. “No, he lives. It appears your crude methods have not done any permanent damage…at least physically.”
The two fiends stood within a square room, featureless beyond the iron door that marked its only egress. It was obviously a prison cell, although there were no manacles, or even the barest of creature comforts provided for those unlucky enough to be interred there. The cell occupied one of the many lower levels of Gemnez’s keep, and this particular cell was housed in a wing that had not seen use in centuries.
Gemnez stood, his massive elephantine legs thrusting his massive girth skyward with comparative ease. The baatezu stared down at the limp form of his “guest” and stroked the warty surface of his chin thoughtfully. “Hedrenatherax,” He called over his shoulder. “You have done well, but I wish to be alone with are new arrival. You may go.”
The Balor opened his fanged mouth to protest, but suddenly closed it with an audible snap. Twice he had been humiliated for defying Gemnez, and the demon had no desire to be on the receiving end of the obese devil’s ire again. Acquiescing for the moment, Hedrenatherax bowed his head and left the room.
“Alright, he has gone. You can stop pretending you’re not awake.” Gemnez said softly.
Hazergal opened his eyes, staring up at the colossal from of Gemnez. He had been awake for nearly an hour, but knowing nothing of his captor’s intent, had feigned unconsciousness.
Gemnez backed away from his captive, and settled his bulk at the other end of the cell near the door. “Well now, I am very pleased that that great buffoon Hedrenatherax has not damaged you irreparably.” The great devil placed his flabby hands on his hips and smiled a terrible, red-lipped smile that was all teeth.
Hazergal pushed himself up from the floor, and sat with his back against the closest wall. “Where am I?” He croaked, his voice dry and cracked from disuse.
“You my friend, currently reside within the great fortress of Gemnez Drak. You have visited here once before, but your ignorance is understandable since much has changed since last we met.’ Gemnez’s tone was soft, even friendly.
“The spawning pit.” Hazergal said simply, his mind replaying the horrid details of his initial transformation. “What do you want with me?”
Gemnez clucked his tongue like a scolding parent in response to Hazergal’s question. “Now, now. Let us not forget our manners, we have both not had the benefit of a proper introduction.”
“An introduction…” Hazergal’s bottom jaw fell open at the baatezu’s absurd demeanor.
“Yes, and introduction. I will go first.” Gemnez cleared his throat dramatically. “I am Gemnez, rogue baatezu, loyal servant of our great lord Pyrak, and master of Gemnez Drak.” The huge fiend smiled broadly after finishing his introduction and extended one flabby claw inviting Hazergal to follow suit.
Hazergal stared blankly at his bizarre captor, fumbling for words that would not come. At last he managed to dredge up the one piece of information he had lacked for so long. “My name is…or was Hazergal.”
“Ahh, Hazergal. A noble name if ever I heard one.” Gemnez purred. “This was your name when you were mortal, yes?”
“Yes, when I was mortal…” Images flashed before Hazergal’s eyes as the sound of his name spoken aloud brought forth visions of unremembered places and people. He saw the throne room he had visited in his mind, complete with the bearded figure of the intruder seated upon the polished onyx. A score of other figures stood at attention before the throne, tall bestial creatures Hazergal recognized as gnolls. Each was armed and armored in a similar fashion, as if they belonged to some kind of military unit. Among these looming shapes a smaller, slighter figure moved, gliding between the towering gnolls with an air of authority. He was very short; Hazergal guessed less than four feet, and his smooth hairless skin was the slate gray of un-worked stone. Short powerful wings were folded across his back, and he wore a gleaming shirt of fine metal links. The stony skinned warrior was armed with a straight-bladed sword slung over his back on a baldric, and as he moved through the ranks of gnolls Hazergal saw his face. Rage and dread filled him as recognition pierced the veil of his amnesia, forcing his lips to spit forth the name of his nemesis. “Nithrekel.”
“What was that?” Gemnez asked.
“Nithrekel.” Hazergal said again. “Someone I remembered…from when I was mortal.” The memory or vision he had experienced had faded away. Disappearing like a soap bubble, popped by the piercing grate of Gemnez’s voice.
“A friend? A lover?” Gemnez gauged Hazergal’s reaction to each of these queries, but the answer was plainly written on the babau’s face. “An enemy.” Gemnez hissed with pleasure. “Yes it would be. Those that have wronged us seem to stand larger in our minds. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Hazergal ignored the huge fiend’s question and stood. He glanced around at the spartan emptiness of his surroundings and realized that he was not afraid. Oddly, Gemnez put him at ease. He had no reason to trust the baatezu, but something about the devil’s demeanor assuaged his fear, at least for the moment.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Hazergal.” Gemnez said, as if he had read babau’s mind. “While you are my guest, no harm shall come to you, you have my word on that.”
The sincerity in the baatezu’s voice seemed out of place coming from such a diabolical creature, but Hazergal found himself believing Gemnez. “Very well, I accept your oath, but I must know what is it you want of me.”
“A fair question, and one that I do not currently have an answer for.” Gemnez said. “For now I wish only to speak with you, perhaps even help you remember more of your past.”
“Hah!” Hazergal snorted. “You are quite the altruistic fiend.”
Gemnez grinned broadly. “Well, yes. As baatezu go, I suppose I am. But fear not, I have my reasons and motivations for providing you with sanctuary.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.” Hazergal said flatly. “There is…
Hazergal was cut off as the door to his cell crashed open to reveal the looming bulk of Hedrenatherax. The balor was smiling, something Hazergal had not thought possible of the vicious fiend.
Gemnez, who had leapt nimbly away from the door in response to Hedrenatherax’s untimely entrance, fixed his most menacing glare upon the intruding demon. “I thought I told you I wanted to be alone with my guest.” He spat acridly.
“A thousand pardons. Oh bloated one.” Hedrenatherax shot back. Some of the old familiar defiance had crept back into the balor’s tone. “I have news I guarantee you need to know.”
Hazergal watched Hedrenatherax closely, realizing that the huge demon was literally shaking with excitement. The former archmage surmised that anything which made Hedrenatherax that happy was bound to spell doom and destruction for someone else. Hazergal felt the shifting of something momentous in the air, the whole cell was alive with a fell energy, and the balor in the doorway was most certainly the bearer of ill tidings.
“Very well, what news do you have that is so important?” Gemnez asked. His heavy reptilian brows were creased with worried anticipation, as if he too sensed the impending weight of destiny.
Hedrenatherax’s smile widened and his words leaked through his jagged teeth like a foul vapor. “Pyrak is dying.”
Sorry for the delay but yet another move, and some new writing projects have kept me pretty busy. I will try to update as often as humanly possible.
Dirge
************************************************************
Part XI - Ill Tidings
Hazergal drifted formless in a void of dark silence, blissfully unaware of the events that transpired beyond his mental domain. He had disconnected from everything, simply switching off his conscious mind and existing in a state of comforting mindlessness. Although badly wounded in his recent conflict with the great balor Hedrenatherax, Hazergal’s demonic body should have recovered from such an ordeal completely unscathed. But he had not awoken after Hedrenatherax had delivered his limp unconscious form into the hands of Gemnez, and had remained insensate and unresponsive despite all the considerable skills of his infernal captor.
In truth Hazergal’s coma-like state was intentional. The pain and confusion of these last weeks had become unbearable. He had forgotten everything of his former life, as the demonic flesh that now housed his mind slowly consuming his identity. The battle with Hedrenatherax had been his limit, and he had willfully refused to return to the waking world and face the horror that his life had become.
So here he remained, buried deep within the vast uncharted reaches of his own mind. There was naught but darkness and silence here, and that was enough. Time had no meaning, and Hazergal found some sense of peace, however tenuous, in his veritable non-existence.
But Hazergal’s respite was not to last, and he felt the beginning tugs of his conscious mind, eager to return him to the world of sight and sound. He fought frantically, resisting the urge to wake and in his struggles he sensed another presence.
Who are you!? Hazergal screamed in the sightless void of his own mind. Coherent thought bloomed within the silence as Hazergal flailed about, blindly searching for the alien presence.
I think the proper question is: who are you? A barrage of monotone syllables assailed Hazergal as the invader droned its reply.
Hazergal suddenly found himself standing in a room that was oddly familiar to him. It was obviously a throne room, with the dominating seat of power carved from a single block of gold-flecked onyx. The throne sat at the far end of a long narrow hall and was highlighted by an immense backdrop of scarlet fabric. The floors were of onyx, like the throne, and polished to a high sheen. Hasergal’s gaze drifted to the reflective surface of the floor and saw to his dread the leering face of the creature he had become.
Hazergal was not alone in this dream state concoction. A figure sat in arrogant splendor upon the onyx throne, a wry smile twisting his bearded face. The figure and the face were hauntingly familiar to Hazergal, achingly reminiscent of something terribly vital.
The man on the throne was human, with a well-trimmed black beard and cold, humorless eyes. He stood, and spread his arms wide, his smile growing to allow his straight white teeth to gleam through the darkness of his beard. Dressed in a loose flowing robe of shimmering black fabric and a wide flaring cloak of deepest scarlet, he cut a striking figure of ominous potency.
“Well, well. This is quite a place you have here.” The man spoke and his words came out in the grim emotionless drone of the intruder.
“What is this place?” Hazergal asked, his eyes darting about the massive hall for anything that might spark his rapidly dwindling memory.
The intruder’s smile faded and his flat lusterless eyes found and held Hazergal’s own. “You must know, I pulled it from your mind.”
“I don’t understand. I have no recollection of this place or of you.” Hazergal replied, frustration leaking into his words.
“How odd.” The bearded man said and slumped down into the throne. “You truly have no memory?”
“No! I don’t remember anything!” Hazergal bellowed, his frustration bursting through. “Now tell me, who you are!” Hazergal flexed his long talons and made a single threatening step towards the throne.
Hazergal’s outburst had not pierced the calm exterior of the intruder, and he simply smiled again, that flat humorless creasing of his lips that conveyed not an ounce of joy or mirth.
“Who I am is not important, as I have said.” The intruder replied, the slightest hint of irritation creeping into the buzzing monotony of his words. “I will say only this, I am one who would see you reach your full potential, realize your destiny, become what you were meant to be. My reasons I shall not reveal to you now, but know this, I could be a very powerful ally or the most dire of enemies.” The intruder’s eyes blazed momentarily. “The choice is ultimately yours.”
“My potential!? What are you talking about!?” Hazergal raged. “I cannot even remember my own name, and you are blathering on about allies and enemies and my destiny. This is all utter nonsense!” The words to a dozen powerful spells flew to his mind as Hazergal vented, each one capable of reducing his tormentor to so much vapor, but he kept a firm grip on his anger. Even enraged as he was, the tiniest flame of hope still existed that this stranger might be able to tell him something, anything about his former life.
“Well then, it seems that this meeting may not have been wasted after all.” The intruder said in response to Hazergal’s tirade.
“What do you mean?” Hazergal hissed through his clenched fangs.
“I mean, that I can provide you with at least one piece of information you lack”
“What information? More secrets?” Hazergal asked suspiciously.
“No, no more secrets. I will tell you your name, demon.”
The rage drained from Hazergal as his hunger for this vital piece of information consumed him utterly. “Tell me. Please.” He whispered, wincing at the pathetic eagerness in his voice.
“As a mortal man, your name was Hazergal, Hazergal Redcloak.” The intruder said, the smile on his face finally reaching his eyes. “But, you are more than this now, and I believe that name shall soon lose its significance to you.”
Hazergal could not hear him, the rapture of those three syllables held him completely. “Hazergal…” The word rolled off his tongue like the kiss of long forgotten lover. “My name is Hazergal.”
Obviously tiring of Hazergal’s self-indulgent reverie, the smile faded from the intruder’s face and he stood. “Now, you must awaken and meet your destiny, for good or for ill. Awake. Hazergal. Awake.”
Hazergal opened his mouth to give voice to the near endless stream of questions that strained his mind to near bursting, but the walls of the throne room had begun to fade. Darkness trickled back into his mind like a sluggish stream, and Hazergal found himself struggling to keep hold of rational thought. The trickle became a flood, and he fell into the void once more. This time the darkness was fleeting and soon gave way to a scalding blur of bright light. Tactile sensation returned, and as Hazergal made the laborious ascent to consciousness, one word, buzzed hideously in the intruder’s monotone drone, lingered.
“Awake.”
“Is it dead?” Hedrenatherax rumbled, trying to peer over Gemnez’s looming bulk.
The huge devil was crouched toad-like over the prostrate from of a babau, the folds of his massive belly almost obscuring the smaller demon from sight. “No, he lives. It appears your crude methods have not done any permanent damage…at least physically.”
The two fiends stood within a square room, featureless beyond the iron door that marked its only egress. It was obviously a prison cell, although there were no manacles, or even the barest of creature comforts provided for those unlucky enough to be interred there. The cell occupied one of the many lower levels of Gemnez’s keep, and this particular cell was housed in a wing that had not seen use in centuries.
Gemnez stood, his massive elephantine legs thrusting his massive girth skyward with comparative ease. The baatezu stared down at the limp form of his “guest” and stroked the warty surface of his chin thoughtfully. “Hedrenatherax,” He called over his shoulder. “You have done well, but I wish to be alone with are new arrival. You may go.”
The Balor opened his fanged mouth to protest, but suddenly closed it with an audible snap. Twice he had been humiliated for defying Gemnez, and the demon had no desire to be on the receiving end of the obese devil’s ire again. Acquiescing for the moment, Hedrenatherax bowed his head and left the room.
“Alright, he has gone. You can stop pretending you’re not awake.” Gemnez said softly.
Hazergal opened his eyes, staring up at the colossal from of Gemnez. He had been awake for nearly an hour, but knowing nothing of his captor’s intent, had feigned unconsciousness.
Gemnez backed away from his captive, and settled his bulk at the other end of the cell near the door. “Well now, I am very pleased that that great buffoon Hedrenatherax has not damaged you irreparably.” The great devil placed his flabby hands on his hips and smiled a terrible, red-lipped smile that was all teeth.
Hazergal pushed himself up from the floor, and sat with his back against the closest wall. “Where am I?” He croaked, his voice dry and cracked from disuse.
“You my friend, currently reside within the great fortress of Gemnez Drak. You have visited here once before, but your ignorance is understandable since much has changed since last we met.’ Gemnez’s tone was soft, even friendly.
“The spawning pit.” Hazergal said simply, his mind replaying the horrid details of his initial transformation. “What do you want with me?”
Gemnez clucked his tongue like a scolding parent in response to Hazergal’s question. “Now, now. Let us not forget our manners, we have both not had the benefit of a proper introduction.”
“An introduction…” Hazergal’s bottom jaw fell open at the baatezu’s absurd demeanor.
“Yes, and introduction. I will go first.” Gemnez cleared his throat dramatically. “I am Gemnez, rogue baatezu, loyal servant of our great lord Pyrak, and master of Gemnez Drak.” The huge fiend smiled broadly after finishing his introduction and extended one flabby claw inviting Hazergal to follow suit.
Hazergal stared blankly at his bizarre captor, fumbling for words that would not come. At last he managed to dredge up the one piece of information he had lacked for so long. “My name is…or was Hazergal.”
“Ahh, Hazergal. A noble name if ever I heard one.” Gemnez purred. “This was your name when you were mortal, yes?”
“Yes, when I was mortal…” Images flashed before Hazergal’s eyes as the sound of his name spoken aloud brought forth visions of unremembered places and people. He saw the throne room he had visited in his mind, complete with the bearded figure of the intruder seated upon the polished onyx. A score of other figures stood at attention before the throne, tall bestial creatures Hazergal recognized as gnolls. Each was armed and armored in a similar fashion, as if they belonged to some kind of military unit. Among these looming shapes a smaller, slighter figure moved, gliding between the towering gnolls with an air of authority. He was very short; Hazergal guessed less than four feet, and his smooth hairless skin was the slate gray of un-worked stone. Short powerful wings were folded across his back, and he wore a gleaming shirt of fine metal links. The stony skinned warrior was armed with a straight-bladed sword slung over his back on a baldric, and as he moved through the ranks of gnolls Hazergal saw his face. Rage and dread filled him as recognition pierced the veil of his amnesia, forcing his lips to spit forth the name of his nemesis. “Nithrekel.”
“What was that?” Gemnez asked.
“Nithrekel.” Hazergal said again. “Someone I remembered…from when I was mortal.” The memory or vision he had experienced had faded away. Disappearing like a soap bubble, popped by the piercing grate of Gemnez’s voice.
“A friend? A lover?” Gemnez gauged Hazergal’s reaction to each of these queries, but the answer was plainly written on the babau’s face. “An enemy.” Gemnez hissed with pleasure. “Yes it would be. Those that have wronged us seem to stand larger in our minds. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Hazergal ignored the huge fiend’s question and stood. He glanced around at the spartan emptiness of his surroundings and realized that he was not afraid. Oddly, Gemnez put him at ease. He had no reason to trust the baatezu, but something about the devil’s demeanor assuaged his fear, at least for the moment.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Hazergal.” Gemnez said, as if he had read babau’s mind. “While you are my guest, no harm shall come to you, you have my word on that.”
The sincerity in the baatezu’s voice seemed out of place coming from such a diabolical creature, but Hazergal found himself believing Gemnez. “Very well, I accept your oath, but I must know what is it you want of me.”
“A fair question, and one that I do not currently have an answer for.” Gemnez said. “For now I wish only to speak with you, perhaps even help you remember more of your past.”
“Hah!” Hazergal snorted. “You are quite the altruistic fiend.”
Gemnez grinned broadly. “Well, yes. As baatezu go, I suppose I am. But fear not, I have my reasons and motivations for providing you with sanctuary.”
“Yes, I suppose you do.” Hazergal said flatly. “There is…
Hazergal was cut off as the door to his cell crashed open to reveal the looming bulk of Hedrenatherax. The balor was smiling, something Hazergal had not thought possible of the vicious fiend.
Gemnez, who had leapt nimbly away from the door in response to Hedrenatherax’s untimely entrance, fixed his most menacing glare upon the intruding demon. “I thought I told you I wanted to be alone with my guest.” He spat acridly.
“A thousand pardons. Oh bloated one.” Hedrenatherax shot back. Some of the old familiar defiance had crept back into the balor’s tone. “I have news I guarantee you need to know.”
Hazergal watched Hedrenatherax closely, realizing that the huge demon was literally shaking with excitement. The former archmage surmised that anything which made Hedrenatherax that happy was bound to spell doom and destruction for someone else. Hazergal felt the shifting of something momentous in the air, the whole cell was alive with a fell energy, and the balor in the doorway was most certainly the bearer of ill tidings.
“Very well, what news do you have that is so important?” Gemnez asked. His heavy reptilian brows were creased with worried anticipation, as if he too sensed the impending weight of destiny.
Hedrenatherax’s smile widened and his words leaked through his jagged teeth like a foul vapor. “Pyrak is dying.”
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