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A DEMON'S GOAL

Deep beneath the surface world, beyond the shadowy planes of existence which constitute the Underworld and its thousand Domains, two Demons conversed.  One with deep black-red skin, beige horns, grim eyes and a dark, rugged beard about his face, the other an elder with a pure pitch-black complexion, four gleaming white horns and two sightless eyes without pupils.  They sat in the highest chamber of a parapet connected to the inner hub of a structure known as an "Abyss" settlement.  The Abyss was carved from black onyx, wrought on the rough floor of a massive, near-endless cavern.

"'Twas nigh on forty-five years ago when he challenged me, Jorm," said the elder Demon without functional eyes.  "Forty-five years ago today was the end of our conquests above in the surface world... our attack on the plains they have now moulded into a human kingdom called "Erathia".  Forty-five years ago today was the day of my duel with Rion Gryphonheart, the thrice-accursed knight who rended my eyes and forced us through the Cerberus Gate back into our lair."

The Lesser Demon, a brute named Jorm, inclined his head in silent thought.  "This... is a bitter memory indeed.  The other Dukes do not intend to follow your example, if I may say so.  I fear our kind will resort to brutal civil war, beyond the minor territorial battle or dispute.  We are becoming truly... barbaric.  I have been wondering whether or not we will ever attempt to invade again."

Old Deezelisk, Duke of the Bottom, Lord of the Eleventh Domain, sightless since the invasion of Erathia, spoke again.  "Not this worldspan, that much I know, unless we succeed.  Indeed the next hundred worldspans will come and die before we are graced with another chance, if our next plan fails," he said with melancholy.

"You have yet to explain the nature of this plan, my lord.  The man who blinded you must be aged by now - your chances for revenge are slipping away by the minute," Jorm worriedly noted.

"They too have come and gone.  The man who blinded me is dead," said Deezelisk.  Jorm finally realised the reason for the Duke's recent spiral into unhappiness.  Even the loss of his sight had not fazed him four-and-a-half decades ago, but the discovery that his chance for vengeance had been wrenched away was surely a miserable one, especially for a Demon.

As though reading Jorm's mind, Deezelisk spoke up once again.  "No... there is always a way to secure revenge.  I have merely been lost in thought this past span, thinking of it.  And at length I devised a solution."

"Which is...?" Jorm asked.

"Souls live on after death, you know," Deezelisk began.  "And that fact is the hub of my plan's turning wheel.  For beyond this world, beyond this astral plane lies another million worlds.  One of these is known as Paradise, or the Plane of Life.  It is there that the souls of the dead within this universe are drawn to live on eternally.  Including Gryphonheart.  And, down to the uncomfortable truth that anything is possible, I am convinced that you could infiltrate the Plane of Life, capture Gryphonheart's soul and drag it down to our plane of existence."

Jorm's face spoke for itself.  He clearly disbelieved that any of this was plausible.  Perhaps the Dhindlaar could arrange something, but... in any case, the Lesser Demon did not approve of the Duke's false hope.  He was on the verge of saying so when Deezelisk delivered an irresistable offer indeed.

"I know you have craved a Dukedom for some time.  You are allowing it to become an obsession, aren't you?"

Jorm remained silent.  He knew well that the old Demon was damned right, but was far too proud to admit fault.

"A Dukedom as lord of the Twentieth Domain - how would this appeal to you?" asked Deezelisk, the beginnings of a smile appearing around his face.

Jorm instantly realised where this was heading, and succumbed.  "Jor-Melgir would be an appropriate title..." he stated.  Duke was the highest title among the Demons, twice as esteemed as Greater Demon and thusly a hundred-fold more influential than any Lesser.

"Ah yes," Deezelisk nodded.  "Jorm of the Tainted Soul," he translated.  "Fits well with the task I have set out for you.  Take this..."

Deezelisk summoned out of thin air a small red orb with a metallic base.  "The Orb of Inhibition," he claimed.  "I took this from the Boatman himself - don't even begin to ask how, not even I fully remember the details.  It may prove useful upon the return journey."

The Lesser Demon took the small orb, pocketed it, rose from his seat and began to depart, turning briefly before leaving the room to say, "If I fail, do not linger here, my lord.  There is surely a way to restore your sight-"

"Ohhh," the Duke trailed off, "ohh, I have thought of that, my young lieutenant.  It too is essential to the success of my grand design.  Now go.  Go with haste, and return with my darkest enemy..."


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The Demon Sorceress was painting runes floating in mid-air with a dark black paint, a mixture of Widowsweep Berries and black dye combined with magics the denizens of the surface world deemed "unholy".  She grimaced in disgust at the thought of those self-righteous surface-dwellers.  The Dhindlaar, a Cabal of demon-mages mustered long before the wash of the Great Silence, had been decimated in the previous wars.  Even now the Sorceress brewed truly devilish thoughts within the confines of the empty, silent cavern when her arrogant, younger brother emerged from the shadows near an adjacent tunnel.  It took her more than a moment to recognise his appearance and distinct scent.

"Alnech," he hailed her.  "My elder sister has become the first Queen of the Dhindlaar.  Never did I expect to see the day."

The aging Demoness grinned at her brother and sighed.  "You underestimate me, Jorm.  Look to the exploits of Duchess Careenor of the Seventeenth Domain and take note of your own male shortcomings in comparison."

Jorm growled.  "You wound me with your harsh insults.  Come, then.  The Duke of the Bottom implies a request that your spellcasting minions convey me to the Plane of Life - Paradise, he called it."

"Impossible," Alnech scoffed, waving him away and turning back to her rune-painting.

"You lie," Jorm declared, smiling at her.  "I recall the worldspan in which you managed to teleport Olnubis through to the Elemental Plane of Fire in search of an audience with Pyrannaste, the Master of Fire."

"He never returned," Alnech grimly replied.  "We do not even know whether he survived the ritual."

"Another lie," Jorm triumphantly answered.  "You tracked his movements with the Eye of Charon.  Even now he remains Pyrannaste's lieutenant."

"We Demons are obliged to learn from our mistakes," said Alnech, facing him again.  "Thus was Olnubis's folly.  He became ensnared by his surroundings and was claimed by the Fire Lord.  Imagine the implications if you were taken in by Paradise!  If not destroyed, you would become a living contradiction - a benevolent Demon.  This I shall not take part in."

Jorm sighed deeply and paused for a while before replying.  "This quest is for the welfare of the Duke of the Bottom.  Aid me in accomplising it and I will see to it that my own reward will reflect greatly on your Dhindlaar.  I can promise you this."

"What reward is that?" Alnech asked.

"A Dukedom," he replied.

Alnech stood back, aghast.  The airborne runes flickered out of sight as her attention was severed from the force which held them aloft.  "Are - are you serious, brother?  A Dukedom?

"Duke Jor-Melgir of the Twentieth Domain," he stated.  "My new title, should this venture go accordingly."

"You have always held a fine talent for changing the minds of others," Alnech conceded.  "Very well.  Proceed with us to the ritual circle."


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Jorm concentrated, his brow beginning to sweat from the tempestuous fires erupting in the ritual circle.  "This is no simple task for your subjects, is it?" he questioned.

Sixteen Dhindlaar mages surrounded the Lesser Demon, chanting a fell magic which would soon transfer Jorm's body, mind and spirit into an alternate plane of existence.  Twelve lit candles were placed around the circle of bloodstained runes and glyphs where Jorm now stood.  "No," Alnech replied.  "This is not an undertaking for the faint of heart... nor those who value their lives, as it were.  All sixteen of these Demons are fully fledged and trained in perfect synchronisation."

The rising temperature in the cavern was beginning to tire Jorm at an alarming rate.  "Anything," he ordered Alnech.  "Discuss something with me, anything to take my mind off this process.  I cannot stand upright for much longer."

"Well," Alnech began,  "I once heard that there is a race extraordinarily similar in appearance to our own, but somewhat younger and hugely different in nature.  Their skin is known to take a more reddish hue than our blackish appearance, and they breed like hornets or wasps from the worlds beyond our own plane.  Kreegal or Kreegan or something was the name of their species, I believe."

"Who told you this?" asked Jorm, both interested in the story and in diverting his attention from the pain soon to erupt from the surge of energy he would experience.

"One of the Dukes, Mal-Nechias if memory serves.  Unfortunately, it often does not," chuckled Alnech.  "They travel the Void above the worlds, he said, and were a product of the Creators.  Of course, I do not know any Creators, but I trust in his words."

"Yes," replied Jorm hurriedly.  "Mal-Nechias is indeed a learned Demon - his two thousand years of ruling the Fourteenth Domain have ripened his mind well.  This ritual is taking far too long," he gasped.  "When do you plan to-"

An insurmountable burst of chill-smoke erupted as Jorm disappeared.  The nearby candles were extinguished by the chilling surge and the sixteen Dhindlaar suddenly dropped dead to the cavern floor, all of them utterly expended from conveying a mortal being into an astral plane.  The sacrifice had been made - distasteful, but necessary.  And if Jorm truly was to succeed in the end, the Dhindlaar would thrive.

Alnech smirked.  "...to finish?" she replied.  "You'll be in Paradise before you know it, my brother."


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Pure agony from the released energy which shot out of his body upon the conveyance was the last thing he felt before dropping out of consciousness.  He awoke to the sickening stench of otherworldly dew and grass, moisture cloaking his black beard and beige horns.  Dazed, Jorm rose and shook the lingering droplets of water off his clothes and came close to retching after taking a breath of the pure air in this Plane of Life.  It took him a good half-hour or so to regain his composure and recover his senses, but by that time he had already departed the "landing" spot in search of his target.

Souls dotted the landscape - thousands of them.  Everywhere Jorm gazed he could not escape the sight of bluish, ethereal people wandering the landscape without heed to troubles of any sort.  He could not help but wonder about their state of consciousness or their ability to detect his presence.  Soon he learned that the souls could barely see him at all due to the presence of his body and mind.  Old stories focused on the three essences - Body, Mind and Spirit.  Upon death, the mind is extinguished, the body decays but the spirit lives on.  Proof presented itself before his eyes.

The meadows and fields Jorm crossed seemed endless.  He strode though the grasslands, utterly invisible to the hundreds of souls he encountered along his path - another inherent ability Demons possess, the power to go unseen at will.  At the time he was merely trying to assimilate himself with his surroundings before traipsing off in search of Rion Gryphonheart, and he took note of the wild colours throughout the land which caused his eyes to sting.  The sky was a valiant shade of blue, the numerous groves composed of tropical trees and plants of every known and unknown shade.  Many leaves were pure yellow, blue and purple - it was almost as though this was an alien world.

Which it was, Jorm reminded himself.

Time drew on, and as his instincts slowly returned Jorm felt himself pulled towards his goal by unseen determination like a divining rod eased toward water.  He stopped as he came to a heavenly clearing.  Tropical trees and plants dotted the grassy landscape, beckoning moss-covered mountains shrouded the distance.  Jorm pushed his way through the undergrowth, clawing down a rainbow-coloured butterfly which had the audacity to land on a yellow fern nearby.  Then, with his reddish eyes, he gazed into the centre of the clearing.

And there was his prey.

Hunched over a pool of glimmering, light-emmiting water was a bluish figure in the image of a man.  A neat beard enshrouded his face.  He "wore" clean white attire with a blue cloak fastened down by two rubies.  Immersed in whatever he was investigating, the soul of Rion Gryphonheart looked on in wonder, balancing another multicoloured butterfly on his right hand - seemingly the very same one Jorm had just destroyed - were these pools somehow connected to the afterlife itself?  Jorm did not care.  He rushed at Gryphonheart's soul in a blur of otherworldly motion, darting silently from side to side and ramming straight into the dead King.

Straight through the pool of light-emmiting water he fell, the soul of King Rion Gryphonheart the First trapped in his grasp.  Willing himself beyond normal comprehension to return to the Underworld, he used the mysterious Orb of Inhibition the Duke had given him to transmute the sacred pool into a bath of searing flames which conveyed him out of the Plane of Life and back, quite stunned, to the Seventh Domain - Blackwhisper - and, out of marvellous coincidence, before the manor of Duke Deezelisk himself.

The sudden seperation from Paradise's energies had somehow rendered Gryphonheart's soul in a sort of coma.  It lay slumped on the ground, quite certainly incapable of action, though not capable of dying.  It could definitely feel pain, though.  Jorm's years of experience as Duke Deezelisk's personal executioner of enemies had led him to understand that everything, living or dead, could suffer.  This ethereal fragment of its former self was no exception at all.  He was determined to prove it.


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"As you requested, Duke," he announced, "the soul of King Gryphonheart is secured even now by the magics of the Dhindlaar in the Perpetual Chasm below your manor."

"Excellent, youngling," Deezelisk rejoiced, heartily.  "There is, however, one final, extraordinarily simple task I ask of you before I bestow upon thee your Dukedom."

"Yes, Lord Deezelisk?" Jorm sighed.

"Do not complain - it is no bold favour I ask here.  Put simply, I have a strong suspicion that a band of knights from this soul's former kingdom shall be arriving in our realm within the next worldspan.  I request that you... welcome them into these lands.  Prepare ambushes for them throughout the upper Domains, inform the Greater Demons of their trespasses.  The other Dukes shall no doubt remain indifferent towards our schemes, so I am relying on you and yours to hinder their progress and ensure that they do not rise above an insignificance."

Slightly unsure, Jorm asked, "Why must we hinder their progress?  I can have them all slain before they ever set foot beyond the Cerberus Gate."

"No," Deezelisk calmly responded. "One member of their quarry must be brought to me alive - the leader.  Her red hair and royal attire should be more than enough for you to recognise with ease.  Bait her armies down to Blackwhisper.  They will eventually find themselves in need of my counsel, I can assure you... and when the time is right, she shall become the object of my true revenge," the blind old Demon growled.

"Her name, my lord?" asked the Lesser Demon.

"Allison Gryphonheart..."

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"Allison Gryphonheart..."

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How is anyone going to compete against this?

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What?  Wait, What?  Everyone against everyone?  

I'm against Mytical AND Cepheus?  Scared now...

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What?  Wait, What?  Everyone against everyone?  

I'm against Mytical AND Cepheus?  Scared now...

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v think that the competitor you should be afraid of is Baklava.
I'm wondering who'll be his victim this time.

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*insert arrogant maniacal laugh*

When is the next round of entries due?  I was confused by that "two weeks" comment.

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Oh please writers pwn all.

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Deezelisk, Duke of the Bottom

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Give it a rest you uncultured swine.

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Is this like an easter egg or something? Deezelisk, Duke of the Bottom, Lord of the Seventh Anus, Grandmaster of the Flaming Butthole?

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