Metamorphosis: From Dretch to Demon Lord - Ascension Released!
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BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
pogre said:
Ok Pogre, get your credit card ready.
But seriously, you don't need to bribe me. I owe it to you guys, who probably make up the bulk of my customers anyway, to give something back for the loyalty you've shown to this stroyhour and my other threads.
So, I'll make this promise: at least one update per month, on this storyhour or the one about Grummok.
How's that sound?
BD
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Part XXI
Yaghur Hod, the first Oinodaemon, Scourge of Elysium, stared out over the grim, unbroken monotony of his former realm. The great yugoloth wore his own face this day, a featureless gray oval, empty save for two great luminous eyes, lidless red orbs of pure malice. The gloom of Hades rose up like a smothering blanket of malaise, a choking, all-encompassing fatigue that drained the life from anyone unfortunate enough to find himself within its gray wastes.
The great ultrodaemon stood on the very top of his tower; the long abandoned Oin Drok, clenching the jagged, iron crenellations with white-knuckled rage. Never had he known such powerlessness, such impotence, as he was experiencing now. He had lost much of his former power, reduced from a near god-like state to something barely above one of the common lords of hell, or the disorganized mob of abyssal rulers. Any chance at reclaiming his former seat of power, and removing the upstart Mydianchlarus, would rely more on what aid he could summon, rather than his own personal strength. Unfortunately, few had responded to the call of the rightful ruler of Hades. Those that did come crawled into his service like whipped dogs, simpering lickspittles, likely disfavored by Mydianchlarus and eager to reap whatever gains might be had Yaghur Hod’s service. And he was forced to accept them, forced to stoop so low as to accept even the lowliest mezzodaemon into his service, and be thankful for it.
How can this be? Yaghur Hod thought. How can I have fallen so far that not even my enemies consider me a threat any longer? The last part tore at him with such vigor that he could scarcely summon rational thought. His imprisonment in Elysium had not ended with an earth-shattering battle as he fought his way to freedom, slaying guardinals by the droves with his terrible scythe, and bringing his ancient foe Talisid to his knees. Rather, the celestials and their rulers simply forgotten about him, believing his power to have dwindled to a point that he was no longer a threat. Only a single leonal guardian ensured his confinement, and even as he wrung the life from his lone jailor, relishing in the celestial’s dying gasps, he felt the terrible weight of inconsequentiality settle upon his shoulders. He simply did not matter any more.
But one thing remained to Yaghur Hod, one token aspect of his former glory that none but he could wield. The ultrodaemon clutched his scythe, Blightrazor, to his chest, letting the weapon’s dark whispers fill his mind with fawning assurances and malignant promises. He had held Blightrazor since the dawn of creation, a weapon forged of the pure darkness of primeval night. The scythe was the physical embodiment of the void, the bleak, lightless eternity that waits at the end of time. None but he could master Blightrazor’s power, and no one but he could master its brothers, two weapons forged by the same shadowy powers of time primeval: the great sword Fiendbleeder, and its direct antitheses, a might spear called Dreadskewer. Each weapon represented one aspect of evil, and possessed a will to accomplish its aims above all else. Unfortunately, Fiendbleeder and Dreadskewer had fallen into the hands of the demons and devils respectively, and were caught up in the pointless war between the two races. If Yaghur Hod could bring the three weapons together, joining their power to his own, then nothing could stand before him; no force in the multiverse could thwart his destiny.
The great ultrodaemon, perceived by his enemies in heaven and hell alike as an impotent fossil, had set into motion an effort to recover both Fiendbleeder and Dreadskewer. Even now one of the weapons, carried by an oafish demon lord, was being delivered to his very doorstep.
The demon lord, Hedrenatherax, was without doubt one of the most pathetic abyssal rulers Yaghur Hod had ever laid eyes on. Dull, listless, and possessed of a near debilitating rage, the demon lord was neither wily, nor cautious. Luring him to Oin Drok had been far simpler that Yaghur Hod had hoped, as the upstart archfiend had inherited a vast plane from his former master, whose place he had usurped, and was unable to adequately defend his new realm. Yaghur Hod’s offers of assistance were eagerly accepted by the demon lord’s major domo, a rogue baatezu, whom had entered into the ultrodaemon’s service for clandestine reasons beyond even the great ultrodaemon’s ken. But Gemnez had live up to his end of the bargain, and had brought Hedrenatherax to Oin Drok, Dreadskewer in hand, as doomed as any petitioner entering the gates of hell.
For his betrayal, Gemnez had asked that he be allowed to rule the planes of Vrack, Hedrenatherax’s soon to be vacant seat of power, and that Yaghur Hod provide any military assistance needed to maintain this rule. The former ruler of Hades had agreed to this, but sensed that ruling an abyssal realm was not the driving force behind the paeliryon’s ambition. It mattered little; Yaghur Hod had no interest in the abyss, or who ruled its myriad planes, for his eye was on a greater prize. Once, long ago, he had been on the verge of claiming Elysium for his own. His armies had scourged the celestial paradise, reducing its gleaming towers and vaunted halls into bleak, burning rubble. But foolishly, he had accepted Talisid’s challenge, and the great leonal lord, sacrificing much of his own power, had brought Yaghur Hod low, maiming him in the process.
The memory of his defeat at the hands of Talisid drew the great ultrodaemon’s gaze down to his right leg, which ended at the knee, the legacy of Talisid’s victory over him. The wound defied all attempts to mend the Oinodaemon’s flesh, or regenerate his lost limb, forcing him to hobble about, leaning on his scythe like a decrepit old man. The wound forced Yaghur Hod to resort to magical flight when he needed to be precise, and he had mastered aerial combat to a degree far surpassing even those born to winged locomotion.
My day shall come, Talisid. Yaghur Hod thought. I shall witness the fields of Amoria razed, the towers of the blessed city pulled down around your feet, and you, my prince, shall scream your last beneath such torments that would give a demon pause. The great yugoloth gripped his scythe, letting the weapon’s dark caress fuel his visions of conquest. He lingered there; lost in black fantasies only a creature such as he could even entertain, let alone make reality.
“My lord, Hedrenatherax and the traitor are at the foot of the tower.” A voice, gruff and unrelenting, pulled the Oinodaemon from his reverie.
Yaghur Hod turned towards the source of the voice, and beheld the one daemon in all the multiverse that had stayed loyal to him throughout the long years of his imprisonment. Dyzag was a nycadaemon, a huge four-armed monstrosity with reptilian skin, huge bat wings, and a bestial, canine face. Dyzag had served his Oinodaemon for millennia, leading hundreds of other nycadaemons in vast aerial raids upon Yaghur Hod’s enemies. Dyzag’s own personal might, garnered from eons of existence, was easily enough to make him an Oinodaemon himself, but he chose to serve rather than rule.
“Ah, my friend.” Yaghur Hod said, his form blurring and changing to that of a tired old man with white hair, dressed in long, flowing black robes. Changing shape was a trick common to all ultrodaemons, and Yaghur Hod had worn thousands of different faces in his long existence. His current form he reserved for Dyzag, which the great nycadaemon found pleasing, possibly because its apparent vulnerability confirmed his master’s trust in him. “Tell me, has the great oaf brought us our prize?”
Dyzag smiled, his black lips splitting to reveal a double row of yellowed fangs. “Truly sire, you had spoken of this demon-lord’s foolishness, but I never believed he could be duped so easily. How could one such as he have mastered his own domain?”
Yaghur Hod chuckled, “He is a dim one, is he not? But he serves our purpose. It is his companion, this Gemnez, we must be wary of. There is far more to that one than is readily apparent.”
“I agree, my lord.” Dyzag replied. “The paeliryon served the former master of Vrack, a formidable demon lord known as Pyrak. I was truly dismayed to find that this lumbering fool had destroyed him. Perhaps there is more to Hedrenatherax than we first suspected.” Dyzag’s voice took on a concerned note, an odd sibilance on the tongue of the hulking fiend.
Yaghur Hod hobbled up to the towering nycadaemon and laid a feeble human hand upon one of his great reptilian arms. “Do not worry my friend, he is no threat to us. It was surely Dreadskewer and not this Hedrenatherax that laid Pyrak low.” He said. “Trust me as you once did, I will not lead us astray.”
“Of course, my lord.” Dyzag replied, placing one huge paw over Yaghur Hod’s hand, an oddly affectionate jester that the ultrodaemon did not resist. “We will raze the heavens together, my lord, as we once did so long ago. I know this to be true.”
Yaghur Hod smiled. “Your words, as always, fill me with strength. For how could I fail with you by my side?” Yaghur Hod’s form blurred again, and the great ultrodaemon stood beside his general once more. “Now come, let us welcome our guests.”
Yaghur Hod, the first Oinodaemon, Scourge of Elysium, stared out over the grim, unbroken monotony of his former realm. The great yugoloth wore his own face this day, a featureless gray oval, empty save for two great luminous eyes, lidless red orbs of pure malice. The gloom of Hades rose up like a smothering blanket of malaise, a choking, all-encompassing fatigue that drained the life from anyone unfortunate enough to find himself within its gray wastes.
The great ultrodaemon stood on the very top of his tower; the long abandoned Oin Drok, clenching the jagged, iron crenellations with white-knuckled rage. Never had he known such powerlessness, such impotence, as he was experiencing now. He had lost much of his former power, reduced from a near god-like state to something barely above one of the common lords of hell, or the disorganized mob of abyssal rulers. Any chance at reclaiming his former seat of power, and removing the upstart Mydianchlarus, would rely more on what aid he could summon, rather than his own personal strength. Unfortunately, few had responded to the call of the rightful ruler of Hades. Those that did come crawled into his service like whipped dogs, simpering lickspittles, likely disfavored by Mydianchlarus and eager to reap whatever gains might be had Yaghur Hod’s service. And he was forced to accept them, forced to stoop so low as to accept even the lowliest mezzodaemon into his service, and be thankful for it.
How can this be? Yaghur Hod thought. How can I have fallen so far that not even my enemies consider me a threat any longer? The last part tore at him with such vigor that he could scarcely summon rational thought. His imprisonment in Elysium had not ended with an earth-shattering battle as he fought his way to freedom, slaying guardinals by the droves with his terrible scythe, and bringing his ancient foe Talisid to his knees. Rather, the celestials and their rulers simply forgotten about him, believing his power to have dwindled to a point that he was no longer a threat. Only a single leonal guardian ensured his confinement, and even as he wrung the life from his lone jailor, relishing in the celestial’s dying gasps, he felt the terrible weight of inconsequentiality settle upon his shoulders. He simply did not matter any more.
But one thing remained to Yaghur Hod, one token aspect of his former glory that none but he could wield. The ultrodaemon clutched his scythe, Blightrazor, to his chest, letting the weapon’s dark whispers fill his mind with fawning assurances and malignant promises. He had held Blightrazor since the dawn of creation, a weapon forged of the pure darkness of primeval night. The scythe was the physical embodiment of the void, the bleak, lightless eternity that waits at the end of time. None but he could master Blightrazor’s power, and no one but he could master its brothers, two weapons forged by the same shadowy powers of time primeval: the great sword Fiendbleeder, and its direct antitheses, a might spear called Dreadskewer. Each weapon represented one aspect of evil, and possessed a will to accomplish its aims above all else. Unfortunately, Fiendbleeder and Dreadskewer had fallen into the hands of the demons and devils respectively, and were caught up in the pointless war between the two races. If Yaghur Hod could bring the three weapons together, joining their power to his own, then nothing could stand before him; no force in the multiverse could thwart his destiny.
The great ultrodaemon, perceived by his enemies in heaven and hell alike as an impotent fossil, had set into motion an effort to recover both Fiendbleeder and Dreadskewer. Even now one of the weapons, carried by an oafish demon lord, was being delivered to his very doorstep.
The demon lord, Hedrenatherax, was without doubt one of the most pathetic abyssal rulers Yaghur Hod had ever laid eyes on. Dull, listless, and possessed of a near debilitating rage, the demon lord was neither wily, nor cautious. Luring him to Oin Drok had been far simpler that Yaghur Hod had hoped, as the upstart archfiend had inherited a vast plane from his former master, whose place he had usurped, and was unable to adequately defend his new realm. Yaghur Hod’s offers of assistance were eagerly accepted by the demon lord’s major domo, a rogue baatezu, whom had entered into the ultrodaemon’s service for clandestine reasons beyond even the great ultrodaemon’s ken. But Gemnez had live up to his end of the bargain, and had brought Hedrenatherax to Oin Drok, Dreadskewer in hand, as doomed as any petitioner entering the gates of hell.
For his betrayal, Gemnez had asked that he be allowed to rule the planes of Vrack, Hedrenatherax’s soon to be vacant seat of power, and that Yaghur Hod provide any military assistance needed to maintain this rule. The former ruler of Hades had agreed to this, but sensed that ruling an abyssal realm was not the driving force behind the paeliryon’s ambition. It mattered little; Yaghur Hod had no interest in the abyss, or who ruled its myriad planes, for his eye was on a greater prize. Once, long ago, he had been on the verge of claiming Elysium for his own. His armies had scourged the celestial paradise, reducing its gleaming towers and vaunted halls into bleak, burning rubble. But foolishly, he had accepted Talisid’s challenge, and the great leonal lord, sacrificing much of his own power, had brought Yaghur Hod low, maiming him in the process.
The memory of his defeat at the hands of Talisid drew the great ultrodaemon’s gaze down to his right leg, which ended at the knee, the legacy of Talisid’s victory over him. The wound defied all attempts to mend the Oinodaemon’s flesh, or regenerate his lost limb, forcing him to hobble about, leaning on his scythe like a decrepit old man. The wound forced Yaghur Hod to resort to magical flight when he needed to be precise, and he had mastered aerial combat to a degree far surpassing even those born to winged locomotion.
My day shall come, Talisid. Yaghur Hod thought. I shall witness the fields of Amoria razed, the towers of the blessed city pulled down around your feet, and you, my prince, shall scream your last beneath such torments that would give a demon pause. The great yugoloth gripped his scythe, letting the weapon’s dark caress fuel his visions of conquest. He lingered there; lost in black fantasies only a creature such as he could even entertain, let alone make reality.
“My lord, Hedrenatherax and the traitor are at the foot of the tower.” A voice, gruff and unrelenting, pulled the Oinodaemon from his reverie.
Yaghur Hod turned towards the source of the voice, and beheld the one daemon in all the multiverse that had stayed loyal to him throughout the long years of his imprisonment. Dyzag was a nycadaemon, a huge four-armed monstrosity with reptilian skin, huge bat wings, and a bestial, canine face. Dyzag had served his Oinodaemon for millennia, leading hundreds of other nycadaemons in vast aerial raids upon Yaghur Hod’s enemies. Dyzag’s own personal might, garnered from eons of existence, was easily enough to make him an Oinodaemon himself, but he chose to serve rather than rule.
“Ah, my friend.” Yaghur Hod said, his form blurring and changing to that of a tired old man with white hair, dressed in long, flowing black robes. Changing shape was a trick common to all ultrodaemons, and Yaghur Hod had worn thousands of different faces in his long existence. His current form he reserved for Dyzag, which the great nycadaemon found pleasing, possibly because its apparent vulnerability confirmed his master’s trust in him. “Tell me, has the great oaf brought us our prize?”
Dyzag smiled, his black lips splitting to reveal a double row of yellowed fangs. “Truly sire, you had spoken of this demon-lord’s foolishness, but I never believed he could be duped so easily. How could one such as he have mastered his own domain?”
Yaghur Hod chuckled, “He is a dim one, is he not? But he serves our purpose. It is his companion, this Gemnez, we must be wary of. There is far more to that one than is readily apparent.”
“I agree, my lord.” Dyzag replied. “The paeliryon served the former master of Vrack, a formidable demon lord known as Pyrak. I was truly dismayed to find that this lumbering fool had destroyed him. Perhaps there is more to Hedrenatherax than we first suspected.” Dyzag’s voice took on a concerned note, an odd sibilance on the tongue of the hulking fiend.
Yaghur Hod hobbled up to the towering nycadaemon and laid a feeble human hand upon one of his great reptilian arms. “Do not worry my friend, he is no threat to us. It was surely Dreadskewer and not this Hedrenatherax that laid Pyrak low.” He said. “Trust me as you once did, I will not lead us astray.”
“Of course, my lord.” Dyzag replied, placing one huge paw over Yaghur Hod’s hand, an oddly affectionate jester that the ultrodaemon did not resist. “We will raze the heavens together, my lord, as we once did so long ago. I know this to be true.”
Yaghur Hod smiled. “Your words, as always, fill me with strength. For how could I fail with you by my side?” Yaghur Hod’s form blurred again, and the great ultrodaemon stood beside his general once more. “Now come, let us welcome our guests.”
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BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
karianna said:Just discovered this today, exceptional writing! Give me a shout if you want any PCGen assistance in creating your amazing characters
Thanks.
Pardon my ignorance, but what is PCGen?
BD
Rikandur Azebol
First Post
Thank You for another excellent piece, BLACKDIRGE. My dretches are waiting to swarm helpless demonlord and eat his innards. ![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
BTW, how such oaf and idiot like Hedrentherax managed to survive to balor status ?
BTW, how such oaf and idiot like Hedrentherax managed to survive to balor status ?
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Rikandur Azebol said:Thank You for another excellent piece, BLACKDIRGE. My dretches are waiting to swarm helpless demonlord and eat his innards.
BTW, how such oaf and idiot like Hedrentherax managed to survive to balor status ?
I have always thought of Hedrenatherax as a bit of an anomoly in demon society. I figure, he has always been physically stronger and tougher than his peers throughout the various stages of demonic life. This brute force allowed him to survive, even when other, smarter demons did not. But now that he is a demon lord, and in the big leagues so to say, he is way over his head, and is fairly easy to manipulate. But dont count our thick-headed balor out yet, he's still tough as nails, and has Dreadskewer to boot.
BD
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