Metamorphosis: From Dretch to Demon Lord - Ascension Released!
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Zarthon said:Another great story BD, keep it coming
Howdy Zarthon.
Good to see some of my faithful readers making the journey over here to the story hour forum. Look for the second installment by Sunday night.
As always, thanks for reading.
Dirge
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Damnation: Part II
Pyrak was profoundly irritated, a dangerous state of mind for a powerful demon lord such as he. Those familiar with demon-kind would recognize Pyrak’s form, he appeared as a mammoth vulture-like demon, fully seventeen feet tall, featuring a set of huge gray feathered wings and a sharply hooked steel gray beak. Pyrak bore strong resemblance to a common type of demon called a vrock, and in fact he was the progenitor of that strain of fiend, a true paragon of his breed. The demon lord sat on a huge throne of black basalt, with a gargantuan scabbarded sword resting across his feathered legs. The throne dominated a long hall of white marble supported by two columns of carved pillars. The ceiling was of a transparent glass-like steel that allowed all within a clear view of the sickly purple clouds that dominated the abyssal sky. At the foot of the six steps that led up to his throne stood the source of Pyrak’s irritation, two demons, favored servants of the demon lord, arguing with one another in increasingly volatile tones.
The bickering demons paid little attention to Pyrak as the argued and were quite successfully scraping away at his last nerve with their incessant whining and puling. The two fiends were strikingly different in form and demeanor, but of roughly equal power. Heskera the marilith, heavily scarred from literally thousands of battles, sat coiled upon her long serpentine body, her six arms crossed over her ample bosom and wore an expression that was akin to a gathering storm. She was strikingly beautiful, her delicate features framed by long black tresses held in place by a platinum tiara, and the slightest hint of rouge coloring each high cheek bone. Her voice was an intoxicating purr that mixed oddly with the striking clash of steel on steel as all six of her curved longswords jangled menacingly from where they hung on her battle harness. Heskera’s opponent was the complete antithesis of her beautiful form, as brutish and ugly as any demon had a right to be. Kugrot was a nalfashnee, a towering boar-like demon with apish arms and a blunt, tusked face from which two small merciless eyes peered out from deep sockets. Kugrot was unarmed, but his mighty arms and thick taloned fingers left now doubt that he was far from helpless.
The two demons had been arguing for the better part of an hour, and each had shown remarkable restraint for their chaotic natures, using words instead of tooth, claw and blade to make their respective points. They stood at the foot of Pyrak’s great black throne, occasionally attempting to pull the demon lord, who was nominally their liege lord, into the debate. The dulcet tones of Heskera’s voice mingled horribly with the barking grunts that composed Kugrot’s guttural utterances. The mix was a cacophonous mess of noise that ground slowly away at Pyrak’s patience and caused him to obsessively finger the hilt of his massive greatsword, Fiendbleeder.
The debate raged over whom was to lead the next incursion into Baator, commonly referred to as the nine hells and home to the eternal enemies of the demons, the Baaetzu. The baaetzu known as “devils” on the many prime material worlds were a strictly regimented caste of beings that marshaled their evil along stringent guidelines. The devils had been the determined foes of the demons of the abyss since time began, and this enmity continued into the present. The teeming chaos of the abyss birthed massive armies of demons that frequently invaded the first layer of Baator, called Avernus. There the disorganized hordes of demons would clash against the ranks of devils and usually be broken upon the less numerous but far more dedicated baatezu lines. This cycle of conflict repeated itself eternally, with demons invading Baator and being repelled and occasionally devils invading the abyss only to be overwhelmed by the vast hordes of fiends that lived there.
Pyrak was devoted to bringing the war to the nine hells due in large part to his sword, Fiendbleeder, a staggeringly powerful artifact with a mind and will of its own that existed for a single purpose, to destroy devils. Over the centuries the sword had poisoned Pyrak’s mind until he existed for nothing but the bloodwar, which the eternal conflict was known by both devils and demons. The sword’s epic power allowed Pyrak to remain largely unmolested by other demon lords who feared the artifact and its wielder. From his floating palace on a barren windswept layer of the abyss, Pyrak commanded a host of vrocks and other demons that he or one of his generals frequently led into the hells to do battle. Pyrak was much feared in the nine hells, he had personally smashed entire legions of devils, his gargantuan sword sweeping through their lines like a scythe through wheat. He had even on one invasion defeated the great pit fiend Bel in single combat, mortally wounding the Devil Lord before his loyal retainers pulled him to safety amid the chaos of battle. In his heart Pyrak knew that the battle was futile, the planes were infinite and the bloodwar was simply unwinnable, but Fiendbleeder drove him on, its thirst for the blood of devils nigh unquenchable.
When Pyrak was unable to lead his army into Baator, usually due to disputes with other rival demon lords, he allowed a few of his most powerful servants to lead in his stead. Heskera and Kugrot where two of his best, but to date each one of their forays had ended in complete and utter failure resulting in the loss of thousands of valuable demonic troops. Both of the powerful demons were far too concerned with their own personal gains and more importantly their own skins to make any sort of descent military commander. Without Pyrak in the lead his demonic army quickly degenerated into a wild and unorganized mob, uncontrollable and easily defeated by the orderly arrays of diabolic might. Pyrak’s grip around the hilt of his greatsword tightened as his two incompetent generals continued to debate.
“You fat, slobbering pile of dung!” Heskera screamed, all six of her arms flying out in utter exasperation. “You can barely put whole sentences together, let alone lead an army!”
Kugrot’s beady eyes gleamed at Heskera’s insult. “Perhaps you have forgotten my stunning victory over Medregog.” The nalfashnee sneered.
“Hah!” Heskera snorted. “Medregog, that trumped up lemure! He practically led his entire regiment of that cliff before you ran into him. Imbeciles get no accolades for outwitting imbeciles.” She finished icily.
“You want to talk about lemures?! Let me tell you about lemures, bitch!” Kugrot barked back, a malicious grin creasing his hideous features, “I seem to recall a whole wing of vrocks destroyed by those pathetic little blobs of flesh not more than two weeks ago. Now who was leading that little expedition, hmm….”? Kugrot tapped his warty chin mockingly as if trying to remember a name. “Ah, yes, it was you!” The nalfashnee boomed after taking a moment to drink in Heskera’s growing rage. “Yes and on the ground as well. You do know that vrocks can fly, don’t you!?” Kugrot spat.
So engrossed in their argument were the two demons that neither of them heard Fiendbleeder slither from its scabbard or Pyrak rising from his throne.
“I will cut you into a thousand pieces, you inbred dretch dropping!” Six longswords sprang into six long nailed manicured hands, as Heskera gave in to her already less than stable temper.
“Try it, you six armed slut! Just come on and try it! I will…” Kugrot had pulled himself up to his full height and was baring his massive tusks preparing to spring upon Heskera and rend her with tooth and claw but in his rage he failed to see the huge winged shadow looming over him until it was far too late. Wide-eyed Kugrot whirled around in time to meet the massive downward stroke of Fiendbleeder as it bit into his thick skull and cleaved him to the breastbone. A huge gout of black ichor jetted from Kugrot savaged corpse as he fell stone dead to the ground.
Pyrak had had quite enough of his general’s bickering.
The demon lord had lost his grip on Fiendbleeder when it had become lodged in Kugrot’s thick breastbone, but nonetheless he turned his flaming gaze upon Heskera, who had wisely sheathed her blades after witnessing Kugrot’s fate.
“Go. Now.” Pyrak seethed, his words coming out in a harsh croak that left no doubt that murder was still very much in his mind.
Heskera was no fool, realizing that her life had been spared simply because Pyrak’s blade had become stuck in Kugrot after his initial attack, and after a hasty “Yes my lord”, she departed via a teleportation spell. It seemed she had won her argument after all.
Alone at last, Pyrak still fumed but as there were no further targets to inflict his ire upon he turned to the corpse of Kugrot and set about retrieving his precious sword. As Pyrak’s rage cooled he realized that killing both of his general’s would have been counter productive to his efforts in the bloodwar, something he was quite certain Fiendbleeder was aware of. The sword had lodged within the corpse of Kugrot to keep its wielder from further damaging its chances to destroy devils. The silvery blade of Fiendbleeder could have easily cut Kugrot in two and allowed Pyrak to bring the weapon to bear on Heskera, but it had desired otherwise.
Pyrak ripped Fiendbleeder from Kugrot's body and it came easily…and willingly. The blade was unmarred and clean, not a drop of Kugrot’s foul blood staining its silvery surface. Pyrak carried his prized weapon gingerly back to his throne where he returned it to the plain black iron sheathe he had discarded in his attack on Kugrot. He then sank wearily back into his throne, folding his great wings around his body and sat brooding. Pyrak stoked the sheathed Fiendbleeder lovingly, for it was his most precious possession, the great sword had lifted him to the heights he now occupied and over the centuries it had become his master, and his beloved. The sword whispered always in the back of his mind driving him on, pushing him to assail the nine hells with every ounce of strength and terror he could muster, and he had complied, throwing all his recourses into the futile bloodwar. Together Pyrak and Fiendbleeder had earned a reputation in Baator that struck fear in the hearts of the mightiest pit fiend; no devil or demon could stand before their combined might.
Pyrak’s legacy of defeating powerful demon lords and arch devils was a long one that had started millennia ago when he vanquished Pazuzu, the demon prince of the air, in mortal combat. Pyrak had claimed the floating fortress he now occupied from Pazuzu as well as the vast abyssal plane he had once ruled. Pazuzu, who had survived his confrontation with Pyrak by fleeing to the prime material plane, had since returned to the abyss and was virtually the only demon lord that openly defied Pyrak. Pyrak himself was not concerned with the affairs of other powerful demons and maintained pacts of non-aggression with various demon lords including Orcus and Grazz’t. The great vrock was concerned only with the conquest in the nine hells and appeasing Fiendbleeder.
Pyrak was suddenly pulled from his brooding by the thundering clash of a heavy fist rapping on the giant silver and adamantine doors that led to his throne room.
“Enter!” Pyrak barked, anger seeping into his voice.
The massive double doors swung open soundlessly to admit the terrible scaly form of Hedrenatherax, Pyrak’s balor major domo. The huge demon stalked directly up to the throne, his arms cradling a small, limp humanoid whose arms and legs dangled listlessly from the demon’s iron clasp.
Pyrak eyes narrowed from above his massive folded wings at his second in command as he stood at the base of the steps and waited for his lord to address him. Pyrak made him wait for nearly five minutes, noting with pleasure how the balor’s gaze unerringly found the shattered body of Kugrot whose bloated corpse was emitting an over powering stench and a widening pool of thickening black slime.
Finally growing bored with waiting Pyrak unfolded his wings revealing Fiendbleeder once again in its customary place across the demon lord’s knees, in easy reach.
“Well Hedrenatherax, I hope you have not disturbed me needlessly, I am in a foul mood.” Pyrak punctuated his statement with an unmistakable glance at what remained of Kugrot.
“So it would seem, my lord. But I have brought you something I believe you will find interesting.” Hedrenatherax said slowly, choosing his words carefully and keeping his tone flat and unchallenging.
“What? That little faithless maggot you’ve got there?” Pyrak said uninterestedly. “Take it to the night hags, I have no use of it.”
“If I may lord, this one is different…and dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Hah!” Pyrak snorted mockingly. “The faithless are mindless drones, fit only for consumption or the spawning pits. How could one possibly be dangerous?”
“They are dangerous when they have retained the memories and power they wielded in life, just as this one has.” Hedrenatherax countered simply.
Pyrak regarded his balor servant skeptically noting for the first time that the two vrocks he had sent with Hedrenatherax on his foray to the Fugue Plane were conspicuously absent.
“Where are Drezekar and Yaguvak?” Pyrak hissed his voice stained with venom and suspicion. The demon lord’s right claw tightened reflexively on the hilt of Fiendbleeder.
Hedrenatherax did not falter in the face of his master and stood his ground. “Slain, by this faithless here. I swear it my lord.” A partial truth that Hedrenatherax desperately hoped Pyrak would believe. “If you would allow me to explain I think you will find my tale very interesting.”
Pyrak’s eyes suddenly went glassy and he settled back in his throne and relaxed his grip on his great sword. “Very well, tell me your tale.” The demon lord’s voice was distant and unfocused.
The sword has his mind again. Hedrenatherax surmised silently, filled with disgust that the mighty demon lord could be controlled in such a way. In truth he was grateful for the reprieve Fiendbleeder had granted him, for if the sword was interested in what he had to say then Pyrak would soon be as well.
Hedrenatherax began his story immediately and recounted the short but deadly battle with Hazergal that resulted in the destruction of the vrock Drezekar. The balor expanded his tale to include the second vrock’s destruction by the spellcasting faithless and greatly increased his own role in the battle boasting of his miraculous survival of nearly half a dozen might spells before he was able to color the dangerous faithless.
Pyrak had seemingly regained his senses as Fiendbleeder had retreated from his mind sometime during Hedrenatherax’s story. The mighty demon lord now wore a look of pointed interest and sat silent for a few moments after the balor had stopped speaking.
“Well, I had thought it impossible that a petitioner, even a faithless could retain anything from their mortal lives, but it seems that that is simply not true. Perhaps this faithless is simply an anomaly, but nevertheless he does present an interesting opportunity”
“What do you suggest we do with him, my lord” Hedrenatherax questioned.
“Take him to the spawning pits." Pyrak replied simply his tone flat and unimpressed. "If he truly is as powerful as you say I do not wish him to run amok within my demesne, but perhaps he will emerge from the pits as something more than a manes or a dretch. If so we can always put him to use in the bloodwar.”
Hedrenatherax knew better than to argue with his master and bowed his head in acquiescence. “Very well, my lord I will take him too the pits of Gemnez Drak, immediately. I will report to you if anything unusual occurs.”
“Good. Now leave me,” Pyrak dismissed his major domo with a wave of his taloned hand and folded his wings about his body again, returning instantly to his brooding and the lingering mental caress of his precious Fiendbleeder.
Hedrenatherax stalked from the throne room with Hazergal in tow, taking wing from one of the many lofty parapets of Pyrak’s floating fortress. The balor streaked across the barren abyssal landscape towards a soft green luminescence on the far distance horizon, his prisoner dangling limply from his powerful talons.
Hazergal who had heard and understood every word spoken in Pyrak’s throne room existed in a state of impotent panic, locked helpless within his own mind by the power of the magical collar around his neck. He had witnessed the terrible journey from the Fugue Plane to the abyss from the arms of Hedrenatherax and knew that his fate would not be pleasant. He did not recognize the demon lord he had been brought before but he understood well enough the death sentence handed down from the powerful fiend. The arch-mage’s extensive knowledge of planar lore and demonology granted him a firm understanding of the fate that awaited him in Gemnez Drak.
Faithless petitioners, not sold to the night hags, were cast into the boiling quagmire of primordial ooze that filled the dreaded spawning pits. These pits, and the fell magic contained within, would transform a petitioner into a demon, usually a dretch or the near mindless manes. But many petitioners were simply destroyed by the brutal magical and alchemical transmutation, their souls forever gone, their existence snuffed out permanently. This was the fate that awaited Hazergal, either transformation into a fiend or total destruction.
Helpless the arch-mage watched the glowing green light grow larger in the distance as his captor sped through the air towards the spawning pit of Gemnez Drak.
Pyrak was profoundly irritated, a dangerous state of mind for a powerful demon lord such as he. Those familiar with demon-kind would recognize Pyrak’s form, he appeared as a mammoth vulture-like demon, fully seventeen feet tall, featuring a set of huge gray feathered wings and a sharply hooked steel gray beak. Pyrak bore strong resemblance to a common type of demon called a vrock, and in fact he was the progenitor of that strain of fiend, a true paragon of his breed. The demon lord sat on a huge throne of black basalt, with a gargantuan scabbarded sword resting across his feathered legs. The throne dominated a long hall of white marble supported by two columns of carved pillars. The ceiling was of a transparent glass-like steel that allowed all within a clear view of the sickly purple clouds that dominated the abyssal sky. At the foot of the six steps that led up to his throne stood the source of Pyrak’s irritation, two demons, favored servants of the demon lord, arguing with one another in increasingly volatile tones.
The bickering demons paid little attention to Pyrak as the argued and were quite successfully scraping away at his last nerve with their incessant whining and puling. The two fiends were strikingly different in form and demeanor, but of roughly equal power. Heskera the marilith, heavily scarred from literally thousands of battles, sat coiled upon her long serpentine body, her six arms crossed over her ample bosom and wore an expression that was akin to a gathering storm. She was strikingly beautiful, her delicate features framed by long black tresses held in place by a platinum tiara, and the slightest hint of rouge coloring each high cheek bone. Her voice was an intoxicating purr that mixed oddly with the striking clash of steel on steel as all six of her curved longswords jangled menacingly from where they hung on her battle harness. Heskera’s opponent was the complete antithesis of her beautiful form, as brutish and ugly as any demon had a right to be. Kugrot was a nalfashnee, a towering boar-like demon with apish arms and a blunt, tusked face from which two small merciless eyes peered out from deep sockets. Kugrot was unarmed, but his mighty arms and thick taloned fingers left now doubt that he was far from helpless.
The two demons had been arguing for the better part of an hour, and each had shown remarkable restraint for their chaotic natures, using words instead of tooth, claw and blade to make their respective points. They stood at the foot of Pyrak’s great black throne, occasionally attempting to pull the demon lord, who was nominally their liege lord, into the debate. The dulcet tones of Heskera’s voice mingled horribly with the barking grunts that composed Kugrot’s guttural utterances. The mix was a cacophonous mess of noise that ground slowly away at Pyrak’s patience and caused him to obsessively finger the hilt of his massive greatsword, Fiendbleeder.
The debate raged over whom was to lead the next incursion into Baator, commonly referred to as the nine hells and home to the eternal enemies of the demons, the Baaetzu. The baaetzu known as “devils” on the many prime material worlds were a strictly regimented caste of beings that marshaled their evil along stringent guidelines. The devils had been the determined foes of the demons of the abyss since time began, and this enmity continued into the present. The teeming chaos of the abyss birthed massive armies of demons that frequently invaded the first layer of Baator, called Avernus. There the disorganized hordes of demons would clash against the ranks of devils and usually be broken upon the less numerous but far more dedicated baatezu lines. This cycle of conflict repeated itself eternally, with demons invading Baator and being repelled and occasionally devils invading the abyss only to be overwhelmed by the vast hordes of fiends that lived there.
Pyrak was devoted to bringing the war to the nine hells due in large part to his sword, Fiendbleeder, a staggeringly powerful artifact with a mind and will of its own that existed for a single purpose, to destroy devils. Over the centuries the sword had poisoned Pyrak’s mind until he existed for nothing but the bloodwar, which the eternal conflict was known by both devils and demons. The sword’s epic power allowed Pyrak to remain largely unmolested by other demon lords who feared the artifact and its wielder. From his floating palace on a barren windswept layer of the abyss, Pyrak commanded a host of vrocks and other demons that he or one of his generals frequently led into the hells to do battle. Pyrak was much feared in the nine hells, he had personally smashed entire legions of devils, his gargantuan sword sweeping through their lines like a scythe through wheat. He had even on one invasion defeated the great pit fiend Bel in single combat, mortally wounding the Devil Lord before his loyal retainers pulled him to safety amid the chaos of battle. In his heart Pyrak knew that the battle was futile, the planes were infinite and the bloodwar was simply unwinnable, but Fiendbleeder drove him on, its thirst for the blood of devils nigh unquenchable.
When Pyrak was unable to lead his army into Baator, usually due to disputes with other rival demon lords, he allowed a few of his most powerful servants to lead in his stead. Heskera and Kugrot where two of his best, but to date each one of their forays had ended in complete and utter failure resulting in the loss of thousands of valuable demonic troops. Both of the powerful demons were far too concerned with their own personal gains and more importantly their own skins to make any sort of descent military commander. Without Pyrak in the lead his demonic army quickly degenerated into a wild and unorganized mob, uncontrollable and easily defeated by the orderly arrays of diabolic might. Pyrak’s grip around the hilt of his greatsword tightened as his two incompetent generals continued to debate.
“You fat, slobbering pile of dung!” Heskera screamed, all six of her arms flying out in utter exasperation. “You can barely put whole sentences together, let alone lead an army!”
Kugrot’s beady eyes gleamed at Heskera’s insult. “Perhaps you have forgotten my stunning victory over Medregog.” The nalfashnee sneered.
“Hah!” Heskera snorted. “Medregog, that trumped up lemure! He practically led his entire regiment of that cliff before you ran into him. Imbeciles get no accolades for outwitting imbeciles.” She finished icily.
“You want to talk about lemures?! Let me tell you about lemures, bitch!” Kugrot barked back, a malicious grin creasing his hideous features, “I seem to recall a whole wing of vrocks destroyed by those pathetic little blobs of flesh not more than two weeks ago. Now who was leading that little expedition, hmm….”? Kugrot tapped his warty chin mockingly as if trying to remember a name. “Ah, yes, it was you!” The nalfashnee boomed after taking a moment to drink in Heskera’s growing rage. “Yes and on the ground as well. You do know that vrocks can fly, don’t you!?” Kugrot spat.
So engrossed in their argument were the two demons that neither of them heard Fiendbleeder slither from its scabbard or Pyrak rising from his throne.
“I will cut you into a thousand pieces, you inbred dretch dropping!” Six longswords sprang into six long nailed manicured hands, as Heskera gave in to her already less than stable temper.
“Try it, you six armed slut! Just come on and try it! I will…” Kugrot had pulled himself up to his full height and was baring his massive tusks preparing to spring upon Heskera and rend her with tooth and claw but in his rage he failed to see the huge winged shadow looming over him until it was far too late. Wide-eyed Kugrot whirled around in time to meet the massive downward stroke of Fiendbleeder as it bit into his thick skull and cleaved him to the breastbone. A huge gout of black ichor jetted from Kugrot savaged corpse as he fell stone dead to the ground.
Pyrak had had quite enough of his general’s bickering.
The demon lord had lost his grip on Fiendbleeder when it had become lodged in Kugrot’s thick breastbone, but nonetheless he turned his flaming gaze upon Heskera, who had wisely sheathed her blades after witnessing Kugrot’s fate.
“Go. Now.” Pyrak seethed, his words coming out in a harsh croak that left no doubt that murder was still very much in his mind.
Heskera was no fool, realizing that her life had been spared simply because Pyrak’s blade had become stuck in Kugrot after his initial attack, and after a hasty “Yes my lord”, she departed via a teleportation spell. It seemed she had won her argument after all.
Alone at last, Pyrak still fumed but as there were no further targets to inflict his ire upon he turned to the corpse of Kugrot and set about retrieving his precious sword. As Pyrak’s rage cooled he realized that killing both of his general’s would have been counter productive to his efforts in the bloodwar, something he was quite certain Fiendbleeder was aware of. The sword had lodged within the corpse of Kugrot to keep its wielder from further damaging its chances to destroy devils. The silvery blade of Fiendbleeder could have easily cut Kugrot in two and allowed Pyrak to bring the weapon to bear on Heskera, but it had desired otherwise.
Pyrak ripped Fiendbleeder from Kugrot's body and it came easily…and willingly. The blade was unmarred and clean, not a drop of Kugrot’s foul blood staining its silvery surface. Pyrak carried his prized weapon gingerly back to his throne where he returned it to the plain black iron sheathe he had discarded in his attack on Kugrot. He then sank wearily back into his throne, folding his great wings around his body and sat brooding. Pyrak stoked the sheathed Fiendbleeder lovingly, for it was his most precious possession, the great sword had lifted him to the heights he now occupied and over the centuries it had become his master, and his beloved. The sword whispered always in the back of his mind driving him on, pushing him to assail the nine hells with every ounce of strength and terror he could muster, and he had complied, throwing all his recourses into the futile bloodwar. Together Pyrak and Fiendbleeder had earned a reputation in Baator that struck fear in the hearts of the mightiest pit fiend; no devil or demon could stand before their combined might.
Pyrak’s legacy of defeating powerful demon lords and arch devils was a long one that had started millennia ago when he vanquished Pazuzu, the demon prince of the air, in mortal combat. Pyrak had claimed the floating fortress he now occupied from Pazuzu as well as the vast abyssal plane he had once ruled. Pazuzu, who had survived his confrontation with Pyrak by fleeing to the prime material plane, had since returned to the abyss and was virtually the only demon lord that openly defied Pyrak. Pyrak himself was not concerned with the affairs of other powerful demons and maintained pacts of non-aggression with various demon lords including Orcus and Grazz’t. The great vrock was concerned only with the conquest in the nine hells and appeasing Fiendbleeder.
Pyrak was suddenly pulled from his brooding by the thundering clash of a heavy fist rapping on the giant silver and adamantine doors that led to his throne room.
“Enter!” Pyrak barked, anger seeping into his voice.
The massive double doors swung open soundlessly to admit the terrible scaly form of Hedrenatherax, Pyrak’s balor major domo. The huge demon stalked directly up to the throne, his arms cradling a small, limp humanoid whose arms and legs dangled listlessly from the demon’s iron clasp.
Pyrak eyes narrowed from above his massive folded wings at his second in command as he stood at the base of the steps and waited for his lord to address him. Pyrak made him wait for nearly five minutes, noting with pleasure how the balor’s gaze unerringly found the shattered body of Kugrot whose bloated corpse was emitting an over powering stench and a widening pool of thickening black slime.
Finally growing bored with waiting Pyrak unfolded his wings revealing Fiendbleeder once again in its customary place across the demon lord’s knees, in easy reach.
“Well Hedrenatherax, I hope you have not disturbed me needlessly, I am in a foul mood.” Pyrak punctuated his statement with an unmistakable glance at what remained of Kugrot.
“So it would seem, my lord. But I have brought you something I believe you will find interesting.” Hedrenatherax said slowly, choosing his words carefully and keeping his tone flat and unchallenging.
“What? That little faithless maggot you’ve got there?” Pyrak said uninterestedly. “Take it to the night hags, I have no use of it.”
“If I may lord, this one is different…and dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Hah!” Pyrak snorted mockingly. “The faithless are mindless drones, fit only for consumption or the spawning pits. How could one possibly be dangerous?”
“They are dangerous when they have retained the memories and power they wielded in life, just as this one has.” Hedrenatherax countered simply.
Pyrak regarded his balor servant skeptically noting for the first time that the two vrocks he had sent with Hedrenatherax on his foray to the Fugue Plane were conspicuously absent.
“Where are Drezekar and Yaguvak?” Pyrak hissed his voice stained with venom and suspicion. The demon lord’s right claw tightened reflexively on the hilt of Fiendbleeder.
Hedrenatherax did not falter in the face of his master and stood his ground. “Slain, by this faithless here. I swear it my lord.” A partial truth that Hedrenatherax desperately hoped Pyrak would believe. “If you would allow me to explain I think you will find my tale very interesting.”
Pyrak’s eyes suddenly went glassy and he settled back in his throne and relaxed his grip on his great sword. “Very well, tell me your tale.” The demon lord’s voice was distant and unfocused.
The sword has his mind again. Hedrenatherax surmised silently, filled with disgust that the mighty demon lord could be controlled in such a way. In truth he was grateful for the reprieve Fiendbleeder had granted him, for if the sword was interested in what he had to say then Pyrak would soon be as well.
Hedrenatherax began his story immediately and recounted the short but deadly battle with Hazergal that resulted in the destruction of the vrock Drezekar. The balor expanded his tale to include the second vrock’s destruction by the spellcasting faithless and greatly increased his own role in the battle boasting of his miraculous survival of nearly half a dozen might spells before he was able to color the dangerous faithless.
Pyrak had seemingly regained his senses as Fiendbleeder had retreated from his mind sometime during Hedrenatherax’s story. The mighty demon lord now wore a look of pointed interest and sat silent for a few moments after the balor had stopped speaking.
“Well, I had thought it impossible that a petitioner, even a faithless could retain anything from their mortal lives, but it seems that that is simply not true. Perhaps this faithless is simply an anomaly, but nevertheless he does present an interesting opportunity”
“What do you suggest we do with him, my lord” Hedrenatherax questioned.
“Take him to the spawning pits." Pyrak replied simply his tone flat and unimpressed. "If he truly is as powerful as you say I do not wish him to run amok within my demesne, but perhaps he will emerge from the pits as something more than a manes or a dretch. If so we can always put him to use in the bloodwar.”
Hedrenatherax knew better than to argue with his master and bowed his head in acquiescence. “Very well, my lord I will take him too the pits of Gemnez Drak, immediately. I will report to you if anything unusual occurs.”
“Good. Now leave me,” Pyrak dismissed his major domo with a wave of his taloned hand and folded his wings about his body again, returning instantly to his brooding and the lingering mental caress of his precious Fiendbleeder.
Hedrenatherax stalked from the throne room with Hazergal in tow, taking wing from one of the many lofty parapets of Pyrak’s floating fortress. The balor streaked across the barren abyssal landscape towards a soft green luminescence on the far distance horizon, his prisoner dangling limply from his powerful talons.
Hazergal who had heard and understood every word spoken in Pyrak’s throne room existed in a state of impotent panic, locked helpless within his own mind by the power of the magical collar around his neck. He had witnessed the terrible journey from the Fugue Plane to the abyss from the arms of Hedrenatherax and knew that his fate would not be pleasant. He did not recognize the demon lord he had been brought before but he understood well enough the death sentence handed down from the powerful fiend. The arch-mage’s extensive knowledge of planar lore and demonology granted him a firm understanding of the fate that awaited him in Gemnez Drak.
Faithless petitioners, not sold to the night hags, were cast into the boiling quagmire of primordial ooze that filled the dreaded spawning pits. These pits, and the fell magic contained within, would transform a petitioner into a demon, usually a dretch or the near mindless manes. But many petitioners were simply destroyed by the brutal magical and alchemical transmutation, their souls forever gone, their existence snuffed out permanently. This was the fate that awaited Hazergal, either transformation into a fiend or total destruction.
Helpless the arch-mage watched the glowing green light grow larger in the distance as his captor sped through the air towards the spawning pit of Gemnez Drak.
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Cheiromancer
Adventurer
This is from before Hedrenatherax's destruction?
What is the ego on Fiendbleeder anyway? Is Pyrak totally under its power?
What is the ego on Fiendbleeder anyway? Is Pyrak totally under its power?
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Cheiromancer said:
Ok, you caught me.
I made a little mistake with Hedrenatherax, but I have fixed it by simply removing the words "now long destroyed" from Pyrak's history.
Doh!
As for fiendbleeder and Pyrak, you'll just have to keep reading and find out.
Dirge
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Stats for Pyrak and Fiendbleeder posted in the rogue's gallery.
Thanks for reading.
Dirge
Thanks for reading.
Dirge
Cheiromancer
Adventurer
BLACKDIRGE said:
As for fiendbleeder and Pyrak, you'll just have to keep reading and find out.
Dirge
Well, from the partial description of Fiendbleeder, I get
+7 (enhancement) + 1 (keen) + 2 (chaotic) + 7 (dread) + 6 (sonic blast) + 4 (special purpose) = +27
Which is before accounting for Fiendbleeder's Intelligence, Wisdom and Charisma, or the primary and extraordinary abilities. With mental ability scores of 20, and say 3 extraordinary and 5 primary abilities, that's an ego of 53.
With a will save of +33, Pyrak needs to roll a 20 to get his way.
I wonder how many other demon lords are under the control of their items?
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Cheiromancer said:
Yup, that sounds about right.
I havn't fully statted out fiendbleeder but I meant it to be on the level of strombringer or mournblade.
Thanks for reading.
Dirge
Lord Ebonwinter
Explorer
Nice work I look forward to more.....
