05-17-2018, 02:14 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-18-2018, 12:22 PM by Storyteller.)
Three grotesque forms stalked through the streets of Dis, their orders clear and direct. There would be no stopping of the inevitable. The time was coming, THEIR time was coming.
Turq, the Thresher, easily seven feet tall, leered at passing demons with the confidence of one who has known only victory. His twin baboon faces searched the crowd, daring any to provoke him into action. Those powerful enough to challenge him knew better, for the Thresher had broken the backs of countless champions, and even the two combatants known to have survived an encounter with him had suffered irreparable injury from the caustic acid that coated his tendril arms. There were rumors he was a relative of the fabled Demogorgon, but none had dared to question him to learn the truth.
V’trock, of the Inquisition, a sludging mass of sickly yellow ooze came next. The inquisitor seeped over the broken ground with a ponderous metere, jutting bones and iron bars scrapping along the street as the oozes innards seeped relentlessly forward. It paused momentarily as the prophet’s corpus came dangerously close to the edge of its mass. Few things posed a threat to V’trock, but the loss of its prized slave-mind would be a dark chapter for the Inquisition of Dis. V’trock rose, twisting and folding over itself to maneuver the body away from the harsh stones, then proceeded onwards with a contented hum. It was looking forward to this one.
Qualloth, the thrice blind, came last. Compared to her two companions, Qualloth seemed almost tame. The curled bat wings, cloven feet and clawed hands became a welcome normality to the fearful observer. Yet this hope died at her head, for it extended farther than any normal person’s, three sets of unseeing pale eyes arrayed atop one another in a ghastly tower. From one clawed hand swung a brimstone thurible breathing the very essence of Dis into the air around the trio, the other held a bladeless hilt with a familiar grip. Though her six eyes roved the passersby, the milky orbs gained no purchase.
The trio stopped before the appointed door and Turq stepped forward, one talloned foot raised and snapped out, separating the door from its hinges with a solid snap.
Neujmin’s hand shook as he struggled with the uncooperative cigar. It was all coming down on him. Just as quickly as his influence within Dis had risen, now he was losing contracts, finding more and more doors closed to him. Whispers reached him that he had fallen into disfavor with the Lord of Terror. If this were true… He gulped down another shot of whiskey but found himself unsatisfyingly aware of his imminent peril. He glanced at the door to his office and re-opened the ledger. It had been a mistake to continue work during this situation. He should have stayed in his safe-house and let flunkies take the fall for him. But the answer had to be in there somewhere.
There was a crash from down the hall. The demon boss was torn between an urge to determine its source and a need to get away. He took a drag of the cigar. Fleeing would be pointless. If the sound was Diablo’s agents he would only be delaying the inevitable, and nothing made one look guiltier than attempting to flee. Neujmin racked his brain. How had he displeased Diablo? It was not exactly something that you could ask…
There was shout from one of his door guards, though it had turned into a sick gurgle before it was through. Not worth the investment after all. he grumbled, then spun his chair to face the bookcase behind him. The bust of Belial was in its expected place, and after checking the trigger was secured around his massive wrist, Neujmin flicked the safety off. The Demon head statue hummed ever so slightly, its eyes glowing with internal treachery. It would be a desperate gamble, but it might be enough. Certainly, he would not be able to escape this wholly unscathed.
There was a snick as the door to his office swung open. Neujmin sat, his back to the door, counting the footfalls. Two pairs, though the weird slurping sound could be an inquisitor. This was it. He puffed once on the cigar and spun round.
“And to what do I owe this visit?” he spoke with as much bravado as he could maintain, staring at the three powerful demons that had entered his room. Turq was a mainstay of Dis’s arena, when he wasn’t off on a mission of more importance, and the jelly was undoubtedly an inquisitor. His gaze shifted to their leader, the six-eyed demoness, her blinded gaze searching the room without purpose.
“You shall speak only when prompted, scum.” Turq barked, his two baboon heads snarling as the massive tendrils swayed before him in eagerness. Neujmin bit back his pride, and said nothing as Qualloth stepped before the other two. The Demoness held aloft the thurible, and an infernal flame sprung to life within the censer. The courts claimed the thurible’s contained a wick of Diablo’s own fire, and that it’s heat was his own. Its presence, his. Neujmin had always questioned the truth of the claim, but at this moment he would not dig the hole any deeper.
“You stand before Diablo’s courts, and are found wanting of strength. The lord of Terror has no need of a pawn that bows before man-filth. You are to be relieved of your position and existence, by decree of Lord Diablo himself. Before you stand Judge, Jury and Executioner. Make your plea well if you dare to sway Diablo’s judgement.” The six-eyed judge stepped backwards, allowing V’trock to ooze its way forward, bone spikes stabbing holes in the finely kept carpet. The inquisitor hummed with anticipation, the dead face within its mass staring blankly at Neujmin.
“I bow to none save Diablo, or his emissaries!” Neujmin cried, mind racing for his error. The Primes? “The primes I sent him were some of my best warriors! I offered them up as a tribute to his majesty!”
V’trock’s humming turned piercingly shrill, and Neujmin clasped his hands to his ears. He could feel warm liquid spilling between his meaty fingers. Through blurred vision he saw that neither Qualloth nor Turq seemed fazed by the sound. How could they stand it? Finally, the inquisitor broke the sound, and Neujmin realized with disgust that he had bit clear through his cigar.
“The Jury finds your plea invalid.” Qualloth spoke, her two middle eyes homed in on Neujmin, though the other four still wandered the office vainly. “By your own admission they are only useful in concert, yet you bowed to their caprice and sent each alone to audience with the Lord of Terror at THEIR OWN BEHEST.”
Neujmin blanched slightly, his hand straying towards the trigger concealed on his wrist. From beneath the fedora, the Demon boss eyed the trio before him, there was no way of knowing how much they were expecting a fight. Turq at least would be hoping for one, But Neujmin had always had trouble reading Inquisitors. No expression to read, no voice… It was almost unfair.
“By all the unholy hosts…” Neujmin began, “I never intended to bring any…”
“SILENCE!” screamed Turq’s two heads in concert.
“Your plea has failed to stir Diablo’s compassion.”Qualloth spoke, her eyes now back to empty wandering, “Your weakness must be purged from our ranks, that those who come after you remember the difference between master and slave. Executioner!”
Turq stepped forward eagerly, Baboon heads grinning with eagerness. Without another recourse, Neujmin pressed the trigger and ducked. Behind him the mouth of belial’s statue dropped open, and a clear liquid sprayed out across the room onto Diablo’s surprised court.
Holy water, purchased in Dis’s black market for an exhorbiant sum. It burned the skin of demon’s like the purest fires, and Turq’s twin heads howled as he took the brunt of the blast. Neujmin wasted no time, lifting and flinging his stone desk into the surprised Demogorgon, trapping him beneath its weight as his bulk burned with holy fire. Neujmin’s eyes stung from the mist left by the statue’s spray. He made towards the exit, but V’trock had gotten their first, the Ooze bristling with sharp spikes and metal barbs. It hummed a discordant rhythm, and Neujmin found it difficult to think clearly through the sounds. The inquisitor lunged and several spikes impaled the demon boss sinking deep and burning where the holy water still clung to them.
Neujmin grit his teeth and staggered back, two of the bone spikes still lodged in his chest. Massive fists closed around the bone shards and yanked them free. He was done for. The Inquistor had blocked his path and seemed to have avoided the worst of the Holy water. He had no weapons left that could hurt it. With a futile defiance, he hurled a bone shard into V’trock’s mass, the spike jutting deep into the suspended body.
Instantly, the discordant hum turned to a panicked thrumming, as V’trock sloshed away from Neujmin with a tender speed. It cradled the corpus within it, trying gently to work the bone spike free of its collar. Something compelled Neujmin to turn as Turq closed with a roar and to his surprise he rammed the other bone spike straight into Turq’s left head and out through the back of his skull. The Thresher roared and fell backwards, acidic tentacles slapping Neujmin and eating away chunks of his tailored suit. With a speed born of desperation, Neujmin whirled back and bolted towards the door. V’trock was cooing worriedly in the corner, out of his path. Flight would buy him time to plan, a chance to think his way out of the situation.
A slimy tendril snagged his foot, and Neujmin dreams of escape melted in front of his eyes as he tripped towards the ground. The fedora fell from his demonic face, rolling to a stop at Qualloth’s feet. the thrice blinded had done nothing since the fighting had started, in fact from the scorch marks she might have simply let the holy water hit her without even trying to shield herself.
“Nnnnot getting… awayyy withat…” slurred Turq’s remaining head, crumpled on the floor behind him. Neujmin could feel the Thresher’s acid biting into the flesh of his ankle as the tentacle coiled tight around it.
“Executioner?” Qualloth questioned, but Turq’s only response was an incoherent gurgle from somewhere behind Neujmin. Without further query the thrice blinded turned to address Neujmin.
“The Executioner and Jury have been overturned, but the Judge remains. The Sentence must be upheld.” The thurible’s flame seemed strangely oppressive amidst the constant heat of the Underverse, and Neujmin’s gaze was drawn to it despite himself. He tore his eyes away to look up at her. Three pairs of blinded eyes bore harsh gaze down upon him as she held the sword hilt before her. A coil of fire sprung from it, forming a blade of pure flame. Neujmin stared into the literal fires of hell as the blade severed his head from its body.
Qualloth reached down and grabbed the head by its locks. Without further waiting she left the room, leaving the gurgling Turq and a distressed V’trock behind her. Diablo’s message had been delivered. A demon bows to no manfilth, prime or otherwise.
Turq, the Thresher, easily seven feet tall, leered at passing demons with the confidence of one who has known only victory. His twin baboon faces searched the crowd, daring any to provoke him into action. Those powerful enough to challenge him knew better, for the Thresher had broken the backs of countless champions, and even the two combatants known to have survived an encounter with him had suffered irreparable injury from the caustic acid that coated his tendril arms. There were rumors he was a relative of the fabled Demogorgon, but none had dared to question him to learn the truth.
V’trock, of the Inquisition, a sludging mass of sickly yellow ooze came next. The inquisitor seeped over the broken ground with a ponderous metere, jutting bones and iron bars scrapping along the street as the oozes innards seeped relentlessly forward. It paused momentarily as the prophet’s corpus came dangerously close to the edge of its mass. Few things posed a threat to V’trock, but the loss of its prized slave-mind would be a dark chapter for the Inquisition of Dis. V’trock rose, twisting and folding over itself to maneuver the body away from the harsh stones, then proceeded onwards with a contented hum. It was looking forward to this one.
Qualloth, the thrice blind, came last. Compared to her two companions, Qualloth seemed almost tame. The curled bat wings, cloven feet and clawed hands became a welcome normality to the fearful observer. Yet this hope died at her head, for it extended farther than any normal person’s, three sets of unseeing pale eyes arrayed atop one another in a ghastly tower. From one clawed hand swung a brimstone thurible breathing the very essence of Dis into the air around the trio, the other held a bladeless hilt with a familiar grip. Though her six eyes roved the passersby, the milky orbs gained no purchase.
The trio stopped before the appointed door and Turq stepped forward, one talloned foot raised and snapped out, separating the door from its hinges with a solid snap.
---
Neujmin’s hand shook as he struggled with the uncooperative cigar. It was all coming down on him. Just as quickly as his influence within Dis had risen, now he was losing contracts, finding more and more doors closed to him. Whispers reached him that he had fallen into disfavor with the Lord of Terror. If this were true… He gulped down another shot of whiskey but found himself unsatisfyingly aware of his imminent peril. He glanced at the door to his office and re-opened the ledger. It had been a mistake to continue work during this situation. He should have stayed in his safe-house and let flunkies take the fall for him. But the answer had to be in there somewhere.
There was a crash from down the hall. The demon boss was torn between an urge to determine its source and a need to get away. He took a drag of the cigar. Fleeing would be pointless. If the sound was Diablo’s agents he would only be delaying the inevitable, and nothing made one look guiltier than attempting to flee. Neujmin racked his brain. How had he displeased Diablo? It was not exactly something that you could ask…
There was shout from one of his door guards, though it had turned into a sick gurgle before it was through. Not worth the investment after all. he grumbled, then spun his chair to face the bookcase behind him. The bust of Belial was in its expected place, and after checking the trigger was secured around his massive wrist, Neujmin flicked the safety off. The Demon head statue hummed ever so slightly, its eyes glowing with internal treachery. It would be a desperate gamble, but it might be enough. Certainly, he would not be able to escape this wholly unscathed.
There was a snick as the door to his office swung open. Neujmin sat, his back to the door, counting the footfalls. Two pairs, though the weird slurping sound could be an inquisitor. This was it. He puffed once on the cigar and spun round.
“And to what do I owe this visit?” he spoke with as much bravado as he could maintain, staring at the three powerful demons that had entered his room. Turq was a mainstay of Dis’s arena, when he wasn’t off on a mission of more importance, and the jelly was undoubtedly an inquisitor. His gaze shifted to their leader, the six-eyed demoness, her blinded gaze searching the room without purpose.
“You shall speak only when prompted, scum.” Turq barked, his two baboon heads snarling as the massive tendrils swayed before him in eagerness. Neujmin bit back his pride, and said nothing as Qualloth stepped before the other two. The Demoness held aloft the thurible, and an infernal flame sprung to life within the censer. The courts claimed the thurible’s contained a wick of Diablo’s own fire, and that it’s heat was his own. Its presence, his. Neujmin had always questioned the truth of the claim, but at this moment he would not dig the hole any deeper.
“You stand before Diablo’s courts, and are found wanting of strength. The lord of Terror has no need of a pawn that bows before man-filth. You are to be relieved of your position and existence, by decree of Lord Diablo himself. Before you stand Judge, Jury and Executioner. Make your plea well if you dare to sway Diablo’s judgement.” The six-eyed judge stepped backwards, allowing V’trock to ooze its way forward, bone spikes stabbing holes in the finely kept carpet. The inquisitor hummed with anticipation, the dead face within its mass staring blankly at Neujmin.
“I bow to none save Diablo, or his emissaries!” Neujmin cried, mind racing for his error. The Primes? “The primes I sent him were some of my best warriors! I offered them up as a tribute to his majesty!”
V’trock’s humming turned piercingly shrill, and Neujmin clasped his hands to his ears. He could feel warm liquid spilling between his meaty fingers. Through blurred vision he saw that neither Qualloth nor Turq seemed fazed by the sound. How could they stand it? Finally, the inquisitor broke the sound, and Neujmin realized with disgust that he had bit clear through his cigar.
“The Jury finds your plea invalid.” Qualloth spoke, her two middle eyes homed in on Neujmin, though the other four still wandered the office vainly. “By your own admission they are only useful in concert, yet you bowed to their caprice and sent each alone to audience with the Lord of Terror at THEIR OWN BEHEST.”
Neujmin blanched slightly, his hand straying towards the trigger concealed on his wrist. From beneath the fedora, the Demon boss eyed the trio before him, there was no way of knowing how much they were expecting a fight. Turq at least would be hoping for one, But Neujmin had always had trouble reading Inquisitors. No expression to read, no voice… It was almost unfair.
“By all the unholy hosts…” Neujmin began, “I never intended to bring any…”
“SILENCE!” screamed Turq’s two heads in concert.
“Your plea has failed to stir Diablo’s compassion.”Qualloth spoke, her eyes now back to empty wandering, “Your weakness must be purged from our ranks, that those who come after you remember the difference between master and slave. Executioner!”
Turq stepped forward eagerly, Baboon heads grinning with eagerness. Without another recourse, Neujmin pressed the trigger and ducked. Behind him the mouth of belial’s statue dropped open, and a clear liquid sprayed out across the room onto Diablo’s surprised court.
Holy water, purchased in Dis’s black market for an exhorbiant sum. It burned the skin of demon’s like the purest fires, and Turq’s twin heads howled as he took the brunt of the blast. Neujmin wasted no time, lifting and flinging his stone desk into the surprised Demogorgon, trapping him beneath its weight as his bulk burned with holy fire. Neujmin’s eyes stung from the mist left by the statue’s spray. He made towards the exit, but V’trock had gotten their first, the Ooze bristling with sharp spikes and metal barbs. It hummed a discordant rhythm, and Neujmin found it difficult to think clearly through the sounds. The inquisitor lunged and several spikes impaled the demon boss sinking deep and burning where the holy water still clung to them.
Neujmin grit his teeth and staggered back, two of the bone spikes still lodged in his chest. Massive fists closed around the bone shards and yanked them free. He was done for. The Inquistor had blocked his path and seemed to have avoided the worst of the Holy water. He had no weapons left that could hurt it. With a futile defiance, he hurled a bone shard into V’trock’s mass, the spike jutting deep into the suspended body.
Instantly, the discordant hum turned to a panicked thrumming, as V’trock sloshed away from Neujmin with a tender speed. It cradled the corpus within it, trying gently to work the bone spike free of its collar. Something compelled Neujmin to turn as Turq closed with a roar and to his surprise he rammed the other bone spike straight into Turq’s left head and out through the back of his skull. The Thresher roared and fell backwards, acidic tentacles slapping Neujmin and eating away chunks of his tailored suit. With a speed born of desperation, Neujmin whirled back and bolted towards the door. V’trock was cooing worriedly in the corner, out of his path. Flight would buy him time to plan, a chance to think his way out of the situation.
A slimy tendril snagged his foot, and Neujmin dreams of escape melted in front of his eyes as he tripped towards the ground. The fedora fell from his demonic face, rolling to a stop at Qualloth’s feet. the thrice blinded had done nothing since the fighting had started, in fact from the scorch marks she might have simply let the holy water hit her without even trying to shield herself.
“Nnnnot getting… awayyy withat…” slurred Turq’s remaining head, crumpled on the floor behind him. Neujmin could feel the Thresher’s acid biting into the flesh of his ankle as the tentacle coiled tight around it.
“Executioner?” Qualloth questioned, but Turq’s only response was an incoherent gurgle from somewhere behind Neujmin. Without further query the thrice blinded turned to address Neujmin.
“The Executioner and Jury have been overturned, but the Judge remains. The Sentence must be upheld.” The thurible’s flame seemed strangely oppressive amidst the constant heat of the Underverse, and Neujmin’s gaze was drawn to it despite himself. He tore his eyes away to look up at her. Three pairs of blinded eyes bore harsh gaze down upon him as she held the sword hilt before her. A coil of fire sprung from it, forming a blade of pure flame. Neujmin stared into the literal fires of hell as the blade severed his head from its body.
Qualloth reached down and grabbed the head by its locks. Without further waiting she left the room, leaving the gurgling Turq and a distressed V’trock behind her. Diablo’s message had been delivered. A demon bows to no manfilth, prime or otherwise.