A man sat alone at a table in a tavern in a small town on the edge of nowhere. Though two empty mugs accompanied a third that he continued to process in an effort to block out the ghosts of the past that haunted him behind closed eyes, it would appear that a fourth or fifth mug may be needed for that to be possible. His eyes fervently glanced at every movement, at every shadow, at every look of scorn or disapproval, whether it be directed at him or not. Peace of mind had been absent for some time now, and not even the bottom of a mug could summon it back. Not for a lack of trying, at least.
The door opened, and a small party of Adventurers entered the tavern, presumably after a hard day of slaying monsters and plundering dungeons, if the stains on their clothes of mostly cleaned gore and the bulge of their coin purses were any indication. However, what made the man’s blood run cold and his body freeze as his spirit threatened to run screaming into the night was the diminutive creature on the shoulder of a woman in the party. It made high-pitched whines and roars that demanded her attention, affection, and possibly a morsel or two of food, but it was all just a ruse to mask its sinister nature.
The whelpling, the creation and spawn of that accursed Emperor, was a demon waiting to destroy everything.
The man closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself, but he became lost, the ghosts of his past threatening to drag him down with them. In those moments, he relived the nightmare that had destroyed his life and ended those of his erstwhile friends. If only they hadn’t been so greedy. If only they had listened to him when he told them not to approach the shrine. If only they had heeded his voice when he begged them not to take the coin. If only they had fallen to their knees and begged for forgiveness when that whelp had shown up only minutes later when they were celebrating their easiest heist yet. If only…
His hand moved to cover the left side of his face, the skin there no longer a nasty blister brought about by excessive exposure and an inadvisable proximity to a raging inferno, the same one that had engulfed his friends and boiled them alive. Those large eyes and stubby limbs, at times accompanied by little hats or cute outfits, only belies the hidden evil and destruction that lies dormant within them, for the whelp showed no hesitation in absolute annihilation.
There had been no warning beyond a squeaky roar as it approached. There had been no quarter given, for it chased down any who were not caught in the initial blast. Of his nine friends, only he had been spared, for only he had been opposed to the theft. He remembers the whelp flying over to him where he had fallen into the last vestiges of snow that had not yet yielded to spring’s warmth, the sum of it turned to slush by the flames all around him. He could still hear the flapping of its tiny wings and see the glint of the fire reflected by the coin that it covetously clutched in its tiny claws. It roared one last time at him and then flew off in the direction of the shrine that had been plundered only a few minutes ago.
Nine men had been burned to a crisp for the theft of a single coin. One man had been allowed to live, even if most of him had died that night. Now that man wanders through life without friends or kin to comfort him. His waking moments are filled with glimpses of that night, and his sleep is plagued by the nightmare of that night of fire and despair. Now that man sits here, his eyes open again as he stares at the whelpling on that woman’s shoulder.
And as he stares at it, so too does it eventually turn to stare back at him. The man’s hand trembles on the mug’s handle as he swears that the whelpling winked at him before it resumed the charade of weakness and submission to the woman who had been pampering it until mere moments ago.
His fear and loathing goaded him to leave. With a final effort, he reached the bottom of his upturned mug, but draining it of its contents offered no salvation or miracle. With staggering steps, he stumbled out of the tavern and into the night, his feet taking him nowhere in particular as he bumped into someone.
“Watch where yer goin’, you whoreson!” the other man shouted as he shoved the first man down.
The man landed hard, the churned mud of the street softening the blow to his body, if not the remnants of his pride. There had been a time when no one would dare treat him this way, back when his friends would have been there to help instill a sense of respect in those that crossed his path. Now, they were no more than ghosts, their pleas for his help as they burned to death drowning out what joy the world around him may offer.
The man eventually stood up, and, after staggering a ways more towards a dark alleyway that may prove to offer a reprieve and a place to lay his head for the night, he tripped over his own feet. Before the earth could once again arrest his fall, a strong pair of hands caught him. Something about these hands felt… off. However, the man, so alone, found himself in no mood or position to push away one who had willingly offered aid.
“Ho there, friend, be careful of a fall’s pain. I caught you this time, but I may not be there if it happens again.”
In the shadows that surrounded that alleyway, the man caught enough of the features of his rescuer to know that something about him was amiss. The fingers had too many knuckles, the eyes were too round, the teeth too sharp and pointed, and the brief buzz behind his back betrayed the presence of wings like an insect.
“Your current circumstances are not your fault. I have come to offer remedy to what has ripped your life apart.”
The man, inebriated and suffering from waking nightmares, wondered if this was an evolution of the latter. His mind labored to make sense of the strange person before him as he muttered something incoherent.
“Poor wretch, you crave power to bring justice to the one who has brought you despair.” The otherly and alien man said as he set the first man down gently against a wall in the alleyway before kneeling in front of him. “I can grant that to you,” the man continued as he held up something flat, “if you would just sign here.”
The ‘poor wretch’ in question considered the offer as best as his impaired mind could parse what was happening. If one boiled away all the extraneous information, the bottom line was that the man wanted vengeance and the power to achieve it. No other strangers of mysterious origins and unknown motives had seen it fit to offer the aid required to help him achieve his goals, and so the husk of a man did not take much time in accepting the offered quill. With a hasty and sloppy scrawl, he left his mark upon a contract that he hadn’t even read.
The quill fell from his hand as pain enveloped his body. In that alleyway where no other people were inclined to tread at that particular hour, his body warped and shifted into something more than a man and less than human. The ghosts of his past burned away, much like the mortal forms of his forgotten and fallen friends, for only a lust for vengeance remained in the wake of that transformation.
An Emperor would die by his hand.
Far away, on another continent, a cloaked figure turned to face the direction where a dark bargain had been struck. He had been enjoying the 873rd season of [Hero] vs. the [Demon King], and this one had been an absolute banger of a season and a product of his own making. Upstart interlopers that had tried to muscle in on his turf had gotten their comeuppance when they had been sealed away, in no small thanks to this individual’s indirect efforts. Now they were back, and they were up to their old tricks without having learned from past mistakes.
Of the Twelve and One, the True Demons of this world, The One took offense to someone else making dark deals of power in exchange for servitude. The Twelve likewise took offense to the fae, for they often trespassed on the aspects of character and the meddling in mortal affairs that the Demons considered their exclusive right.
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“It is time, my brethren.” He said to seemingly no one in particular, but his intended audience heard him just the same despite the distance between them. “We must convene and discuss how to deal with the fae this time around.”
The One stood in the middle of nowhere, in a barren land where windswept rock lay naked below a sky bereft of any clouds that promised nourishing rain. A heartbeat later, he was joined by The Twelve.
The Aid, The Victim, The Courier, The Pacifist, The Healer, The Guest, The Accomplice, The Giver, The Harbinger, The Charlatan, The Whisperer, and The Genie were members of The Twelve. The One, their de facto leader, had brought them together once again.
The Twelve and One did not take kindly to anyone trying to upstage them in their own arenas. They had long since reached an accord with one another to prevent them from stepping on each others’ toes. They had thought the matter with the fae had been sufficiently dealt with, but now, they renewed their dark pact and discussed secret schemes to deal with the upstarts once and for all.
What they discussed, not even I know for certain, such is their power that not even a demigod in his own universe can fully spy upon their past. What I do know is that they set events into motion, and some of their plans involved me. In hindsight, it is difficult to say if they helped me or harmed me, for they carry good in one hand and evil in the other.
“Emperor guide us. Emperor teach us. Emperor protect us. On your roads we travel. In your empire we find mercy. In your presence we find enlightenment. We give our lives in servitude. Use them for your will.”
Alterez guided his flock on the third tier down of his cult in a prayer of devotion, for those here were truly devout, or at least highly convincing in their efforts to appear as such. Perhaps there was irony to be found in the fact that their leader, as the [High Priest - Draconic Cult], was himself not truly devout. Certainly he respected his Emperor as his best friend and leader of their group, but actually worshipping him was a bridge too far. He tended to reserve such proclivities for the fairer sex. His heart still yearned to worship a certain remnimi lover of his Emperor, but that is another matter.
Most of the Emperor’s friends and his other companions enjoyed the first tier of the cult, which was more of a potluck with a theme around giving thanks to the Emperor. Of them, only Gambino, Bambina, and Nabonidus had reached this third tier, one of true believers. While their loyalty to their Emperor was beyond reproach, their respective roles in his service made them unsuitable for acceptance into the fourth tier of the cult.
No, they would not do at all. He needed nameless, faceless individuals of discretion and devotion, ones who possessed the necessary wisdom and charisma to spread the cult to other cities. For some time now, Alterez had been grooming, testing, and filtering the worthy from the unworthy. Soon, so very soon, they would be ready to spread the word. Already, he had agents in place to prepare the way by setting up meeting locations and to scout prospective new members.
In his mind, where the quite real voices of other goblins had been, he could hear the approval of Gubberloodoo, the chief god of goblins. Gubberloodoo had been the one to shoulder Alterez with this task of raising his Emperor to the status of a demigod, which had seemed to be an impossible task. However, considering how quickly the empire had grown and the obstacles that his Emperor had overcome with apparent ease, perhaps there was some real potential there.
As one whose Dual Blessing is based around the presentation of select facts, Alterez knew that the full truth often found itself buried beneath perspectives and agendas. There had been losses, both in the terms of disappointing setbacks and permanent losses of life. As one who has lived a long time, he knew all too well that the sting of a loss rarely subsides before the next one arrives. Such a pattern can leave one jaded or caught in a malaise, and it takes active measures on one’s part to prevent the onset of despair.
Fortunately, their Emperor has surrounded himself with individuals that have experience with the passing of eternity, so Alterez did not worry overly much about how that would pan out. He had bigger fish to fry, namely, spreading this cult to all corners of the world. Getting it across the sea to other continents would be a tricky and dangerous endeavor, but he would burn that bridge when he got to it.
The real secret to a long life is to focus on what one can accomplish here and now, while making preparations to eventually address or mitigate circumstances such that future endeavors can be managed. You cannot force a tree to grow where you want, but you can prune it in such a way that its only recourse for growth will yield the same result.
Alterez considered that nugget of wisdom as he examined his flock that he led in prayer. Some pruning of his own would be needed here, for his confidence in the competency of some gathered here left room for doubt. Those unfit for leading new branches of the cult could be suitable for more… expendable roles. All it takes is the proper word choice, timing, and enthusiasm to frame it as a unique opportunity that can be trusted to no other, and they will leap at the chance.
Alterez allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. Even imperfect tools used wisely can allow the clever to achieve goals thought impossible. He may be able to avoid damnation at the cost of his own soul if he can expend the resources available to him just right.
A clammy hand clutched a handwritten letter. The Giant Frog had long since evolved beyond the meager form of her kin thanks to the benefits provided by her master. Her more anthropomorphic physiology came with a mind beyond that of a mere beast, and such a mind was burdened by the same nerves and insecurities experienced by other higher lifeforms.
However, being able to speak the common tongue of mortal races directly, and to comprehend it just the same, without the need for slow and clumsy translation, had been a recent reward for her part in the raid. Beyond mere words, she had gained a refined understanding of social norms and expectations. Such enlightenment came with an expanded repertoire of desires, and she now found a means to indulge in what had been a nascent and nagging something that had lingered at the edge of her comprehension.
Ribette wanted friends. More specifically, she wanted Erethel Starweaver to be her friend. Having no practical experience and the wisdom gained from it to guide her, she had made what she considered to be discrete inquiries into the matter of approaching her goal. Few who in the know failed to put two and two together, and so there existed a cadre of individuals that were silently cheering her on.
It is just a simple invitation, you overgrown tadpole! Get yourself together.
She waffled near the small box mounted on the wall outside the door that led to Erethel’s private quarters. It was sized just right to permit envelopes just like the one in Ribette’s hand to enter through the slit at the top. Surely it was permissible for her to deposit her invitation and depart without committing a faux pas of some kind.
After some deliberation, she exuded a mist from her mouth that filled the entire hallway. The impairment to visibility that it provided to onlookers that could be invisibly stalking this particular hallway at this very moment would provide the concealment necessary for her comfort in doing something new, even if it went over her head that such an unnatural occurrence would not be the height of discretion.
However, Ribette did not notice anyone noticing her, so she considered it a win. Satisfied with her clandestine delivery, she departed out of a window instead of taking the stairwell like a normal person. From there, she scaled the building’s exterior to position herself in such a way that she could tuck her body behind a statue that extended from the superstructure. From this vantage point, she would be mostly hidden and still have the slightest angle to see if anyone checked that small box mounted on the wall outside the door that led to Erethel’s private quarters.
She didn’t notice the riccen that was above her and nestled behind a statue of his own, but he was here for completely unrelated reasons that also had nothing to do with larceny. He had been discretely working his way up the building, but now that Ribette was there and keenly focused on her task, he had to wait until she departed in order to continue his own completely legal excursion.
Ribette would not leave until the small box mounted on the wall outside the door that led to Erethel’s private quarters was examined by Erethel herself or one of her attendants. Meanwhile, she pondered a more concise word in her new repository of language to refer to the small box mounted on the wall outside the door that led to Erethel’s private quarters.
Meanwhile, a poor riccen cursed his luck and contemplated murder while he waited for the opportunity to continue his legitimate and certainly not-out-of-the-ordinary climbing of the building that just so happened to have one particularly anxious Giant Frog on it.
