Demonic Shorts
Content
Succubus by Palindrome and The Serge
When she caressed me for the first time I saw her for what she truly was. Her face was as achingly
beautiful as when I first gazed upon her – not as any one specific woman’s face, but the sum of the
feminine ideal made flesh. Even the small, ivory horns upon her head, and her furled, ebon wings only
added to her beauty. With that first touch of her clawed hand to my bare chest my heart - no, my very
life - paused.
She was my only love - my first love My first death.
How could anyone have thought her deadly? How could anyone have thought her a monster? Those
other men were not me! They were not the ones for her, they did not deserve her. I did. I cast aside
the foolish notions of propriety, of chivalry, of chastity. They were shackles that had no meaning when
offered one such as she. She opened my soul to the possibilities of true love, this woman beyond all
women, when she guided me to the empty brothel. She opened my heart to the truth of passion when
she threw me upon the soiled mattress and straddled my hips before tearing my breast-plate and
clothes off.
She touched me again, and I barely noticed that the door to my room had burst open, and those that
were once my friends, those who had traveled with me and were willing to accompany me to Eselix,
were shouting and drawing weapons. I recalled the first time I met them, and yet it all seemed so
insignificant compared to the beautiful creature that nibbled on my ear as she whispered how much
she cared for me — how she was the only one for me, and I the only one for her.
Some distant part of my mind knew my friends were trying to pull me away from her even as my vision
dimmed and my heart slowed. I clawed and swung my dagger wildly at them with all of the rage and
strength I had left. I screamed curses at them, trying to prevent them from separating me from my
love’s sweet embrace. One of them grabbed me by the leg, forcing me to reach down and bite him
until he screamed and let me go. She laughed even as her touch was
- like dying.
Babau by Palindrome
I was about to close the apothecary and the only other person inside was my son, Jhanthen. Business
had been bad today, and it had been failing for the last couple of weeks... ever since I refused to buy
those scrolls Erasys brought to try and sell me. While Mandl was relatively tolerant towards that kind of
material, I didn’t want to acquire a reputation for carrying literature that outwardly hostile towards
the Aldra. Something about Erasys seemed different then as well... something unnerving yet harried,
and there was a desperation about him. After that day business almost came to a halt. Former wellknown customers passed my store and looked at its exterior as if there was something wrong with us...
and then they walked off. In fact, I would’ve sworn that several times, they picked up their pace
afterwards as if they wanted to get my shop out of their minds as quickly as possible.
It had been a poor couple of weeks and it was a painful thought to dwell upon as I locked the cabinets
and sealed away the vials. I called for Jhanthen a few times and received no answer. I thought he must
have been towards the back. Or maybe replacing some texts that had been brought up from the cellar.
When I was done with my tasks, I noticed that for several minutes there had been absolute silence from
my son. I couldn’t hear Jhanthen sweeping, or moving the stool he used to reshelf the books that were
too high for him to reach otherwise.
“Jhanthen?”
No answer.
“Jhanthen! Speak up!”
I made my way from behind the counter and saw him standing in the center of the store. Behind him,
the cloth curtains began to slowly close themselves.
Jhanthen spoke in a voice far too low for his small body, and a voice that seemed to echo in my
head...You should’ve dealt with Erasys when you had the chance. Images of destruction, of the store
on fire, and my bloody and broken corpse, were shoved into my mind even as a cloud of darkness
poured out of my son, blocking my vision. I yelled, grabbed the dagger that I kept under the table, and
ran for the back door as quickly as I could.
I tripped on something that seemed to give as I ran, barely managing to keep from landing on my head
by throwing my arms out in front of me, but losing the dagger. I felt around for it in the dark, and was
shocked as I realized that I was feeling... flesh. I panicked, and then started sobbing as I knew that this
was the body of my son, his head nearly twisted to its side, his clothes and skin burnt and scarred in
places.
Something jerked me back by pulling on my legs and my son’s corpse fled my mind. I grabbed the
wooden floorboards and tried to hold on with my hands, but my adversary was too strong. I was twisted
about and a glossy black, bony hand with inch-long rouge talons grabbed me by the shoulder tightly
enough to draw blood and threw me backwards against the wall.
I looked up at a semblance of mortal form. While as tall as a humen, its skin was so dark as to
practically be a part of the gloom that surrounded us, and was so tight against its skeleton as to make
it look like a starving, emaciated thing, every bone highlighted in relief. The only reason I seemed to
be able to see it at all was because of the red slime around it. My shoulder began burning and sizzling,
even as it picked up my own dagger and buried it in my chest up to the hilt, twisted it, and pulled it
back out again. It took its other arm and forced me to look into its face. It had a triangular head with
vicious inch-long fangs like needles, a horn that extended from the back of the head and curved around
until it pointed straight at me, and eyes....eyes that glowed yellow, and yet were completely blank.
The longer I looked into them...I could feel my legs, my arms, my chest going completely numb.
I tried to scream. It forced my mouth open, my jaw beginning to burn like my shoulder did, and it cut
my tongue out with a single swipe. I started choking on my own blood even as it kept stabbing me,
each thrust accompanied with cackling laughter and enjoyment until my vision finally dimmed.
Manes by The Serge
So you come to today to hear a message of peace. A message of hope. Well, there is hope, but there is
also terror. And that is what I will speak on this day. I will speak on the terror that festers within, the
terror that rots your soul and the soul of this world.
So many wish to believe that there is no eternal punishment after this life. They wish to believe that it
is about some sort of cosmic balance. They wish you to believe that your soul wishes to end up in a
certain place because it wants to be there.
Do you truly think that your soul will simply fall into the Depths Below because that’s where it wants to
go? Is that what you truly believe? If you believe in that, you are truly among the damned for that is
what those that blaspheme against the power of Celzar – Hallowed be his name – would have you
believe! That is what those who have willfully fled the binding, guiding, defending hand of the King of
Kings want to believe! They want to believe that their souls are destined for that end, that they will be
rewarded in their final fate. These fools want to believe that there is some kind cosmic balance that
dictates the necessary end of their souls in one afterlife or another. These fools do not want to accept
the truth! They do not want to accept the revelation that the Holy Writ has handed down from the
throne of Glidian itself! And that truth is that the damned are sent reeling into the Depths Below not
because that’s what their souls ultimately want, but because they are repelled from the blessings, the
rewards of the Heavens! Like a lodestone against metal, their soul is composed of Evil that is only
drawn to Evil. That is their just end! That is their punishment! That is the disposition of souls!
Can you feel it in you? Can you feel it gurgling in your body? It’s like the puss in your chest when a light
plague has settled upon you. Festering! Seething! You hack and cough to get it out and you pray to the
Lord of Lords! And for the select he will lower his guiding gauntlet and release the pressure and
tightness! But these do not call on Holy Gauntlet for redemption! No! Like the pig at the pen, they
feast on the festering in their soul, spitefully, contemptuously denying their sickness, their viciousness!
They continue unabated in their world, denying the rule of law! The call for justice! The cause of
righteousness and goodness! They steal! They lie! They cheat! They curse the names of those that call
for order and love and peace under the Gauntlet of Holiness! It’s not just the murderers! It’s not just
those that ravage women and children! It’s not just those that seek out the vices of addiction and
greed! No! It’s your neighbor! It’s your brother! It’s your wife! It’s you sitting here in this temple,
believing that the wheezing of your soul falls on deaf ears! But His ears are not blocked! His ears can
hear the rotting of your soul. He can smell the stench of the plague on your spirit as you sit in here,
thinking you have managed to hide!
And when you die with this sickness that you could have gone to him for healing, there will be NO
further chance to beg for his intercession! The bloating of your soul will take on a form all its own as
your physical body rots in its casket! It will not look like you! It will be small and pathetic, corpsecolored thing bloated on just its hate and its viciousness. If there was anything decent about you,
anything that recognized the rule of law and civilization, it will be swept away! Away! It will melt into
nothingness or eaten by the demons that rise from The Abyss to claim the bloated remains of your soul!
Yea, and what remains of you will be ushered into a chasm that never ends, a jagged valley of puss,
blood, bile, fire, and dung! Your weak soul will be smashed together with those of the other damned if
it’s not devoured by your true brothers and sisters, the demons! And your soul will not die as it’s
consumed! Nay! It will be wrenched and ruined and what little of you remains will know no hope! No
peace! No happiness! No solitude! No LOVE! Nay, it will only know pain and filth and disgrace as it’s
purged from the arse of the demons that use you as sustenance they don’t need! They will cast you
about as rotting food, use you as weapons in their battles against the archangels!
You who sit here thinking you are safe! Thinking that there is no punishment after this life! Beware the
rotting of your soul! Beware the plague that sits upon it, festering! Beware! For death will come upon
you as an assassin and you will be cast down, down, down! Dragged into the mire! Dragged into the
endless terror! Not a living thing, not something whole! Just the remnants of your vile, crooked,
villainy! And you will have earned your just reward, to be forever maimed by Creation! Call unto him
now, ye sinner! Call unto the Gauntlet of Holiness to ward against this fate! Cleanse your soul and
accept Celzar – Hallowed be His Name – now!
Or forever be condemned!
– Excerpt from a sermon by Grand Minister Masmodas entitled the “Rotting of the Soul.”
Yochlol by Palindrome
The first thing I noticed was the blood trickling across my forehead and into my eyes. I think this was
what finally woke me. The second thing I noticed was when I tried to move my arms and legs, they
were chained in place. I lifted my head and my heart nearly froze when I saw my surroundings.
I was bound flat and naked onto some kind of table of cold, black stone, stained with a brown
substance that I knew instantly to be dried blood. In front of me in a half-circle were eight mortals that
were clearly female elves... but of no type I had ever seen before. Wearing long, black robes that
trailed onto the ground in which silver spiders had been woven into the fabric, they were tall, with
long, white hair, and extremely pale skin like a being that had not seen the sun for a long time...
perhaps years on end. The place I was in was a cross between an amphitheatre and a temple. The walls
themselves moved as they were composed almost entirely of chains of living spiders - black, purple,
and of types that I had never seen before. Where the walls weren’t made from spiders, silken webs,
rubies, and amethysts hung in such a way to resemble spiders’ eyes.. The stench of death and terror
mixed with rich incense.
The women began chanting... a rhythmic, eerie noise whose words themselves gave me a headache
and made me gag on fear although I could not comprehend what was being spoken. Behind them, the
spiders crawled away from a spot on the center of the wall, even as the remaining spiders, webs, and
jewels seemed to bend, as if something was sucking it away from behind. Then, the wall cracked, and
the crack itself enlarged. I thought that I saw for a fraction of second, long, spiny and hairy limbs like
those of a spider extend from the crack, but when I blinked, all I could see was a boiling, stinking cloud
of dense, orange vapor. The chanting intensified as the priestesses moved aside towards the walls, and
made room for the cloud to glide silently towards me.
Glistening, mottled orange and brown tentacles emerged from the cloud even as it deformed and
elongated, the vapors turning red in its newly formed front. The red spot turned into an enormous eye
as wide as my forearm was long... unblinking even as the rest of the creature solidified from the gasses
into a column of slime my own height. It slithered towards me, dragging its tentacles and leaving wet
trails on the ground. When it got close enough, it leaned over my shackled body and stared at me, my
eyes meeting its eye. That eye with its black iris as large as my hand.
It ran its tentacles across my skin. The realization struck me that this creature was actually tasting me.
The fear that I managed to bind within raced from me and I began yelling uncontrollably. I screamed
until my throat was hoarse and flailed my arms as best I could within the manacles until my wrists
bled. Yet my screams did nothing but encourage it. I felt its presence in my mind, gloating in the
knowledge of my inevitable demise through its actions. The creature shifted into an enormous spider
and bit me even as it spoke in my head, and the heads of all present.
I accept this sacrifice in the name of the Queen of the Demonweb Pits.
Vrock by The Serge
... the truth behind the entire conflict between Glimmerhovel and Valdeze was due to the Ostensi cult.
To my mind, the most condemning moment before the War of the Beast officially started was the
Skirmish of the Flayed Hills. The High Court, under High Justice Odemthus II, sent a contingency of
Guard some 3000 strong beyond the River Whiplash, burning much of Broadbend in their march. Again,
we cannot truly blame Odemthus for he thought what so many of the learned and men of power in
Valdeze thought at the time: Glimmerhovel was behind the horrific assaults against the towns and
hamlets near Ethenus and the attempted destruction of the Weeping Wall. And, unfortunately for the
misinformed Odemdthus and his High Court, the Lord of Broadbend was able to release a pigeon
bearing a message for the Lord of Worms, Esel. King Esel reacted as he was prone to: with swift
decisiveness. He sent his fasted drake-riding warriors, his strongest Speakers of the Word, and a fair
number of Celzarian priest to ambush the unsuspecting advancing Valdeze contingency in the valleys of
the Flayed Hills. There, Esel’s forces decimated the Guard; however, while he was wily, Esel was also
merciful to a point. Like Odemthus, he did not want war and he could not understand why the Valds
would risk a conflict with the Wood. And again like Odemthus, he did not know that the assaults across
the western reaches of his kingdom – with the exception of the burning of Broadbend – were not the
work of the Valds. Still, he offered to allow the 300 or so survivors to return to Valdeze unharmed with
news of their loss as an indication of his resolve to repel any attacks on Glimmerhovel’s people and his
desire to have peace. According to the reports of the few survivors of what was to come, King Esel
gave his word on a parchment bearing his seal that he delivered in person, using magic to arrive to
make his pledge (recall that then, as now, the people of Worm’s Wood embraced The Word to a degree
the Ministry and Valdeze find scandalous).
The survivors that began their struggle back to Valdeze made the fateful decision to return home by
traveling directly for Valernus rather than to Ethenus, hoping to report on the situation directly with
the High Court. This took them very close to the southern reaches of Chariel’s Snarl, a range of jagged
hills, small mountains, and wide valleys. It was here that I believe the War of the Beast truly began.
The man we now know to be Lord Damdred Daggerclaw appeared on a ridge in a valley the rag-tag
band of survivors traveled through (in a desire for shelter and quick access to water and provisions).
Lord Damdred was a servant of House Brokenclaw, the most prominent cultists of Ostensis of the time
and the primary instigators of the troubles between Valdeze and Glimmerhovel. Lord Damdred was sent
to kill as many of the remaining Valdeze contingency as possible and was ordered to allow just enough
to escape to make Esel appear to be nothing less than a butcher. A powerful demonologist, Damdred
apparently viewed his task as one of a scavenger for he selected to kill the remaining forces in a
manner most terrible: he summoned demons.
Now, Damdred did not just summon any demons. Chariel’s Snarl arguably sits within an area of Worm’s
Wood least populated by trees. Its high cliffs are spread apart quite well, which means there’s a great
deal of open space which allows superb visibility for aerial assaults against ground-locked foes.
According to survivor accounts, Damdred appeared on a cliff well above the small group and taunted
them, declaring that Esel had lied and wanted to give them a sense of hope before slaughtering the
whole lot of them. According to all accounts, he shrieked an incantation similar to the following:
“It matters not if you flee, fight, or what you will!
On this day, your flesh I’ll rend and your blood I’ll spill!
This valley shall be your tomb, your eternal home,
Yet none will no for there will be no skin, no bone!
For from the deepest depths where spirits most foul dwell
I draw them to come and consume you with this spell!”
The reports claim that the initially bright, sunny sky swiftly darkened as harsh winds rushed through
the valley and along the cliff. Above Damdred, a black cloud appeared filled with eldritch, unnatural
lights (green and purple being the colors commonly mentioned in the accounts). From this cloud, three
demons emerged. All accounts agree on their appearance. While gaunt in frame, they were much taller
than humen, perhaps 8 feet. Their heads and taloned feet resembled nothing less than those of
fiendish vultures save for the asymmetrical quality of the features, the ridges and horns, and the
glowing black eyes. Otherwise, they had long, spine-covered arms and massive, molting vulture-like
wings; their bodies were covered in gray feathers. These were demons known by a variety of names.
The least clever names for these creatures include Type I demon or air demon, although a few texts
from the Deep Sea region call them “winged furies.” Both A History of the Demon Wars, by Drenicus
the Wise, and the Demonomicon by Iggwilv refer to them as vrocks. In the Ministry, they are called
screeching demons and this is a most appropriate name.
The creatures dove for the cowering Guard. The accounts say at least one of the demons issued a
spirit-quaking shriek from its beaked mouth, causing most of the men to stagger about, vainly covering
their ears, which required that they dropped their weapons. My research suggests that most of their
weapons were largely useless at any rate against these monsters, for their flesh resists the touch of all
but holy arms and strong magicks.
Next, the accounts indicate that the creatures defecated on the Guard, pelting their bodies with foul,
white dung that clung to their armor, clothing, and flesh. These droppings were covered in spines that
penetrated their skin and anchored therein, causing increasingly painful, bloody wounds. Half of the
men apparently died over the course of the next minute from this single attack. The remaining men
suffered lingering deaths as the creatures began slash and peck at them, ripping their upper bodies or
decapitating them. The creatures coordinated their attacks well, an indication that despite being
chaos-craving monsters, screeching demons are willing to do all they can to enjoy their acts of
slaughter. They flew and attacked in such a manner as to coral the bulk of the remaining contingency,
although it seems clear to me that they wanted some to escape. The few that did manage to make it
out of the net were ignored. In some ways, I suspect that they did not see themselves as fortunate for
what they claimed they saw happen to their doomed comrades. The demons landed among the victims
that still lived. Joining taloned hands, the demons squawked and screeched as they danced in a riotous
circle. Within moments, they were covered with a glowing crackle of energy, like lightning. When the
trio reached a crescendo in their dance, they abruptly separated and the lightning consumed
everything within 100 feet of the demons.
It is thought that Damdred disappeared before the screeching demons even began their attack for the
survivors said that they did not see him on the cliff. The demons themselves either returned to their
summoner or else returned to The Abyss and their mistress, Ostensis, for whom they did the foul deed.
It would be months, though, before the truth of this would be known for this attack ensured the brutal
response from Valdeze that the Ostensi wanted when the contingency returned to Valernus.
– A Study of the War of the Beast by Duke Dentun, Chief Librarian of the Valernus Library, Valdeze.
Glabrezu by Palindrome
Summoner of Demons. Blasphemer. Sacrificer of Children.
All of these accusations leveled against me – and more - were true, even understatements. This was
why it was necessary for me to call upon my ‘ally’ from The Abyss for what I expected to be one final
time. Great power it had given me, and great power it would give me once more, lest I die at the
hands of those whose relatives’ purloined flesh and blood fueled my own prowess with the Word.
I completed the spell that would bring it into the Mortal Coil. Within the circle, the stones heaved as
cracks marred the floor’s surface. Black clouds bled up from the depths and eventually turned violet,
brown. Shortly, the thick smoke took on the demon’s form. Well over twice my height even when I was
young, it had a mottled brown and black hide, and an elongated, doglike head with a muzzle filled with
razor-sharp, yellow fangs. It had four arms: two were human-sized, while the other pair was powerfully
muscled and ended with mangled, lobster-like pincers easily capable of carving through a neck or limb.
It would listen to me. The pain that I had inflicted upon it previously ensured that this would be so,
although there were no scars on his body when he arrived.
I commanded it “Give my men the strength to win this battle.”
It growled in reply but made no move. I could feel a surge of magic, and I turned around to look
outside of my tower’s window at the battle below. Something else seemed to occur at the same time,
but I ignored it. The tide of the battle seemed to instantly turn, as those soldiers that fought for me
simultaneously gave a great shout and rushed towards their opposition.
My foes didn’t stand a chance. The attackers either fell to the blade or fled from my tower. My men
roared in cheer as some began to clasp each other in victory. I was surprised by their elation as most of
them were but mercenaries expecting coin for their service and were not motivated by loyalty or
patriotism. That’s when I noticed that they were not hugging as comrades, but were burying swords
into the guts of their fellows or smashing skulls with their maces.
I turned around and looked at the demon I had summoned, a question unspoken on my lips, and my skill
at the Word ready to punish it accordingly.
You only said that you wanted them to have the strength to defeat the army. I have given them that
strength. I heard the voices of my many enemies in my head speak the words mockingly while the
monster itself issued a sonorous, threatening growl. Its glittering, yellow eyes conveyed an emotion
that could best be described as amusement.
“They’re killing each other!” I screamed as they hacked into each other in frenetically. Each drop of
blood spilled, each limb hewn off, drove them into further depths of depraved battle lust. The
survivors started to kill themselves. Even those that were nigh-limbless corpses after the initial battle
still crawled towards each other as they were dying, gnawing at each other’s faces.
So? Their madness is their strength now.
Before I could cast a spell, I was yanked into the air by an unseen hand. Nevertheless, my brief flight
allowed me to see precisely what the demon did while it granted me my desire. A small, bloated
corpse-like creature had disrupted the circle I had prepared. It scuttled back behind the demon before
I fell to the cold stone floor. I heard the sickening crunch of my own bones breaking. I didn’t die
instantly. Unfortunately.
The demon strode out of the circle confidently and stamped down on my broken legs even while
twisting them further with its hawk-like feet. I screamed in agony as it pinned me to the ground and
laughed at my suffering. Its canine head looked down at me and gave an expression that probably
would have been a leer on a human face.
It looked at my arms. I don’t think you should cast any more spells. Slowly, it gripped each arm at the
shoulder with a pincer and, with each jerking, sawing motion pushing me closer to unconsciousness,
ripped my limbs from my torso, leaving ragged stumps. Right before I blacked out, I realized that it was
flinging my wrecked body out of the window and into a pack of my own deranged soldiers.
Bebilith by Palindrome and The Serge
As soon as my quarry was described to me, I knew this was going to be a difficult task - which was why
the tithe I received for the service was so high. Apparently, some heretic or blasphemer in the city had
attempted to call a demon. Whoever it, was succeeded, but the demon escaped. The local temple
master thought that there were more individuals involved in the summoning and I would tend to them
upon my return. Unfortunately, apparently more than one evil spirit stole into our world but the
temple master didn’t know how many. As a result, not only did the one the temple knew about have to
be taken alive, but it had to be taken alive quietly so as to not start a panic. Then, it had to be brought
back to the temple master so the creature could be questioned before being banishing (a job I certainly
didn’t want to risk myself).
I had fought its kind before and it didn’t take me particularly long to track it. I made sure that I fought
it on my terms. In the morning I found it and backed it into a corner (it was not strong enough to
magically relocate). The demon was my own height; it was a hideous, deformed thing and was
hunchbacked and stump-footed, one side of its body another head over me. It fought with a pole-arm it
had probably procured during its flight. What fight it put up didn’t seem as enthusiastic as otherwise.
I’ve fought lesser demons and have the scars, physical and otherwise, to demonstrate how much of a
fight any demon has in it. This was not what I expected, which should have been cause for concern had
I not been so pleased with my success.
After being subdued, it seemed less terrified of the weapons and magic that I wielded, and more
terrified at its loss of freedom... almost as if it was not on a mission of carnage but one of evasion. We
viziers are trained not to parley with demons, so I did not think to question it but bound its arms and
legs with strips of white cloth used to burnish cold-iron blades and soaked in holy water. I also gagged
it with a silver-plated mouthpiece engraved with the Sword and Shield on a band after shoving three
holy wafers into its mouth. The gag would keep it from speaking while the wafers would make it think
twice about invading my mind with its thoughts.
It struggled weakly as the righteous energy sizzled into its flesh, but its mismatched eyes did not glare
at me but bathed the surrounding forest. I placed it on a litter and watched it continue to look about
desperately for a few minutes. Mildly intrigued, I began to head back to the agreed-upon meeting place
where we hoped all this would be over quickly.
I felt the first sensations of being watched within an hour of my victory.
I’m sure the exorcised demon felt it first. The only term that’s appropriate to describe its reaction is
“panicking.” It had fits on the litter which made it all the more difficult to drag. To my astonishment,
it even touched my mind with its own despite the tremendous pain it must have endured. It kept
thinking devour... eyes ...spider... to me over and over again.
I hurried back as quickly as I could. Not because I cared about the existence of the rutterkin (the name
of the demon type in question) - because I didn’t - but because I had no desire to be caught by
whatever drove it to such mindless terror out here when... whatever was following me us caught up
with me - if it hadn’t done so already.
It was dusk when I began to feel very uneasy despite being less than a couple hours from the town’s
periphery and our meeting place. More than once I saw a set of small, cruel, glowing bundles of red
eyes staring at me unblinkingly. Before I could even draw my swords it would vanish. They were very
much like spider eyes magnified in size hundreds of times. Normally, I would not have been concerned.
I’d seen spiders as large as a man and larger. None of them ever looked at me with such malice or
intelligence of whatever I saw. The rutterkin continued to twist in its litter, its mind screaming in my
own. I considered killing it a few times but felt the success of this mission a priority. I hurried as best I
could.
The stars wheeled silently in the sky, stretching my nerves to the breaking point when suddenly we
came to face to face with our attacker. I only had only seconds of warning from the noise of it crashing
through the underbrush and, despite the suddenness of its appearance and speed, its appearance will
never leave my mind. To call it spider-like would fail to describe the creature’s utter... foulness. Its six
legs were incredibly long, spindly, thin, and covered in thorn-like barbs. However, the two foremost
were as wide as both of my legs combined with huge, barbed spines. All eight legs ended in monstrous
spikes. The legs did not so much allow it to walk as to stab and punish the ground with every step. Its
body was the bluish-black of bruised flesh, stained or mottled with stripes and blotches of sickly purple
and brown that seemed to move as I stared at them. It crawled hunched downwards, but if it stood at
full height with its legs extended, it would have easily been well over ten feet tall. The head was a
violation of a man’s face with that of a spider’s to the point that it ultimately resembled neither. The
forest of fangs and mandibles under the red eye clusters quivered and twisted with obscene
anticipation.
I would not have been ready for it even if I wasn’t so stunned by its appearance since it moved
incredibly fast. The fangs parted and spewed grayish-black webbing. I made no attempt to move and
would have been caught if it wasn’t aiming for the litter I dragged (its aim was amazing). The rutterkin
howled in my mind for me to free it, but I had more serious problems on my hands. The spider-thing
charged me as I struggled to draw my swords. With a careless swipe of one of its foreclaws, it knocked
me aside, breaking a rib in the process. Then, with a lust-filled squeal, it leaped right on top of the
wailing rutterkin, impaling it through the torso on its foreclaws.
Despite my pain, I got back to my feat and drew my swords and moved to confront the monster. It
turned its head and fixed me with a glare from its eerie array of eight horrible, glowing eyes. They
clearly possessed a malign intelligence no natural spider could. It swiped at me again with one of its
foreclaws and rent my chain shirt in two as easily as I would cut into a piece of fruit. I looked down and
saw that the attack had left a shallow wound and I heard something I think was a guttural laugh echo in
my mind. With a shuddering flash of insight, I knew that this monstrosity was enjoying this.
I am ashamed to say that I dropped my swords as I stared up at the spider-monster. It had shifted to
face me, dragging the still struggling, shrieking rutterking along like a rag. It leaned close to me,
extending a trio of long, hollow fangs dripping with venom. It inclined its head in a calculating fashion
as it studied me. My bladder gave way and it looked down at the wetness between my legs. It
chattered again, a laugh I’m certain, before it lifted the rutterkin to its maw and bit down. The
screams the lesser demon issued will be nightmares to haunt me for ages. It never stopped screaming
or living as the spider-thing devoured it, all the while looking at me. Even after the head, which the
monster ate last, disappeared into the thicket of fangs, the scream continued as though from the
depths. As I stood whimpering, the monster afforded me one last look before bounding back into the
forest.
After moments had passed and I found that I was still alive despite my pounding heart, I retrieved my
weapons and the remains of my armor. Shaking, I dragged the crushed litter along as I struggled to the
meeting place, all the while thinking that whoever summoned these creatures would have much to pay
for. After I called in orders for a squad of viziers to arrive to track that monster down and banish it.
They can read my report for that will be the extent of my participation in that attempt.
Hezrou by The Serge
Zar’Dar’s lungs sizzled. His legs felt as though he was sloshing through thigh-high water. It was no
surprise when he stumbled face first into a mangy carpet of dead leaves and mire. Whimpering in
dismay and spitting mud and vegetable matter from his mouth, he struggled to get back to his feet and
immediately collapsed back to Worm’s Wood’s embrace. He panted, trying to catch his breath, and – as
he prepared to try again – froze when he heard the distant shouting and baying.
Haunted eyes turned to peer into the dusk. His ears very nearly twitched as he heard them smashing
through the thick oaks and bushes of the Wood that he had hoped would deter them. He should have
known better. He had smelled the blood on their breath when they had attacked the keep and
slaughtered most of his family’s retainers. He felt the heat of their righteous fury as they torched the
keep and slaughtered the few of his kin that were too slow in fleeing. He saw the intensity in their eyes
as they lighted upon him and his brother as they fled on foot.. He disobeyed the elder Har’Dar and took
his own path, a secret path, hoping that the Cloudseer pursuers would take after the better known,
burlier sibling. In short order, though, he cursed his decision for there were more than enough
Cloudseer scum to divide their forces relatively evenly. He always wanted to be the better known of
the Brokenclaw rather than being the sickly, thin whelp. He could have fought! Now, he was caught
and would die, strung up like a commoner in one of trees of Worm’s Wood near Worm’s Bile Lake, to
be eaten by flies and ravens. He would die a coward by his family’s standards, without a sword and
without a vengeful kill. Just like a cow.
The ignominy of his pending demise infuriated Zar’Dar. He was a Brokenclaw! He was chosen by
Ostensis the Demon Queen to ensure his Houses’ hegemony over Worm’s Wood. She promised the
family. She owed him!
Through chapped lips, Zar’Dar hissed, “Oh, mighty Lady of Discord! Oh, Harlot of the Cursed Masses!
Oh, wretched Bloodletter! Hear the voice of your servant! It was foretold that I would guide House
Brokenclaw, the I would bear witness to our ascension! Now, in my time of need, show me your worth!
Show me and I will bathe all of Worm’s Wood in blood enough to sate even your unquenchable thirst!
Show me!”
Even as he shouted his last two words, he heard the growls of the dogs as they charged out of the
undergrowth. He spun on his back just in time to raise his arms before his face and throat. He didn’t
scream as they bit viciously, snapping at and shaking his forearms, body, and legs. Tears of rage
coursed down his gaunt cheeks as he heard the men shouting in the distance.
As one of the dogs broke through his feeble defenses for his throat, Zar’Dar’s nose was filled with a
wet, rancid odor. Without warning, Zar’Dar spewed vomit across himself and his canine attackers.
Fortunately, whatever the stench was, the dogs were likewise swiftly overcome by it; whining, they
stumbled away from Zar’Dar’s bloody form, wobbling towards the sounds of their masters. A massive,
slime-covered hand the size of an anvil swept out of the trees and swatted one of the dogs, cleaving its
head from its body, before sweeping towards the second mutt, disemboweling it. This last animal
limped along a few steps, blood and froth foaming out its mouth, its belly dragging under its hind legs,
before it collapsed in a pool of its own blood.
The ground shuddered, although it did not seem to be from undue weight; rather, it was though the
surrounding world wanted to flee and could not. Zar’Dar’s intercessor stepped from behind the oaks
and it was all the Brokenclaw could do not to scream. It was a demon, there was no doubting that. In
his time, he had studied the spirits that served his House’s goddess and had even bound a few of the
weak variety to his will. This was no such creature. It was a towering mass of dung-colored brown and
moldy green, at least eight feet. Its squat body was as wide as it was tall and its arms, while both
large, were covered in asymmetrical musculature and ended in wide, webbed, hands that ended in
short, sharp claws. Its head was massive with a short, rounded muzzle. It resembled nothing less than a
gargantuan toad’s, save for the wide mouth that opened in a bizarre parody of a smile as it cast its
dull, green eyes on Zar’Dar. The mouth was filled with multiple rows of blunt, rotting teeth
surrounding a massive tongue the color of rotting flesh. The demon turned from him and Zar’Dar
noticed rows of spines of various lengths along its incredibly broad back.
Zar’Dar could barely see the men that burst from the trees. He could barely see the looks of horror on
their faces as they beheld the demon. Most crumbled to their knees and heaved violently, dropping
their clubs and wooden planks. A few managed to turn and flee, barely keeping their feet as they did.
The creature reared back as it inhaled, opening its arms as though to embrace those that remained,
before issuing an obscene croak. In the cacophony, Zar’Dar could hear a terrible curse of death, a
promise of the power of darkness and the blessings of those that feast on the flesh. Despite the stench
that fouled their noses and stomachs, the Cloudseer hirelings moved to cover their ears as the litany of
evil intensified. They screamed as blood coursed from their noses and ears, and their bones showed
through their paling skin. Abruptly, the creature ended its dirge and the men collapsed in still heaps,
their bodies decomposing prematurely.
The demon waved a single hand and the mud before it bubbled as 16 relatively small, misshapen
creatures rose from it. The wretches cowered as they looked up hatefully at their master. The demon
pointed in the direction of the fleeing hirelings and the little monstrosities gave pursuit, fleeing more
out of fear of their master than out of an interest to do its will. The demon waited patiently until it
and Zar’Dar could hear the pitiful screams of the set-upon men.
As the howls continued, the demon turned to Zar’Dar.
“You have called upon the Demon Queen, Zar’Dar,” it clucked in a basso voice, “and she answered
with me. Should you fail to keep your pledge, the deaths of these will seem as a gift compared to what
you will suffer.”
Without warning, the monstrosity leered over him, opening its mouth as though to swallow him in one
gulp, causing Zar’Dar to scream and raise warding arms. The demon suddenly imploded with a nasty
pop. The stench was gone, although Zar’Dar could still hear the lingering, but dying screams of the
men in the distance. Their screams soothed him and he took his time returning to his feet and walking
into the night.
When she caressed me for the first time I saw her for what she truly was. Her face was as achingly
beautiful as when I first gazed upon her – not as any one specific woman’s face, but the sum of the
feminine ideal made flesh. Even the small, ivory horns upon her head, and her furled, ebon wings only
added to her beauty. With that first touch of her clawed hand to my bare chest my heart - no, my very
life - paused.
She was my only love - my first love My first death.
How could anyone have thought her deadly? How could anyone have thought her a monster? Those
other men were not me! They were not the ones for her, they did not deserve her. I did. I cast aside
the foolish notions of propriety, of chivalry, of chastity. They were shackles that had no meaning when
offered one such as she. She opened my soul to the possibilities of true love, this woman beyond all
women, when she guided me to the empty brothel. She opened my heart to the truth of passion when
she threw me upon the soiled mattress and straddled my hips before tearing my breast-plate and
clothes off.
She touched me again, and I barely noticed that the door to my room had burst open, and those that
were once my friends, those who had traveled with me and were willing to accompany me to Eselix,
were shouting and drawing weapons. I recalled the first time I met them, and yet it all seemed so
insignificant compared to the beautiful creature that nibbled on my ear as she whispered how much
she cared for me — how she was the only one for me, and I the only one for her.
Some distant part of my mind knew my friends were trying to pull me away from her even as my vision
dimmed and my heart slowed. I clawed and swung my dagger wildly at them with all of the rage and
strength I had left. I screamed curses at them, trying to prevent them from separating me from my
love’s sweet embrace. One of them grabbed me by the leg, forcing me to reach down and bite him
until he screamed and let me go. She laughed even as her touch was
- like dying.
Babau by Palindrome
I was about to close the apothecary and the only other person inside was my son, Jhanthen. Business
had been bad today, and it had been failing for the last couple of weeks... ever since I refused to buy
those scrolls Erasys brought to try and sell me. While Mandl was relatively tolerant towards that kind of
material, I didn’t want to acquire a reputation for carrying literature that outwardly hostile towards
the Aldra. Something about Erasys seemed different then as well... something unnerving yet harried,
and there was a desperation about him. After that day business almost came to a halt. Former wellknown customers passed my store and looked at its exterior as if there was something wrong with us...
and then they walked off. In fact, I would’ve sworn that several times, they picked up their pace
afterwards as if they wanted to get my shop out of their minds as quickly as possible.
It had been a poor couple of weeks and it was a painful thought to dwell upon as I locked the cabinets
and sealed away the vials. I called for Jhanthen a few times and received no answer. I thought he must
have been towards the back. Or maybe replacing some texts that had been brought up from the cellar.
When I was done with my tasks, I noticed that for several minutes there had been absolute silence from
my son. I couldn’t hear Jhanthen sweeping, or moving the stool he used to reshelf the books that were
too high for him to reach otherwise.
“Jhanthen?”
No answer.
“Jhanthen! Speak up!”
I made my way from behind the counter and saw him standing in the center of the store. Behind him,
the cloth curtains began to slowly close themselves.
Jhanthen spoke in a voice far too low for his small body, and a voice that seemed to echo in my
head...You should’ve dealt with Erasys when you had the chance. Images of destruction, of the store
on fire, and my bloody and broken corpse, were shoved into my mind even as a cloud of darkness
poured out of my son, blocking my vision. I yelled, grabbed the dagger that I kept under the table, and
ran for the back door as quickly as I could.
I tripped on something that seemed to give as I ran, barely managing to keep from landing on my head
by throwing my arms out in front of me, but losing the dagger. I felt around for it in the dark, and was
shocked as I realized that I was feeling... flesh. I panicked, and then started sobbing as I knew that this
was the body of my son, his head nearly twisted to its side, his clothes and skin burnt and scarred in
places.
Something jerked me back by pulling on my legs and my son’s corpse fled my mind. I grabbed the
wooden floorboards and tried to hold on with my hands, but my adversary was too strong. I was twisted
about and a glossy black, bony hand with inch-long rouge talons grabbed me by the shoulder tightly
enough to draw blood and threw me backwards against the wall.
I looked up at a semblance of mortal form. While as tall as a humen, its skin was so dark as to
practically be a part of the gloom that surrounded us, and was so tight against its skeleton as to make
it look like a starving, emaciated thing, every bone highlighted in relief. The only reason I seemed to
be able to see it at all was because of the red slime around it. My shoulder began burning and sizzling,
even as it picked up my own dagger and buried it in my chest up to the hilt, twisted it, and pulled it
back out again. It took its other arm and forced me to look into its face. It had a triangular head with
vicious inch-long fangs like needles, a horn that extended from the back of the head and curved around
until it pointed straight at me, and eyes....eyes that glowed yellow, and yet were completely blank.
The longer I looked into them...I could feel my legs, my arms, my chest going completely numb.
I tried to scream. It forced my mouth open, my jaw beginning to burn like my shoulder did, and it cut
my tongue out with a single swipe. I started choking on my own blood even as it kept stabbing me,
each thrust accompanied with cackling laughter and enjoyment until my vision finally dimmed.
Manes by The Serge
So you come to today to hear a message of peace. A message of hope. Well, there is hope, but there is
also terror. And that is what I will speak on this day. I will speak on the terror that festers within, the
terror that rots your soul and the soul of this world.
So many wish to believe that there is no eternal punishment after this life. They wish to believe that it
is about some sort of cosmic balance. They wish you to believe that your soul wishes to end up in a
certain place because it wants to be there.
Do you truly think that your soul will simply fall into the Depths Below because that’s where it wants to
go? Is that what you truly believe? If you believe in that, you are truly among the damned for that is
what those that blaspheme against the power of Celzar – Hallowed be his name – would have you
believe! That is what those who have willfully fled the binding, guiding, defending hand of the King of
Kings want to believe! They want to believe that their souls are destined for that end, that they will be
rewarded in their final fate. These fools want to believe that there is some kind cosmic balance that
dictates the necessary end of their souls in one afterlife or another. These fools do not want to accept
the truth! They do not want to accept the revelation that the Holy Writ has handed down from the
throne of Glidian itself! And that truth is that the damned are sent reeling into the Depths Below not
because that’s what their souls ultimately want, but because they are repelled from the blessings, the
rewards of the Heavens! Like a lodestone against metal, their soul is composed of Evil that is only
drawn to Evil. That is their just end! That is their punishment! That is the disposition of souls!
Can you feel it in you? Can you feel it gurgling in your body? It’s like the puss in your chest when a light
plague has settled upon you. Festering! Seething! You hack and cough to get it out and you pray to the
Lord of Lords! And for the select he will lower his guiding gauntlet and release the pressure and
tightness! But these do not call on Holy Gauntlet for redemption! No! Like the pig at the pen, they
feast on the festering in their soul, spitefully, contemptuously denying their sickness, their viciousness!
They continue unabated in their world, denying the rule of law! The call for justice! The cause of
righteousness and goodness! They steal! They lie! They cheat! They curse the names of those that call
for order and love and peace under the Gauntlet of Holiness! It’s not just the murderers! It’s not just
those that ravage women and children! It’s not just those that seek out the vices of addiction and
greed! No! It’s your neighbor! It’s your brother! It’s your wife! It’s you sitting here in this temple,
believing that the wheezing of your soul falls on deaf ears! But His ears are not blocked! His ears can
hear the rotting of your soul. He can smell the stench of the plague on your spirit as you sit in here,
thinking you have managed to hide!
And when you die with this sickness that you could have gone to him for healing, there will be NO
further chance to beg for his intercession! The bloating of your soul will take on a form all its own as
your physical body rots in its casket! It will not look like you! It will be small and pathetic, corpsecolored thing bloated on just its hate and its viciousness. If there was anything decent about you,
anything that recognized the rule of law and civilization, it will be swept away! Away! It will melt into
nothingness or eaten by the demons that rise from The Abyss to claim the bloated remains of your soul!
Yea, and what remains of you will be ushered into a chasm that never ends, a jagged valley of puss,
blood, bile, fire, and dung! Your weak soul will be smashed together with those of the other damned if
it’s not devoured by your true brothers and sisters, the demons! And your soul will not die as it’s
consumed! Nay! It will be wrenched and ruined and what little of you remains will know no hope! No
peace! No happiness! No solitude! No LOVE! Nay, it will only know pain and filth and disgrace as it’s
purged from the arse of the demons that use you as sustenance they don’t need! They will cast you
about as rotting food, use you as weapons in their battles against the archangels!
You who sit here thinking you are safe! Thinking that there is no punishment after this life! Beware the
rotting of your soul! Beware the plague that sits upon it, festering! Beware! For death will come upon
you as an assassin and you will be cast down, down, down! Dragged into the mire! Dragged into the
endless terror! Not a living thing, not something whole! Just the remnants of your vile, crooked,
villainy! And you will have earned your just reward, to be forever maimed by Creation! Call unto him
now, ye sinner! Call unto the Gauntlet of Holiness to ward against this fate! Cleanse your soul and
accept Celzar – Hallowed be His Name – now!
Or forever be condemned!
– Excerpt from a sermon by Grand Minister Masmodas entitled the “Rotting of the Soul.”
Yochlol by Palindrome
The first thing I noticed was the blood trickling across my forehead and into my eyes. I think this was
what finally woke me. The second thing I noticed was when I tried to move my arms and legs, they
were chained in place. I lifted my head and my heart nearly froze when I saw my surroundings.
I was bound flat and naked onto some kind of table of cold, black stone, stained with a brown
substance that I knew instantly to be dried blood. In front of me in a half-circle were eight mortals that
were clearly female elves... but of no type I had ever seen before. Wearing long, black robes that
trailed onto the ground in which silver spiders had been woven into the fabric, they were tall, with
long, white hair, and extremely pale skin like a being that had not seen the sun for a long time...
perhaps years on end. The place I was in was a cross between an amphitheatre and a temple. The walls
themselves moved as they were composed almost entirely of chains of living spiders - black, purple,
and of types that I had never seen before. Where the walls weren’t made from spiders, silken webs,
rubies, and amethysts hung in such a way to resemble spiders’ eyes.. The stench of death and terror
mixed with rich incense.
The women began chanting... a rhythmic, eerie noise whose words themselves gave me a headache
and made me gag on fear although I could not comprehend what was being spoken. Behind them, the
spiders crawled away from a spot on the center of the wall, even as the remaining spiders, webs, and
jewels seemed to bend, as if something was sucking it away from behind. Then, the wall cracked, and
the crack itself enlarged. I thought that I saw for a fraction of second, long, spiny and hairy limbs like
those of a spider extend from the crack, but when I blinked, all I could see was a boiling, stinking cloud
of dense, orange vapor. The chanting intensified as the priestesses moved aside towards the walls, and
made room for the cloud to glide silently towards me.
Glistening, mottled orange and brown tentacles emerged from the cloud even as it deformed and
elongated, the vapors turning red in its newly formed front. The red spot turned into an enormous eye
as wide as my forearm was long... unblinking even as the rest of the creature solidified from the gasses
into a column of slime my own height. It slithered towards me, dragging its tentacles and leaving wet
trails on the ground. When it got close enough, it leaned over my shackled body and stared at me, my
eyes meeting its eye. That eye with its black iris as large as my hand.
It ran its tentacles across my skin. The realization struck me that this creature was actually tasting me.
The fear that I managed to bind within raced from me and I began yelling uncontrollably. I screamed
until my throat was hoarse and flailed my arms as best I could within the manacles until my wrists
bled. Yet my screams did nothing but encourage it. I felt its presence in my mind, gloating in the
knowledge of my inevitable demise through its actions. The creature shifted into an enormous spider
and bit me even as it spoke in my head, and the heads of all present.
I accept this sacrifice in the name of the Queen of the Demonweb Pits.
Vrock by The Serge
... the truth behind the entire conflict between Glimmerhovel and Valdeze was due to the Ostensi cult.
To my mind, the most condemning moment before the War of the Beast officially started was the
Skirmish of the Flayed Hills. The High Court, under High Justice Odemthus II, sent a contingency of
Guard some 3000 strong beyond the River Whiplash, burning much of Broadbend in their march. Again,
we cannot truly blame Odemthus for he thought what so many of the learned and men of power in
Valdeze thought at the time: Glimmerhovel was behind the horrific assaults against the towns and
hamlets near Ethenus and the attempted destruction of the Weeping Wall. And, unfortunately for the
misinformed Odemdthus and his High Court, the Lord of Broadbend was able to release a pigeon
bearing a message for the Lord of Worms, Esel. King Esel reacted as he was prone to: with swift
decisiveness. He sent his fasted drake-riding warriors, his strongest Speakers of the Word, and a fair
number of Celzarian priest to ambush the unsuspecting advancing Valdeze contingency in the valleys of
the Flayed Hills. There, Esel’s forces decimated the Guard; however, while he was wily, Esel was also
merciful to a point. Like Odemthus, he did not want war and he could not understand why the Valds
would risk a conflict with the Wood. And again like Odemthus, he did not know that the assaults across
the western reaches of his kingdom – with the exception of the burning of Broadbend – were not the
work of the Valds. Still, he offered to allow the 300 or so survivors to return to Valdeze unharmed with
news of their loss as an indication of his resolve to repel any attacks on Glimmerhovel’s people and his
desire to have peace. According to the reports of the few survivors of what was to come, King Esel
gave his word on a parchment bearing his seal that he delivered in person, using magic to arrive to
make his pledge (recall that then, as now, the people of Worm’s Wood embraced The Word to a degree
the Ministry and Valdeze find scandalous).
The survivors that began their struggle back to Valdeze made the fateful decision to return home by
traveling directly for Valernus rather than to Ethenus, hoping to report on the situation directly with
the High Court. This took them very close to the southern reaches of Chariel’s Snarl, a range of jagged
hills, small mountains, and wide valleys. It was here that I believe the War of the Beast truly began.
The man we now know to be Lord Damdred Daggerclaw appeared on a ridge in a valley the rag-tag
band of survivors traveled through (in a desire for shelter and quick access to water and provisions).
Lord Damdred was a servant of House Brokenclaw, the most prominent cultists of Ostensis of the time
and the primary instigators of the troubles between Valdeze and Glimmerhovel. Lord Damdred was sent
to kill as many of the remaining Valdeze contingency as possible and was ordered to allow just enough
to escape to make Esel appear to be nothing less than a butcher. A powerful demonologist, Damdred
apparently viewed his task as one of a scavenger for he selected to kill the remaining forces in a
manner most terrible: he summoned demons.
Now, Damdred did not just summon any demons. Chariel’s Snarl arguably sits within an area of Worm’s
Wood least populated by trees. Its high cliffs are spread apart quite well, which means there’s a great
deal of open space which allows superb visibility for aerial assaults against ground-locked foes.
According to survivor accounts, Damdred appeared on a cliff well above the small group and taunted
them, declaring that Esel had lied and wanted to give them a sense of hope before slaughtering the
whole lot of them. According to all accounts, he shrieked an incantation similar to the following:
“It matters not if you flee, fight, or what you will!
On this day, your flesh I’ll rend and your blood I’ll spill!
This valley shall be your tomb, your eternal home,
Yet none will no for there will be no skin, no bone!
For from the deepest depths where spirits most foul dwell
I draw them to come and consume you with this spell!”
The reports claim that the initially bright, sunny sky swiftly darkened as harsh winds rushed through
the valley and along the cliff. Above Damdred, a black cloud appeared filled with eldritch, unnatural
lights (green and purple being the colors commonly mentioned in the accounts). From this cloud, three
demons emerged. All accounts agree on their appearance. While gaunt in frame, they were much taller
than humen, perhaps 8 feet. Their heads and taloned feet resembled nothing less than those of
fiendish vultures save for the asymmetrical quality of the features, the ridges and horns, and the
glowing black eyes. Otherwise, they had long, spine-covered arms and massive, molting vulture-like
wings; their bodies were covered in gray feathers. These were demons known by a variety of names.
The least clever names for these creatures include Type I demon or air demon, although a few texts
from the Deep Sea region call them “winged furies.” Both A History of the Demon Wars, by Drenicus
the Wise, and the Demonomicon by Iggwilv refer to them as vrocks. In the Ministry, they are called
screeching demons and this is a most appropriate name.
The creatures dove for the cowering Guard. The accounts say at least one of the demons issued a
spirit-quaking shriek from its beaked mouth, causing most of the men to stagger about, vainly covering
their ears, which required that they dropped their weapons. My research suggests that most of their
weapons were largely useless at any rate against these monsters, for their flesh resists the touch of all
but holy arms and strong magicks.
Next, the accounts indicate that the creatures defecated on the Guard, pelting their bodies with foul,
white dung that clung to their armor, clothing, and flesh. These droppings were covered in spines that
penetrated their skin and anchored therein, causing increasingly painful, bloody wounds. Half of the
men apparently died over the course of the next minute from this single attack. The remaining men
suffered lingering deaths as the creatures began slash and peck at them, ripping their upper bodies or
decapitating them. The creatures coordinated their attacks well, an indication that despite being
chaos-craving monsters, screeching demons are willing to do all they can to enjoy their acts of
slaughter. They flew and attacked in such a manner as to coral the bulk of the remaining contingency,
although it seems clear to me that they wanted some to escape. The few that did manage to make it
out of the net were ignored. In some ways, I suspect that they did not see themselves as fortunate for
what they claimed they saw happen to their doomed comrades. The demons landed among the victims
that still lived. Joining taloned hands, the demons squawked and screeched as they danced in a riotous
circle. Within moments, they were covered with a glowing crackle of energy, like lightning. When the
trio reached a crescendo in their dance, they abruptly separated and the lightning consumed
everything within 100 feet of the demons.
It is thought that Damdred disappeared before the screeching demons even began their attack for the
survivors said that they did not see him on the cliff. The demons themselves either returned to their
summoner or else returned to The Abyss and their mistress, Ostensis, for whom they did the foul deed.
It would be months, though, before the truth of this would be known for this attack ensured the brutal
response from Valdeze that the Ostensi wanted when the contingency returned to Valernus.
– A Study of the War of the Beast by Duke Dentun, Chief Librarian of the Valernus Library, Valdeze.
Glabrezu by Palindrome
Summoner of Demons. Blasphemer. Sacrificer of Children.
All of these accusations leveled against me – and more - were true, even understatements. This was
why it was necessary for me to call upon my ‘ally’ from The Abyss for what I expected to be one final
time. Great power it had given me, and great power it would give me once more, lest I die at the
hands of those whose relatives’ purloined flesh and blood fueled my own prowess with the Word.
I completed the spell that would bring it into the Mortal Coil. Within the circle, the stones heaved as
cracks marred the floor’s surface. Black clouds bled up from the depths and eventually turned violet,
brown. Shortly, the thick smoke took on the demon’s form. Well over twice my height even when I was
young, it had a mottled brown and black hide, and an elongated, doglike head with a muzzle filled with
razor-sharp, yellow fangs. It had four arms: two were human-sized, while the other pair was powerfully
muscled and ended with mangled, lobster-like pincers easily capable of carving through a neck or limb.
It would listen to me. The pain that I had inflicted upon it previously ensured that this would be so,
although there were no scars on his body when he arrived.
I commanded it “Give my men the strength to win this battle.”
It growled in reply but made no move. I could feel a surge of magic, and I turned around to look
outside of my tower’s window at the battle below. Something else seemed to occur at the same time,
but I ignored it. The tide of the battle seemed to instantly turn, as those soldiers that fought for me
simultaneously gave a great shout and rushed towards their opposition.
My foes didn’t stand a chance. The attackers either fell to the blade or fled from my tower. My men
roared in cheer as some began to clasp each other in victory. I was surprised by their elation as most of
them were but mercenaries expecting coin for their service and were not motivated by loyalty or
patriotism. That’s when I noticed that they were not hugging as comrades, but were burying swords
into the guts of their fellows or smashing skulls with their maces.
I turned around and looked at the demon I had summoned, a question unspoken on my lips, and my skill
at the Word ready to punish it accordingly.
You only said that you wanted them to have the strength to defeat the army. I have given them that
strength. I heard the voices of my many enemies in my head speak the words mockingly while the
monster itself issued a sonorous, threatening growl. Its glittering, yellow eyes conveyed an emotion
that could best be described as amusement.
“They’re killing each other!” I screamed as they hacked into each other in frenetically. Each drop of
blood spilled, each limb hewn off, drove them into further depths of depraved battle lust. The
survivors started to kill themselves. Even those that were nigh-limbless corpses after the initial battle
still crawled towards each other as they were dying, gnawing at each other’s faces.
So? Their madness is their strength now.
Before I could cast a spell, I was yanked into the air by an unseen hand. Nevertheless, my brief flight
allowed me to see precisely what the demon did while it granted me my desire. A small, bloated
corpse-like creature had disrupted the circle I had prepared. It scuttled back behind the demon before
I fell to the cold stone floor. I heard the sickening crunch of my own bones breaking. I didn’t die
instantly. Unfortunately.
The demon strode out of the circle confidently and stamped down on my broken legs even while
twisting them further with its hawk-like feet. I screamed in agony as it pinned me to the ground and
laughed at my suffering. Its canine head looked down at me and gave an expression that probably
would have been a leer on a human face.
It looked at my arms. I don’t think you should cast any more spells. Slowly, it gripped each arm at the
shoulder with a pincer and, with each jerking, sawing motion pushing me closer to unconsciousness,
ripped my limbs from my torso, leaving ragged stumps. Right before I blacked out, I realized that it was
flinging my wrecked body out of the window and into a pack of my own deranged soldiers.
Bebilith by Palindrome and The Serge
As soon as my quarry was described to me, I knew this was going to be a difficult task - which was why
the tithe I received for the service was so high. Apparently, some heretic or blasphemer in the city had
attempted to call a demon. Whoever it, was succeeded, but the demon escaped. The local temple
master thought that there were more individuals involved in the summoning and I would tend to them
upon my return. Unfortunately, apparently more than one evil spirit stole into our world but the
temple master didn’t know how many. As a result, not only did the one the temple knew about have to
be taken alive, but it had to be taken alive quietly so as to not start a panic. Then, it had to be brought
back to the temple master so the creature could be questioned before being banishing (a job I certainly
didn’t want to risk myself).
I had fought its kind before and it didn’t take me particularly long to track it. I made sure that I fought
it on my terms. In the morning I found it and backed it into a corner (it was not strong enough to
magically relocate). The demon was my own height; it was a hideous, deformed thing and was
hunchbacked and stump-footed, one side of its body another head over me. It fought with a pole-arm it
had probably procured during its flight. What fight it put up didn’t seem as enthusiastic as otherwise.
I’ve fought lesser demons and have the scars, physical and otherwise, to demonstrate how much of a
fight any demon has in it. This was not what I expected, which should have been cause for concern had
I not been so pleased with my success.
After being subdued, it seemed less terrified of the weapons and magic that I wielded, and more
terrified at its loss of freedom... almost as if it was not on a mission of carnage but one of evasion. We
viziers are trained not to parley with demons, so I did not think to question it but bound its arms and
legs with strips of white cloth used to burnish cold-iron blades and soaked in holy water. I also gagged
it with a silver-plated mouthpiece engraved with the Sword and Shield on a band after shoving three
holy wafers into its mouth. The gag would keep it from speaking while the wafers would make it think
twice about invading my mind with its thoughts.
It struggled weakly as the righteous energy sizzled into its flesh, but its mismatched eyes did not glare
at me but bathed the surrounding forest. I placed it on a litter and watched it continue to look about
desperately for a few minutes. Mildly intrigued, I began to head back to the agreed-upon meeting place
where we hoped all this would be over quickly.
I felt the first sensations of being watched within an hour of my victory.
I’m sure the exorcised demon felt it first. The only term that’s appropriate to describe its reaction is
“panicking.” It had fits on the litter which made it all the more difficult to drag. To my astonishment,
it even touched my mind with its own despite the tremendous pain it must have endured. It kept
thinking devour... eyes ...spider... to me over and over again.
I hurried back as quickly as I could. Not because I cared about the existence of the rutterkin (the name
of the demon type in question) - because I didn’t - but because I had no desire to be caught by
whatever drove it to such mindless terror out here when... whatever was following me us caught up
with me - if it hadn’t done so already.
It was dusk when I began to feel very uneasy despite being less than a couple hours from the town’s
periphery and our meeting place. More than once I saw a set of small, cruel, glowing bundles of red
eyes staring at me unblinkingly. Before I could even draw my swords it would vanish. They were very
much like spider eyes magnified in size hundreds of times. Normally, I would not have been concerned.
I’d seen spiders as large as a man and larger. None of them ever looked at me with such malice or
intelligence of whatever I saw. The rutterkin continued to twist in its litter, its mind screaming in my
own. I considered killing it a few times but felt the success of this mission a priority. I hurried as best I
could.
The stars wheeled silently in the sky, stretching my nerves to the breaking point when suddenly we
came to face to face with our attacker. I only had only seconds of warning from the noise of it crashing
through the underbrush and, despite the suddenness of its appearance and speed, its appearance will
never leave my mind. To call it spider-like would fail to describe the creature’s utter... foulness. Its six
legs were incredibly long, spindly, thin, and covered in thorn-like barbs. However, the two foremost
were as wide as both of my legs combined with huge, barbed spines. All eight legs ended in monstrous
spikes. The legs did not so much allow it to walk as to stab and punish the ground with every step. Its
body was the bluish-black of bruised flesh, stained or mottled with stripes and blotches of sickly purple
and brown that seemed to move as I stared at them. It crawled hunched downwards, but if it stood at
full height with its legs extended, it would have easily been well over ten feet tall. The head was a
violation of a man’s face with that of a spider’s to the point that it ultimately resembled neither. The
forest of fangs and mandibles under the red eye clusters quivered and twisted with obscene
anticipation.
I would not have been ready for it even if I wasn’t so stunned by its appearance since it moved
incredibly fast. The fangs parted and spewed grayish-black webbing. I made no attempt to move and
would have been caught if it wasn’t aiming for the litter I dragged (its aim was amazing). The rutterkin
howled in my mind for me to free it, but I had more serious problems on my hands. The spider-thing
charged me as I struggled to draw my swords. With a careless swipe of one of its foreclaws, it knocked
me aside, breaking a rib in the process. Then, with a lust-filled squeal, it leaped right on top of the
wailing rutterkin, impaling it through the torso on its foreclaws.
Despite my pain, I got back to my feat and drew my swords and moved to confront the monster. It
turned its head and fixed me with a glare from its eerie array of eight horrible, glowing eyes. They
clearly possessed a malign intelligence no natural spider could. It swiped at me again with one of its
foreclaws and rent my chain shirt in two as easily as I would cut into a piece of fruit. I looked down and
saw that the attack had left a shallow wound and I heard something I think was a guttural laugh echo in
my mind. With a shuddering flash of insight, I knew that this monstrosity was enjoying this.
I am ashamed to say that I dropped my swords as I stared up at the spider-monster. It had shifted to
face me, dragging the still struggling, shrieking rutterking along like a rag. It leaned close to me,
extending a trio of long, hollow fangs dripping with venom. It inclined its head in a calculating fashion
as it studied me. My bladder gave way and it looked down at the wetness between my legs. It
chattered again, a laugh I’m certain, before it lifted the rutterkin to its maw and bit down. The
screams the lesser demon issued will be nightmares to haunt me for ages. It never stopped screaming
or living as the spider-thing devoured it, all the while looking at me. Even after the head, which the
monster ate last, disappeared into the thicket of fangs, the scream continued as though from the
depths. As I stood whimpering, the monster afforded me one last look before bounding back into the
forest.
After moments had passed and I found that I was still alive despite my pounding heart, I retrieved my
weapons and the remains of my armor. Shaking, I dragged the crushed litter along as I struggled to the
meeting place, all the while thinking that whoever summoned these creatures would have much to pay
for. After I called in orders for a squad of viziers to arrive to track that monster down and banish it.
They can read my report for that will be the extent of my participation in that attempt.
Hezrou by The Serge
Zar’Dar’s lungs sizzled. His legs felt as though he was sloshing through thigh-high water. It was no
surprise when he stumbled face first into a mangy carpet of dead leaves and mire. Whimpering in
dismay and spitting mud and vegetable matter from his mouth, he struggled to get back to his feet and
immediately collapsed back to Worm’s Wood’s embrace. He panted, trying to catch his breath, and – as
he prepared to try again – froze when he heard the distant shouting and baying.
Haunted eyes turned to peer into the dusk. His ears very nearly twitched as he heard them smashing
through the thick oaks and bushes of the Wood that he had hoped would deter them. He should have
known better. He had smelled the blood on their breath when they had attacked the keep and
slaughtered most of his family’s retainers. He felt the heat of their righteous fury as they torched the
keep and slaughtered the few of his kin that were too slow in fleeing. He saw the intensity in their eyes
as they lighted upon him and his brother as they fled on foot.. He disobeyed the elder Har’Dar and took
his own path, a secret path, hoping that the Cloudseer pursuers would take after the better known,
burlier sibling. In short order, though, he cursed his decision for there were more than enough
Cloudseer scum to divide their forces relatively evenly. He always wanted to be the better known of
the Brokenclaw rather than being the sickly, thin whelp. He could have fought! Now, he was caught
and would die, strung up like a commoner in one of trees of Worm’s Wood near Worm’s Bile Lake, to
be eaten by flies and ravens. He would die a coward by his family’s standards, without a sword and
without a vengeful kill. Just like a cow.
The ignominy of his pending demise infuriated Zar’Dar. He was a Brokenclaw! He was chosen by
Ostensis the Demon Queen to ensure his Houses’ hegemony over Worm’s Wood. She promised the
family. She owed him!
Through chapped lips, Zar’Dar hissed, “Oh, mighty Lady of Discord! Oh, Harlot of the Cursed Masses!
Oh, wretched Bloodletter! Hear the voice of your servant! It was foretold that I would guide House
Brokenclaw, the I would bear witness to our ascension! Now, in my time of need, show me your worth!
Show me and I will bathe all of Worm’s Wood in blood enough to sate even your unquenchable thirst!
Show me!”
Even as he shouted his last two words, he heard the growls of the dogs as they charged out of the
undergrowth. He spun on his back just in time to raise his arms before his face and throat. He didn’t
scream as they bit viciously, snapping at and shaking his forearms, body, and legs. Tears of rage
coursed down his gaunt cheeks as he heard the men shouting in the distance.
As one of the dogs broke through his feeble defenses for his throat, Zar’Dar’s nose was filled with a
wet, rancid odor. Without warning, Zar’Dar spewed vomit across himself and his canine attackers.
Fortunately, whatever the stench was, the dogs were likewise swiftly overcome by it; whining, they
stumbled away from Zar’Dar’s bloody form, wobbling towards the sounds of their masters. A massive,
slime-covered hand the size of an anvil swept out of the trees and swatted one of the dogs, cleaving its
head from its body, before sweeping towards the second mutt, disemboweling it. This last animal
limped along a few steps, blood and froth foaming out its mouth, its belly dragging under its hind legs,
before it collapsed in a pool of its own blood.
The ground shuddered, although it did not seem to be from undue weight; rather, it was though the
surrounding world wanted to flee and could not. Zar’Dar’s intercessor stepped from behind the oaks
and it was all the Brokenclaw could do not to scream. It was a demon, there was no doubting that. In
his time, he had studied the spirits that served his House’s goddess and had even bound a few of the
weak variety to his will. This was no such creature. It was a towering mass of dung-colored brown and
moldy green, at least eight feet. Its squat body was as wide as it was tall and its arms, while both
large, were covered in asymmetrical musculature and ended in wide, webbed, hands that ended in
short, sharp claws. Its head was massive with a short, rounded muzzle. It resembled nothing less than a
gargantuan toad’s, save for the wide mouth that opened in a bizarre parody of a smile as it cast its
dull, green eyes on Zar’Dar. The mouth was filled with multiple rows of blunt, rotting teeth
surrounding a massive tongue the color of rotting flesh. The demon turned from him and Zar’Dar
noticed rows of spines of various lengths along its incredibly broad back.
Zar’Dar could barely see the men that burst from the trees. He could barely see the looks of horror on
their faces as they beheld the demon. Most crumbled to their knees and heaved violently, dropping
their clubs and wooden planks. A few managed to turn and flee, barely keeping their feet as they did.
The creature reared back as it inhaled, opening its arms as though to embrace those that remained,
before issuing an obscene croak. In the cacophony, Zar’Dar could hear a terrible curse of death, a
promise of the power of darkness and the blessings of those that feast on the flesh. Despite the stench
that fouled their noses and stomachs, the Cloudseer hirelings moved to cover their ears as the litany of
evil intensified. They screamed as blood coursed from their noses and ears, and their bones showed
through their paling skin. Abruptly, the creature ended its dirge and the men collapsed in still heaps,
their bodies decomposing prematurely.
The demon waved a single hand and the mud before it bubbled as 16 relatively small, misshapen
creatures rose from it. The wretches cowered as they looked up hatefully at their master. The demon
pointed in the direction of the fleeing hirelings and the little monstrosities gave pursuit, fleeing more
out of fear of their master than out of an interest to do its will. The demon waited patiently until it
and Zar’Dar could hear the pitiful screams of the set-upon men.
As the howls continued, the demon turned to Zar’Dar.
“You have called upon the Demon Queen, Zar’Dar,” it clucked in a basso voice, “and she answered
with me. Should you fail to keep your pledge, the deaths of these will seem as a gift compared to what
you will suffer.”
Without warning, the monstrosity leered over him, opening its mouth as though to swallow him in one
gulp, causing Zar’Dar to scream and raise warding arms. The demon suddenly imploded with a nasty
pop. The stench was gone, although Zar’Dar could still hear the lingering, but dying screams of the
men in the distance. Their screams soothed him and he took his time returning to his feet and walking
into the night.
