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Blessings
Asyria, thought to be the figurative mother of all demons and the disgraceful sin of lust itself sat on a throne of cracked bone and shiny, black blood, stained silver. She was idly bored with the melancholic state of her hellish home; and world for that matter. There wasn’t anymore entertainment to be made from toying with weak willed mortals of foreign realms. Or so she thought. In her elongated ears she heard footsteps crunching on the tiny pebbles outside her cave outcropping. It felt as though it was her own self walking towards her, a strange, uncomfortable perception.
Nokato walked towards Asyria, nerves slightly on edge; he had read and researched many scrolls and books alike regarding this fabled demon of old. No weapons on his lithe person as he deliberately made every effort to not seem hostile. He wanted to portray himself as humble and intelligent. He wore a long, sleek black robe that slightly hugged his frame. His object of power, “The heart of Asyria” draping down from his neck hovering at his chest. He did not expect it to be able to enslave her mind like it does to the lesser demons; instead he hoped to show his unwavering loyalty to her and what she so proudly stands for.
The mage’s eyes widened as he came to lay them upon Asyria, her ashen skin seeming to be gleaming, the twisted horns atop her auburn haired scalp casting a silhouette atop the cavernous walls. Her right leg was propped on the metallic ledge, a loose fitting, exquisite gown covering the curvatures of her make. It was bright white with numerous ancient markings and barbaric sigils on various areas, which likely hindered most from finding her exact location.
“And who might you be, coming to me on this beautiful day…” spoke Asyria with an ounce of sarcasm. Nokato watched her look at him with ruby red, demonic eyes.
“I am blessed to be in your presence, oh mother of demons.”
“You wear that wretched object upon your chest, yet you speak with such a friendly tone. What business do you have in this world?” she inquired.
“I come here to you, my queen, pledging my loyalty and to ask but a simple question.” He answered.
“A mere Nelaeryn, willfully serving me? I always thought that to be amusing; but you’re no ordinary being, now are you? I can feel the malice in your heart, the discontent within your soul.” noted Asyria “What question do you wish me to answer, mortal?” she added.
“Might I gain your aid and favor in my future endeavors? With your support I’ll be able to build the army I so desire.” said Nokato
“Tell me of these endeavors you so need my support with…”
Nokato would go on to tell her of his plans, a coup’ against an entire nation, how he detested his very own race, and how he craved the power of the five fabled arch-demons of the lower planes. By the time he was finished, Asyria had a mischievous grin on her red lips; one of excitement and curiosity.
“You wish to be like my kind, the most feared creatures in the realms?” she questioned
“I do. My soul is not meant for this limited human vessel..”
Messenger
“My lord…” scampered in a small, fragile appearing goblin. It’s head was horribly misshapen, scars across his lime green face and lanky, weak arms. His skin was dirty, blotches of mud on his boots and tattered robes. One of his pupils was a silvery white, while the other a baby blue.
,
“What is it, Cyrus?” questioned Abadon “The Wretched”, King of Amookintaz. He sat on his wonderfully made throne of dragon scale, the flesh of a fierce beast he had killed himself. He wondered what the faithful, little goblin could have to tell him. Would it be interesting? The wretched King sure did hope so.
“It’s Lady Asyria...she wishes to meet. Sh-she told me to give you this, sire…” Cyrus moved his little body forward. Slow, cautious. No matter how many times he’s spoken to his king, the sheer dredd he felt throughout his body was always the same. The urge to flee was always present. Once close enough he held out a scroll, somehow still in pristine condition, wrapped with a silk string.
The King took hold of the scroll, untethering it, and began to inspect closely, carefully. He smiled. For the first time in what seemed like literal centuries, Abadon smiled. The last time he had seen this was when the queen was still around. What could be on the scroll? Cyrus didn’t dare open it beforehand out of fear of being punished should he have found out.
“She’s found him….” spoke the King. His voice more gutteral, and animalistic than before. “The one to free us from this enormous, wretched place…” He chuckled, which turned into a laugh, then a full blown cackle of madness. Abadon was joyous. His armies had reason to march once again, his armor had reason to be worn, and his blade would taste flesh soon enough.
“Free….us?” asked Cyrus, confused. Over nine-hundred years ago, a war was fought on the mortal plane. A war unlike any other. One between the demonic and divine. It nearly tore apart the very fabric of the realms and destroyed humanity. Alas, with the help of Arch-angels, and Seraphim, hell’s army was pushed back into the whimsical vortex’s in which they came. They were either banished or outright killed, and in place protective seals were put in place. Seals meant to keep them out, forever. Until, apparently, now that is.
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Nokato walked towards Asyria, nerves slightly on edge; he had read and researched many scrolls and books alike regarding this fabled demon of old. No weapons on his lithe person as he deliberately made every effort to not seem hostile. He wanted to portray himself as humble and intelligent. He wore a long, sleek black robe that slightly hugged his frame. His object of power, “The heart of Asyria” draping down from his neck hovering at his chest. He did not expect it to be able to enslave her mind like it does to the lesser demons; instead he hoped to show his unwavering loyalty to her and what she so proudly stands for.
The mage’s eyes widened as he came to lay them upon Asyria, her ashen skin seeming to be gleaming, the twisted horns atop her auburn haired scalp casting a silhouette atop the cavernous walls. Her right leg was propped on the metallic ledge, a loose fitting, exquisite gown covering the curvatures of her make. It was bright white with numerous ancient markings and barbaric sigils on various areas, which likely hindered most from finding her exact location.
“And who might you be, coming to me on this beautiful day…” spoke Asyria with an ounce of sarcasm. Nokato watched her look at him with ruby red, demonic eyes.
“I am blessed to be in your presence, oh mother of demons.”
“You wear that wretched object upon your chest, yet you speak with such a friendly tone. What business do you have in this world?” she inquired.
“I come here to you, my queen, pledging my loyalty and to ask but a simple question.” He answered.
“A mere Nelaeryn, willfully serving me? I always thought that to be amusing; but you’re no ordinary being, now are you? I can feel the malice in your heart, the discontent within your soul.” noted Asyria “What question do you wish me to answer, mortal?” she added.
“Might I gain your aid and favor in my future endeavors? With your support I’ll be able to build the army I so desire.” said Nokato
“Tell me of these endeavors you so need my support with…”
Nokato would go on to tell her of his plans, a coup’ against an entire nation, how he detested his very own race, and how he craved the power of the five fabled arch-demons of the lower planes. By the time he was finished, Asyria had a mischievous grin on her red lips; one of excitement and curiosity.
“You wish to be like my kind, the most feared creatures in the realms?” she questioned
“I do. My soul is not meant for this limited human vessel..”
Messenger
“My lord…” scampered in a small, fragile appearing goblin. It’s head was horribly misshapen, scars across his lime green face and lanky, weak arms. His skin was dirty, blotches of mud on his boots and tattered robes. One of his pupils was a silvery white, while the other a baby blue.
,
“What is it, Cyrus?” questioned Abadon “The Wretched”, King of Amookintaz. He sat on his wonderfully made throne of dragon scale, the flesh of a fierce beast he had killed himself. He wondered what the faithful, little goblin could have to tell him. Would it be interesting? The wretched King sure did hope so.
“It’s Lady Asyria...she wishes to meet. Sh-she told me to give you this, sire…” Cyrus moved his little body forward. Slow, cautious. No matter how many times he’s spoken to his king, the sheer dredd he felt throughout his body was always the same. The urge to flee was always present. Once close enough he held out a scroll, somehow still in pristine condition, wrapped with a silk string.
The King took hold of the scroll, untethering it, and began to inspect closely, carefully. He smiled. For the first time in what seemed like literal centuries, Abadon smiled. The last time he had seen this was when the queen was still around. What could be on the scroll? Cyrus didn’t dare open it beforehand out of fear of being punished should he have found out.
“She’s found him….” spoke the King. His voice more gutteral, and animalistic than before. “The one to free us from this enormous, wretched place…” He chuckled, which turned into a laugh, then a full blown cackle of madness. Abadon was joyous. His armies had reason to march once again, his armor had reason to be worn, and his blade would taste flesh soon enough.
“Free….us?” asked Cyrus, confused. Over nine-hundred years ago, a war was fought on the mortal plane. A war unlike any other. One between the demonic and divine. It nearly tore apart the very fabric of the realms and destroyed humanity. Alas, with the help of Arch-angels, and Seraphim, hell’s army was pushed back into the whimsical vortex’s in which they came. They were either banished or outright killed, and in place protective seals were put in place. Seals meant to keep them out, forever. Until, apparently, now that is.
© All Rights Reserved
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