@Lonewolf685

"Eh hello i am Sir D'Artagnan form Terra Di Coniglio...now that we got the introductions out of the way,Our leader is well...not really a person" He said thinking of The Master the who giving them orders to do what they are doing right now."But the big cheese right now would be either myself or the gentleman over yonder,Honestly we're just all working together to survive.." The rabbit then pointed to Clotho

"Where in a bit of dilemma right now so we could use all the help we can" The rabbit said taking quick swig of the flask hidden in his cloth armor before putting back in the pocket."We got some pissed of orcs and a dragon that may or may not want to kill us" The rabbit was now peering over form the rock making sure he was not seen and could head out form where he was to help in some way.

"It saddens my heart to hear there difficulties between the Horde and the orcs, but I am confident that we shall overcome!" She declared, resolute and optimistic in the face of this sudden issue she had thrown herself -And Durgan, the poor, put upon Behemoth that he was- into without a moments consideration. "You may consider us at your service till greater need pulls us elsewhere!"

Moving to stand beside the knightly rabbit while Durgan padded over to his opposite, the Abyssal Knight stood at attention. "So what shall we do to rectify this situation?"

Faeles shrugged with a mixture of indifference and mild disappointment. "I daresay that I know more about the Keeper than you...and I am not so sure that your 'plan' would have worked. The shaman might have killed you." Suddenly a devious chuckle rang out from behind the wraps that shrouded Faeles' face. "He still might kill you! When we get to the top of this mountain, you will see that the dragon somehow managed to save the sorry fool, though now the shaman looks more like you than an orc."

The arch-thief marched on, not even turning to see Torrens. He didn't need to, "Ah yes, the dragon. I did warn you about their God-king, didn't I? In any case, you are in my debt. I will procure the staff easily enough without you, but when I come for another favor you will not deny me again!"

The demon broke rank and skulked away from Torrens, melting into the darkness of the shadows that clung to the bottoms of the cliffs. A few hours later when they arrived, Torrens' own eyes would be able to confirm what Faeles had said.



Gormlag trudged through the crowd restlessly, just as he had done for the past hour. He would find D'Artagne. His patrol was interrupted by the strangest of sights: it was a knight of sorts, mounted atop some sort of beast. And it walked straight up to the rabbitman who had lurked in the shadows. Straight up to the one that he had been seeking.

He could only stare for a long moment. He heard what Lorelai said and laughed; she was yet another lackey for this despicable 'Horde'. If she got in his way, he would kill her too. And the monster that she rode.

With a menacing gait he walked right towards the small gathering, his burnin eyes focussed solely on D'Artagne. "You! You are a liar, a coward, a traitor! Look at me: you have wrought this upon me!" he roared out. Without another word, for he could no longer speak, he gave in to rage. He charged forward with beastly fury, intending to simply rip D'Artagne apart when he was close enough. Considering his new form, he might also incinerate his enemy at the same time, but there were worse problems to have.



While Torrens arrived with the rest of the Horde and no doubt gawked at Khillgarath (or perhaps found himself embroiled in a fight when the shaman confronted D'Artagne) Faeles was on the other side of the encampment. He was seeking out someone, specifically the insect-creature. 'Clotho, that is her name. I remember now,' the demon thought to himself. There was no way to evade Faeles when he sought you out; those same lenses that he used for scrying faraway lands were also a useful tool for seeking out those that would hide. Inevitably, he found Clotho after only a short time.

Unaware that even now Clotho was infested and that their conversation would have Mar as a silent eavesdropper, he spoke bluntly, "I have a talent for knowing things, and so I have learned that the king of these orcs, the dragon...he is in the possession of something that I would very much like to acquire. It appears as a simple mirror gilded in gold, but the thing is no mundane object. It has far more powerful than even the most discerning of mortal eyes could see.

Alas, I cannot reach it. I lack wings that would allow me to enter the dragon's lair and leave with haste, and my sort of demon has a distinctive smell that the dragon might recognize. Furthermore, I have other engagements. So I propose that you perform the heist! Take the mirror for me, and claim anything else that you might want to keep. In return I offer both my silence and my thanks; a favor from me might prove vlauable later on..."

@Cyclone @Lonewolf685

"Well ya could help me out with this pissed of shaman" The rabbit said to the knight that had recently introduced herself,Turning to face the shaman with a smirk on his face."Ya knew i've had a rough day and after this i need a good woman and some hard liquor...but for now you need to do me a favor and bugger off" The rabbit said pulling out his sword whistling for Fenir to come out and help him out.

Out came his wolf companion who jumped form where he was aiming for the shaman's arm wanting to cut off his master's enemy's limbs.The sword in it's mouth to help out with the attack.

"Of course, my blade is yours Sir D'Atragne. This one shall rue the day he uttered such slander towards a fellow knight beyond repute!" Lorelai declared. As the Lord of Beasts rose with a growl she drew a length of pitted steal that could be referred to as a sword if you had a exceedingly liberal definition of the word. An experimental swing and she felt she had a good grasp for the balance of it, years of going through swords like firewood giving her a good sense for their worth. Hmm, I give this two swings. This ruffian seems the difficult sort, so perhaps I try another? Yes, that sounds like a good idea.

The Abyssal knight searched out for what she thought of as a well spring of honor and valor that imbued her with her might beyond reason, but anyone else would call wasted magic potential so great that every Mage worth their salt across the world over wept the day she choose to be a deluded knight.

"You will taste our steel!" Her arm swept back as valor coursed through the limb and into the blade before she swung forward and released the sword. There was audible crack and distortion of the air as the projectile moved faster than sound towards the Shaman's center mass.

The being saw the Shaman guy announce his anger and move to charge into the fight, but it also saw a few people react to the challenge, so it wasn't unfair, or anything. So it just watched. Slightly intreged at the girl who was using what looked like her Magic as some sort of physical aid, rather than using her magic for Magical stuff. And a...rabbit, with a wolf companion.

This place was weird.

Faeles made Torrens uneasy. He schemed, plotted, threatened. He knew more than he should. And he demanded that he be given that favour, if not now then next time. But as Faeles disappeared he brushed that aside. 'Next time' was a problem for the future, although he would be keeping an eye on Faeles. He could have any number of tricks hidden up his sleeves.

When the Horde arrived at the orc settlement, he saw the dragon with his own eyes, and was struck with awe. He had never, in fact, seen a true dragon before, despite the many Ages he had fought through. Draconic beings and dragon-like creatures, yes, but not true dragons. It made him wonder why Keepers didn't use dragons more often? They possessed incredible strength, natural armour, flight, and raw power.

Additionally, he was grateful that he had decided to flee the village rather than stay, for he knew he had very little that could harm a dragon. Of course, he could kill pretty much anything if he pumped a few gigajoules into an explosion, but that also includes himself, which generally makes it a rather poor strategy. There existed other, more exotic types of magical fire, soulflame being his favourite, that could bypass most forms of fire resistance, but he did not have any such flames.

While the Horde waited on the deliberations between the Keeper and Dragon, Torrens laid low, keeping his distance from the orc camp. He knew that they would probably get riled up, or quite upset, if they recognised him, and that could spoil whatever alliance the Keeper was cooking up.

He did not (yet, anyway) notice Gormlag, on his vengeful trek through the Horde's ranks.

The air itself boomed and screamed for a split second as the thrown blade shot for the shaman. Before the sound could even reach one's ears, the supersonic projectile struck. There was a splash of fire and lava, globs and pieces of the shaman's magmatic body spraying everywhere, even towards the knight and the one that she had tried to protect.

At least it had stopped Gormlag dead in his tracks, if only for a moment. After a short time, there came from his ruined body a harsh wheezing and raspy laugh. The gelatinous fire that made up his body broiled and writhed back into place, reforming itself, and he rose to his feet once more. Standing wasn't even necessary for what he intended next; he had just wanted to show the worms the futility of what they had just done.

The revenant shaman silently summoned his magic with more power and control than he had ever possessed as a being of flesh. Without warning, the hands of stone shot out from underfoot to grasp the ankles of his foes and root him in place while every loose stone in the vicinity was animated into life. One after another, each rock lobbed itself at them in rapid succession. "You will regret that!" Gormlag laughed as he began to stone them with that hail of rocks.

@Cyclone

"God damn it is anyone gonna help me out here..." He thought using his quick feet to try to dodge the incoming rocks, Unsheathing his sword hopping as fast as he could to the shaman and cut off the head of the shaman with his sword. The small rabbit folk whistled for Feninr to come and see if he could kill the shaman while he was fighting him.

Fell Obereon stood tall, his artificial spine stretched out to its maximum. He had hoped it would make him look more intimidating. As he stared up at the demon towering at least three feet above him, he knew it didn't. Nonetheless, he stood his ground, and drew his broken blade. He heard an ethereal laugh, ringing through his ears.

"Demon! Your services have been fulfilled. What is your price?" Fell called up, spreading his arms wide before the demon.

The dark figure kneeled down, oily skin stretched taut over his innumerable limbs. The gaping mouth on it's otherwise blank face opened impossibly wide, unhinging. Resting in the abyssal cavern of his throat was an image dancing in red flame. Along with the image came a musky scent, intermingled with an oaken smoke. Beneath his mask, Fell frowned. The price, far too high for the services rendered. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly stopped himself. One does not haggle with a demon, a lesson he learned hard and early. His eyes flicked left and right, looking around, before locking onto the shifting black form of the demon. Though he no longer had muscles, the stones and wood of his body creaked with tension -a crude imitation of life.

The demon, no dumb creature, snapped it's jaws shut before releasing a feral scream -primal and unrestrained, nothing like the proper laughter earlier. From a dozen different impossible angles, it lunged out at Fell with it's twig-like arms. Fell was suddenly glad that he had lost the ability to feel fear to a demon long ago, and quickly acted in response. In a flash of brilliant light, the demons many arms retreated, many now just smoking stubs. Though the demon lost multiple appendages, it laughed to see Fell on his knees, smoke rising from his husk-like body.

'Damn demons. Everything comes with a price, doesn't it?' He thought to himself, feeling a deep agony twisting at whatever was left inside his twisted corpse of a body. Slowly, he stood once again, eliciting another screech from the demon. As Fell staggered to his feet, a smirk came over his face. Killing three demons in the past two days was a surefire way to numb him from feeling pity.

Another onslaught from the black skinned demon faced Fell. A one trick pony, it seemed, though Fell was smart enough to not underestimate him. With a primal fury, voices in his head shouting to kill kill kill, Fell lunged in turn. Letting his demon killing blade guide him, Fell shrugged off the few arms that grasped at him. Twisting his way through the path left by useless singed hands, Fell found his mark. The broken blade buried itself up to the hilt in the demons black body. From the wound, fiery liquid came out, spurting less than an inch from the wound before turning to smoke filled with terrible screams and a scent of iron. Fell stepped back, leaving his blade buried in the paper-thin skin. He wasted no time in speaking as the demon fell to it's knees, arms uselessly scratching at the wound.

"Demon Khanivirre, I bind you here to my will-" Fell began, before being interrupted by a savage screech. Though there was no real words, the intent was clear.

Fell walked to the hunched over demon, taking a hold of his blade and twisting it, before ripping it out of the demon. Fell sheathed the blade, before gripping the demon's throat in his golden arm. "What demon prefers death to being bound?" He asked, relaxing his grip to allow the demon to speak. Again the echoey laughter rippled from the demons throat.

"Kill me, fool. Kill me to escape your debts." It taunted. Fell grunted, not wanting to deal with demon riddles. So, with a swift thrust of his blade, he complied, sending the demon to whence it came. Fell quickly realized his mistake, and regretted his lack of foresight. When dealing with demons, their debt was more than just a moral or ethical obligation. After years of such pacts, Fell learned that deal with a demon had a physical weight to it, one that only increased with the power of the demon and meaning of the deal. Rather than feeling this weight relieved from his shoulders, it only piled on heavier. Fell knew that could mean only one thing -the demon was in servitude of another, and his debt simply moved up the ladder. Fell shuddered to think of a demon powerful enough to subjugate the raw force of evil of which he had just dispatched.

With a hesitance, Fell stood straight, flexing his wings. He took the first hesitant step forward, to search out his new Master.

Scolding himself internally, Fell muttered. "One more dead demon, one more debt to pay off."

The mental utterances of Mar brought from Clotho something as close to a derisive snort as she could manage. ”Temporary lodging, am I, then? So be it. Perhaps I'll even patch up your original host myself—whatever gets you out of me the quickest, vermin.” The idea of the parasite developing within her, as indicated by his comments about him learning and improving his abilities, repulsed her utterly. Surely there existed a cleric of some sort among the Master's ranks who could expunge this detestable seep from her?

As much as the dragon intrigued her, she knew that it would be utterly inappropriate to insert herself into negotiations unless called upon. As such, she remained unmoving on the sidelines, an easy find for the demon that sought her. The sight of Faeles, when he made himself known, did not please her. The highly unprofessional results of the attempted infiltration of the orc camp had filled her with an acute distaste for every being whose ignorance, incompetence, or negligence contributed to that outcome. She narrowed her eyes slightly at his arrival, but said nothing, waiting for him to speak. He made apparent without mincing words that he wished her to do some dirty work for him, both soundly improper for one of her station and unrewarding. In payment for his bluntness, Clotho returned the favor. ”Why should I risk my neck angering a new ally and potentially throwing the Horde into chaos? All for a mirror, the favor of a demon, and whatever other stolen treasures I could carry. Even if I cared nothing for loyalty or principle, I couldn't carry much, that's for certain. Find some nameless thief to do your bidding; this task is ill-advised and beneath me.”

A commotion drew her gaze. After quickly testing her wings and finding them serviceable if painful to use, she fluttered up into the air and toward the source of the clamor. Having left the orc settlement in the early stages of the catastrophe brought on by Torrens, Clotho did not recognize Gormlag, save as a greater enemy than the rabbit that he attacked with a deluge of crushing stone. Did this minion of the dragon attack with permission, or out of rage? The situation seemed to barefaced to be a real attempt at subterfuge. That left a clear conscious for the death sentence of the fiery shaman. ”How bothersome.” She removed her rapier from its place on her left thigh. A nasty twinge from her back caused her to hiss in discomfort. ”Your little stunt had better not affect my speed, odious one.”

Tucking in her wings and lunging forward, she dove. Her rapier extended before her, she aimed to penetrate Gormlag's skull and with her momentum beat him into the ground.

Another swing of a hand brought forth another hail of stones, and Gormlag laughed as he pelted Fenrir into submission; it would take more than some rabid wolf to stop him! How, with unbridled rage, he stomped forward towards the rabbitman and the knight--and then he was impaled. When Clotho dealt her fatal blow and dove down to strike at the burning shaman, she met no resistance for her target never even saw her coming. The blow went cleanly through his skull, and with an ignoble choke the former shaman collapsed and suffered a second death.

Clotho, however, had danced awfully close to fire. Piercing the being's magmatic form incinerated her rapier and a spurt of fire, sulfurous haze, and slag erupted out from the wound towards the insect queen.

Faeles had watched the entire ordeal, distaste in his mouth. How he hoped that Clotho suffered an immolation and spared him the task of ending her life! He was not one to be refused, and in due time he would see about exacting some measure of revenge. Beyond simply being petty, it was also best that one took measures to eliminate those who knew your true intentions. Countless plots and betrayals had taught him these lessons, and he kept them to heart most of the time. Truth be told, he liked to keep things fun; there was always so much enjoyment to be found in hinting at one's intentions all along, that the final betrayal would burn even fiercer.

Regardless, with so much attention drawn to the shaman's mangled body Faeles knew that this was not the time. Silently he blended back into the shadows. That day he went abruptly missing; the Horde would not see him for a good time to come, but then again, many might not even notice the sly demon's disappearance. With a few exceptions, he had done a fairly good job of keeping a low profile. With so many other notable characters, it was easy to forget about one or two.



Hardly an hour passed before negotiations between the dragon and the Master were finished, but all of that was undone in a moment when Khillgarath learned of his champion's death. Needless to say, the dragon was furious to hear that Gormlag had been slain. By extension the Master was also livid at the sheer stupidity of his minions; how had they managed to so swiftly and decisively jeopardize this alliance?

Lorelai would have an interesting first encounter with the Horde's Master as she, Clotho, and D'Artagne all found themselves ordered to find the Master at once. Word spread through the camp like wildfire; if they did not come soon of their own volition, any one of the countless vengeful orcs or members of the Horde seeking the Master's favor would come looking for them.

Elouviana watched, for a little, before the Shaman was laid low with a blade through his head. Such a dissapointing ending for one with such flare. The rock trick was interesting, though, something she might even try to pick up if time allowed. Still, with her interesting entertainment over, she was wondering if she should go find the Master of this place and introduce herself. It seemed the polite thing to do, after all. And the thing that she had been told to do when she got here, but Elou decided that she wasn't technically here yet, and so that little loophole was what allowed her to watch in her incoporial form.

So, deciding to now go introduce herself, she floated off, and found the Master pretty easily. He was the big guy next to the Dragon, looking like he had just swallowed a slug dipped in something Cegorach would give out for a laugh. And the dragon wasn't looking to happy either. Which was always good, irritating dragons was a favoured pass time of hers when she got to meet them. The disenbodied spirit that was Elou floated up to the dragon's head, and there it pulled together form. Flesh, blood and bone spirling into existance, and then some clothes, to keep her modesty. Who knew how prudish the Master of this place was. And finally, atop the head of the Dragon, she looked down at the Master, and spoke.
"So, are you chewing nettles, or do you just naturally look like that?" She asked, smirking in that confident tone of hers. She wasn't sure how well traveled this Master was, but the Dragon she was currently standing on would definately, for better or for worse depending on it's ego, know of her speices by scent, before anything else.

In the instant of the perfect kill, the feeling came again. Though a warrior through and through, Clotho did not count herself a sadist, yet in that fleeting moment between life and death at her hands something deep within gave her immeasurable satisfaction. The very next instant it faded, aided on its way by a horrified realization: in her frustration and eagerness to vent she made a novice's error. She played with fire, and did not anticipate being burned.

Immediately the rapier-blade melted away, and the incredible heat conducted through her weapon scalded her hand, provoking her to release her grip with utmost haste. Barely had she registered the pain from this misfortune, however, than a jet of molten metal surrounded in noxious fumes erupt from the body of the slain orc. The searing liquid sprayed across her hips and left leg, burning into the armor, while the gas bombarded her eyes and made her choke. Clotho uttered an awful combination of hack and shriek, stumbling away and rushing to jettison her carapace armor. It detached from her flesh quickly, but not fast enough to prevent nasty burns. Her legs shook as she gasped, barely keeping her on her feet. When she found her voice, she snarled at D'Artagnan, ”Next time someone wants your head, they're getting it on a silver platter. Haven't you ruined enough for one day?” In her present state, Clotho could not fly, forcing her to make an undignified exit on foot.

Once back among her insects, she sent out for medicine, but received little. Her burns hurt constantly, and try as she might she couldn't shake the cough. Unable to fly and too distracted to manage, she could do little more than sit and bide her time, waiting for the agony to cease. In this sorry state she received summons from her master, and only then realized the extent of her mistake. In coming to the aid of the rabbit, she had done the very act she told Faeles she would not: jeopardized the new alliance. Cursing her stupidity, she laboriously pulled herself to her feet, and set off at a brisk limp toward the Master. While not joyful at the prospect of more punishment, she would not shirk her duty or try to escape justice. The Master would hear her account truthfully, if he wished it, and what happened next would be his to judge.

"Don't speak to me that way little girl..i was doing my best not to have us all burnt to a crisp..." The rabbitfolk growled back at Clotho,He felt his own rage coming up mostly at himself and would be a bit irritated if he was confronted again.The worst thing would be talking to the Master who would be angry at him.

Seeing his wolf with a smile summoning his companion over who was resting for a moment to stand by his side,Taking a swig of his flask wanting to feel a bit tipsy wiping the contents form near his mouth. D'Artagnan then put his flask away feeling terrible then already did for messing up on his job.

There was a peculiar sting and a curdling within his veins; as his blood roiled, he knew that one of those demons bound to his will had been extinguished. With an irritated thought he reached out to the minds of those few individuals on this plane that had been brought into his direct service, and in a moment he had his answer: it was Khanivirre that had been extinguished and sent back to the wretched abyss from whence he had come. 'A useless fool!' Khanivirre's master thought, but then there came another tingle.

A new toy had fallen into his possession, and the bitter ashes in his mouth gave way to a delight that almost brought forth salivation. How he loved collecting new playthings. Perhaps Khanivirre was not so incompetent; after all, it seemed the minion had at least managed to find his own replacement.

Though the tether to this new servant's soul was taught and stretched thin over many days of travel, Fell Obereon's new master was not at all perturbed. He would wait. After all, it hadn't been as if he would be traveling any time soon. The refusal of those other fools to cooperate had seen to that...



The wind howled, almost protesting the death of the fell demon on the ground before Fell. Silken wings stretched taut along stone frames, as Fell reached deep within himself to search out the source of his new obligation. Though he felt compelled to hold to his word and repay his karmic debt, Fell was loathe to seek out this demon -the raw power he felt in their connection alone was dazing.

Turning to his so-to-speak conscience, The Council of Father Geriane, Fell dropped to his knees as he focused on the ashen skull. Deep within the sockets of the skull, a brilliant white light flared, expelling a steady stream of ash that trickled slowly down Fell's shiny golden arm. As the eyes were lit in purity, Fell felt a tugging from deep within himself -soon the voice of his father echoed throughout his body.

Though the voices of the dead are faint and short lived, Father Geraine's message was clearly imprinted on what was left of Fell's mind. He stood straight, his mind decided. The debt would be honored, no matter the cost. Fell mentally tugged at the connection he felt to his new demonic master, but found it lacking in substance, not something he could rely on to lead him. It was clear to Fell that the demon was not lurking nearby- perhaps a blessing in the short term, but it meant that he had a long journey ahead.

Fell looked down at the corpse of Khaniverre before him, hoping for some clue as to where his master would be hiding. Though he seemed to find naught in his fresh kill, the smoke trailing from the gaping wound lead his eyes upwards to the sky. It was there that he found what he believed to be his best lead -plumes of black smoke rose in pillars in the distance. Taking a moment to recall his location, Fell discerned that the smoke must be trailing from the mountains in which a great troupe of orcs lie. While orcs certainly had a propensity for destruction, Fell doubted that anything short of a powerful demon would cause flames of such intensity. Then, that might just be his natural bias against such creatures.

It was then, that with determination, Fell began his trek to the East -seeking out his new master. With a grunt, he sheathed his blade within a gap in his own stomach. His wings curled tight to his own back as he trudged, appearing more as a silken cape now than anything else.

...

Fell made his way up the orcish mountains, meeting little resistance. As he neared both the fiery plumes and the orcish encampment, he felt the connection to his debtor strengthen. Calling upon the enhanced strength bestowed upon him by one of his countless pacts of the past, Fell hauled himself over the final ridge in between himself and the orcish encampment, at the same time drawing his broken blade, caked still in the gore of dozens of dead demons. Fell raised his head, lifting his steel mask. His voice rang out through the encampment, gravelly tone tainted with a demonic echo, calling out for the demon to which he is indebted.

The echo of his own voice in these mountains was all that Fell's cry received as an answer, but after a few long moments of silence there came a harsh cackle. The laughter came from no direction in particular other than from within. Its source was of course Fell's mind itself, as his new master had the noxious ability to communicate in such ways through their newfound mental link. A pact bound by soul or blood was also bound in mind.

Utterly hidden from all but the most discerning of eyes, the demon clung to the twilight veil between the plane of the living and that of the spirits, aided by that mystical cloak that shrouded his indiscreet form. In that way he was at one with the shadows and invisible. From mere feet away, in the shadows at the base of a sheer cliff, he observed Fell.

He had not known what to expect. One hardly ever did. But this? This was a surprise, for whatever sort of being that Fell Oberon was, it was by now so far from human that his subjugator did not even recognize him as such. Rather, he thought Fell to be some sort of abomination, perhaps a bastard conglomeration of a dozen different sorts of demons and other horrors. Such repulsive creatures were rare but not unheard of.

In any case, this one looked a step above what Khanivirre had been, and for that reason alone the dark stranger was pleased. Nonchalantly he remained still in the shadows, waiting to see if Fell would even be able to find him when he was a mere ten paces away.

As the cackling rang throughout Fell's head, his tight posture fell into a slump. "Gigantic demons with flaming swords taller than I am? I can handle that. Demons that surround themselves in an orgy of minions for protection? I can handle that." He thought to himself, letting his metallic mask fall back into place as he slowly pivoted in a circle, eyes searching the area around. "But fuck stealthy demons." He muttered, this time aloud. Though the connection was strong and Fell could tell the demon was near, there was little he could do -perhaps a downside of holding so tightly onto his mortal eyes.

Momentarily, a golden rune glowed on Fell's forehead, as he prepared to let out an angered outburst of holy light, but the symbol faded as quickly as it came. No, a demon as powerful as this would not be stupid enough to get so close while hiding. Fell, angered, stopped his almost frantic search of the area, and swiftly returned his broken sword to it's sheath between the stony makeshift abdominal muscles of his husk-like body.

"Demon, I pledge myself to repay my debt to you to the best of my ability, and swear unto you my word that my blade will not turn on it's master, unlike the late Khanivirre." Fell stated, monotone as he repeated the pact he had pledged time and time again. He hesitated before he continued, always hosting some animosity for the next part. "I am your tool to guide, master." He said, dropping to one knee in a cloud of dust.

With mild bemusement the shadowy figure watched this spectacle, skeptical about the worth of this one's words. Unlike the late Khanivirre indeed. How had this one even come into the debt of that fool?

There was what could only be described as a ripple as the shadows hugging the bottom of that nearby cliff began to flow and distort as if some sort of black liquid. The darkness itself writhed and parted, and out from its bowels emerged a strange demon. Two infernal eyes pierced into Fell, glowing like dying embers, but were it not for that and the unmistakable reek of sulfur, this figure may have been human. Robes and other wrapping covered every inch of the stranger, even his face, leaving only two shady gaps for those eyes to peer out from.

He stepped forward into the light now, and seemed all the more immaterial and weak for it. Illuminated clearly now, in one hand there was a twisted staff and in the other there was a strange pouch. Yet one would have a hard time staring, for the voice of this one had a way of being disconcerting.

"And who is it that finds himself bound now to Faeles?" rasped back Fell's new master. The name Faeles rang empty and Fell would know that this was a mere alias. For a demon to surrender its true name left one with far too much power over it, and this one clearly knew as much.

"Faeles..." Fell muttered, rolling the name around in his mouth like a child might a piece of candy. "Faeles has obtained the service of Fell Obereon, bastard son of countless demons before." He stated simply. Over years of service, Fell found it best to not offer a demon any information past that which is explicitly requested.

As he stood before the demon, Fell put great effort into staring the demon down, but felt somehow small, weak, in front of the wrapped figure. Momentarily, his fighting spirit encouraged him to attack the demon, end the debt once and for all. "It'd be simple, really. Rip out my blade and throw it as a diversion, use the cut to expose an aura of pain while I tackle him, then release a burst of holy light to weaken it. Cut and dry." The thought was dismissed almost as quickly as it came. Demons were always more than they appeared, and Fell was especially wary of the pouch of unknown contents. Even worse, the demon could be in the service of an even more powerful master.

As fell pondered, he rolled back his right shoulder, much as a runner might during their morning stretches. Having a body entirely lacking flesh, blood, and muscle, the gesture was an entirely unnecessary one, though it did allow a buildup of ash from the skull of Father Geraine to fall to the ground in a clumpy black cloud. His stomach, removed many years ago, churned with anticipation as he looked at the demon, utterly out of his element. He opened his mouth and stuttered out a brief grunt, quickly snapping it shut once again. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he tried once again.

"How will this debt be repaied, Faeles?" Fell dared to ask, attempting to interject a tone of distaste on the name, and utterly failing.

Faeles ignored that question entirely, at least for that moment. "I sense that only a sparse few of my associates and minions have found their way onto this plane, and those that have are spread few and far between, listening for whispers. Khanivirre was one, but now he is dead by your hand and so it is only right that you take his place. Fortunately for you, I have need of a task right now," Faeles mused aloud, "Your debt to me will be repaid quickly enough, if you fulfill this role and play it will..."

There was a long silence in which the demon's burning stare never once faltered or budged. Instead, his seeking eyes seemed to trace every detail and contour of Fell: the skull upon his shoulder, his wings, his various limbs. At last, as if having judged him capable, Faeles continued in his conspiratory rasp, "First, you will take this," the demon commanded, offering the staff that he held in one hand.

Fell hesitated for a moment, mind urging him to move, but body loathe to follow the offer. Finally gaining control of his faculties, Fell leaned forward, taking a hold of the gnarled staff in his stone left hand. He nodded, confirming his understanding of the order.

Impatiently Faeles had observed the trepidation present in Fell, but at the last moment he had reached for the staff. Good. Faeles had nearly snapped right then and there; he was not one for hesitation. The demon made a mental note to omit the finer details and implications of just what Fell's mission would involve; whilst it might have been amusing to torture or twist some by sharing with them the extent of his devious plans, this one had been stoic thus far. It irritated Faeles but was probably for the best; no doubt Fell had learned that maintaining a placid manner staved off the worst of a demon's sadism.

"And now you must climb that mountain yonder, right there..." Faeles stated in a matter-of-fact tone, a bony finger reaching out to point towards what was coincidentally the highest mount of the entire range, but fortunately the one that was also closest. "...but take care that you are not seen by those below. Perhaps it will be best to make the ascent under the cover of darkness, if you trust in your hand to not slip. Your debt will go unpaid if you tumble to the bottom and are shattered, and I think you know what that would mean!" he continued, cackling toward the end. The thought of Fell being forced to serve a near eternity in death to repay that one little debt was one that was amusing.

Finally, Faeles finished, "Once near the summit, you will find a great opening in the mountain where a dragon rests even now. He will slumber for some days yet, so you must move quickly. Within his lair are many artifacts, but only one is worthy of falling into my hands: it has the appearance of a small, inelegant thing: a mirror. You will procure this mirror for me without waking the dragon, and in its place you will leave behind that staff. Then you must tarry not and make your way straight back to me. Perhaps then you shall be freed of my service!"

As the demon carried on his ranting speech, Fell took on a lugubrious demeanor. "Climb the tallest mountain in sight without being seen, sneak by a dragon, and steal its treasure without waking it? And here I was thinking you were going to go easy on me." Fell grimaced, looking up to the mountain. His entire body flexed in anticipation, wings spreading wide. "Oh what I'd give to have these damn things work..." Fell thought to himself as the wind rippled uselessly through the silken drapes.

With an air of scorn, for he had always been without that sort of humor, Faeles retorted, "It is a paltry task that you are given, and one that I would easily carry out myself were if not for my very particular smell. But you, for reasons I do not fathom, walk without the reek of the nether clinging to you...So you would be able to do this." Faeles was glad that his command had gone more or less without question; perhaps this one truly was foolish enough to understand the magnitude of what he was about to accomplish. Or perhaps Fell simply didn't care much for consequences; that seemed just as likely true. Only time would tell!

Fell considered making a crack regarding the comments involving scent, but thought better of it for his own safety. Fell, deciding to cut off the discussion with the demon rather suddenly, turned away swiftly, resting the staff over his shoulder. As he slowly paced away from the demon, Fell stopped before an orcish corpse, looking back over his shoulder at Faeles. "And this is where I'll find you once my task is complete?" He inquired, as he proceeded to hack at the corpse with his broken sword.

Another one of those cackles reverberated through Fell's mind as Faeles turned and began to meld into the shadows once more. "Have no fear, little one; I will find you afterwards," came that rasping voice from the deepest depths of Fell's mind, and then Faeles was out of sight. He knew not what that one was doing to the mangled corpse of the orc but cared little to stay and see; he had other important things to attend to.

Fell's head dropped as he continued lacerating the dead orc. "Bastard." He said, taking no care to lower his voice. Rather quickly, he finished his work on the body. Soon enough, the torso was almost entirely dismembered, arms legs and head all strewn across the rocky ground. Stowing the staff safely in a manner similar to his broken blade, Fell began his trek to the mountain, what was left of the mangled body in hand. As he walked, he tore meat off of the bones with his bare hands, leaving a trail of gore as he walked.

As the trek carried on, soon Fell had nothing in his hands but a bloody ribcage and spine held tight in his hands. He lazily tossed it over his shoulder, much like one might carry an unconscious body. The journey ahead was going to be a long and arduous one, and it appeared that it would not end at the summit.

Hours later, the hike up the mountain proved to be almost entirely uneventful. Having a stone body came with it's benefits -no fatigue allowed him to walk up the mountainside in half the time a mortal man would take. Upon reaching the summit, Fell was faced with a dank scent of smog intermingling with well cooked meat. Fell grimaced, lowering to a crouch as he entered the massive chasm on the mountain face that clearly marked a dragon's lair.

Fell trudged through the blasting hot air of the cavern, eyes focused forward as he crawled deeper and deeper, approaching a horde of treasure. The trove was smaller than Fell had expected -the dragon appeared to take up most of the cave in it's tightly curled ball. Creeping slowly, Fell quickly spotted his target, standing seemingly alone among a trove of gold far less valuable in comparison. Wasting no time, Fell removed Faeles' staff from it's sheath within his body, placing it where the mirror once laid. A shudder erupted from the dragon, prompting Fell to hasten his exit, mirror clutched close to his chest.

On his exit from the cavern, Fell stood tall upon the mountain. He had put minimal effort into the ordeal, but something about surviving an encounter with a dragon was very good for the spirits. He let his wings spread wide, catching the heated wind in the flowing red cloth. Taking in a moment to survey the area, and drinking in the view, Fell walked to the edge of the steepest area of the mountain he could find. Drawing in a deep breath, he dove from the cliff, wings spreading even wider to control his descent. He had no destination in mind, his only thought was to get as far away from the dragon as he could before it inevitably awoke.

Fell crashed to the ground rather inelegantly, attempting to tuck into a roll as he hit a large flat strip of ground beneath the mountain. He rose to his feet, largely unharmed thanks to his slow glide down. Once his feet were under him, he considered calling out to Faeles, but decided instead to take the demon's word to heart. "Come and get it, fucker." he thought to himself, examining the mirror that he had been tasked to find. Largely ordinary, and luckily undamaged in the descent. Fell took care to not stare into the mirror too long -focusing on his mangled body of demonic prosthetics would only enforce his mental lack of humanity, not something he desired.

To pass the time waiting for Faeles, Fell took to working on the ribcage and spine he had earlier harvested. On the plateau on which he had landed, Fell was lucky enough to spy a sparse growth of flora, most importantly a group of small trees. Sheltered beneath the mountain, these trees had grown to surprising size considering the harsh conditions of the orcish mountains.

There was a grimace on fells face as he began his 'renovations', so to speak. Taking a firm grip of his broken blade, he turned the blade on himself, using the rough edge to carve out the large areas of his body currently comprised of wood. Though he lost the ability to feel pain in the literal sense of the word long ago, Fell still felt something deep inside at the loss of so much mass. He quickly continued the process, breaking ribs off of what was once an orc, and maneuvering them to lie within the cavities he had opened up. Once satisfied with the positioning, he began ripping branches from the trees, and placing them similarly to the bones.

He felt a warmth radiate from deep within, and the branches sprung to life, twisting and weaving themselves to replace the broken sections. Fell paused for a minute to mentally thank Halarin, one of the more agreeable demons he had dealt with, for this gift of regeneration. Fell continued this process, rebuilding his wooden body with a support of orcish bone. He was also thankful for the rather lucky find of orcish bones. He usually didn't bother using bone as a reinforcement in his body, but orc bones were durable enough to be worth the headache of harvesting and implanting them.

Dusk soon came as it inevitably does, and Faeles too came as he inevitably would. If there were any tricks of shadowy magic or invisibility they weren't apparent; Faeles simply stalked through the gloom with so much unnatural ease and silence that he may as well have been a wraith. If Fell had not kept an especially careful vigil, he wouldn't even sense his Master's presence until the demon spoke, "Your descent was made in haste. I hope, for your sake, that you have brought the mirror..."

Had Fell any fear left in his rather frail mind, the sudden voice rasping from behind him would've caused a startle. Possibly fortunately, Fell was no longer burdened with such faults. Instead, he simply turned to face the cloaked demon, mirror clasped tight within his golden hand. As he lifted the mirror, Fell took care to keep it from the steady stream of blood that trickled from his newly added bones. "The deed is done, Faeles. Our business is concluded." Fell stated, putting a sense of finality in his voice, though he knew that it was very unlikely that his statement had any truth to it.

In his first display on any emotion save sadistic humor or irritation, Faeles stepped forward both visibly gingerly and excitably. He clutched the mirror like a drowning man might hold a rope thrown to him, and the glow of his eyes reflecting softly in the mirror as he peered at its every facet. Whereas anyone else might have met the thing with the mild curiosity that they gave any antique or with utter indifference, his trained and astute eye saw the artifact for what it truly was. Avarice shone in his eyes, and quickly he procured from within his robes that same pouch that he had held when Fell first saw him.

As if he were afraid that the moonlight itself might bear witness to this theft, he unceremoniously forced the mirror into the pouch. Despite the thing visibly falling in, the sides of that seemingly mundane pouch didn't bulge or even ripple; far from mundane, it was in the void of twisted space inside that bottomless pouch that he stowed away a hundred such treasures and magical artifacts.

"That deed is indeed done, and you have carried out your end exceptionally well! So well, I think, that I should not set you free. No, you are far too useful....this will be only the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership!"

Though Fell expected nothing less from the demon, he had been holding onto a slight glimmer of hope that there would be freedom to be found from this demon. No, demons of honor were, by definition, few and far between. Again a primal force within him urged him to rip out his blade, and bury it deep within the demon. Common sense told him that it would only end in tragedy. Big red demons with horns were simple to deal with -just be stronger than them, and you get what you want. The frail old demons that surrounded themselves in minions were simple to deal with -just wade through the fodder until you can stab something more substantial.

But this dark figure in front of him, rippling with power was a completely different burden. In years of hunting and dealing with demons, the sly cunning demons were the absolute worst. No way to outhink, no way to overpower them. The only thing one could do is hope to reason with them, and not come out with less than they went in with. Of course, that required clever wordsmithing, or at the very least a sound mind. Neither of which fell under the skill set of Fell Obereon.

"Of couse." Fell said, offering a curt expression. "I'm sure the two of us will do great things." He said, taking the flattery for what exactly it was. As he spoke, he began to wonder if a 'partnership' under Faeles would be so bad. Though the demon clearly had plans to subjugate him, Fell did consider the power he could obtain from working under a demon like this. Perhaps his association with the sly being would give him the skills he needed to later deal with such infernal creatures. The trick would be to first make sure their 'alliance' would not end in Fell walking out with less than he walked in with.

"I'll join you demon, but my debt is repaid. If we're to work together, I will be expecting some compensation for my... how did you put it? 'Exceptional' services?" Fell asked, paraphrasing the demon's earlier praise.

That cackle resounded again, cutting through the night's deathly quiet. "The debt is only repaid when I say so; I am sure that you understand how these things work. Yet while I may force your continued service, I will indeed offer you reward where such is earned; let none say that Faeles is not generous to those that serve well.

Set aside petulant hubris, and make of me one request. I shall grant you one boom of any sort, should it be within reason."

In his time dealing with demons, Fell often found that demons could be very creative at times. As such, he had a tendency to leave requests open-ended, hoping to take advantage of their lawful nature and tendency to keep to the letter of their word. He sincerely hoped that Faeles was one such demon he could rely on for this. "If I'm to continue in your service, I'll need some way to move around in the shadow undetected like you, Faeles. Grant me some way to move through the shadows swiftly and unimpeded." He stated, hand idly resting on the hilt of his blade.

Faeles found that strange pouch of his once more, and his hand plunged into its depths up to the elbow. Deceptively large, he grasped for several moments as if looking for something before he at last pulled out a small jar of a dark grey powder. "The ashen remains of a shadowbeast that dwelt in the rift between worlds," he explained. "it will be a poor subsitute for true shadow magic, but infused into your flesh, it would give you some dominion over darkness."

With the flick of a wrist the demon conjured a ball of writhing, demonic flames in his palm. The hellish fire burned blood red and with a vengeance, yet left his robes untouched; instead, if leapt at Fell and spread voraciously. As what small scraps of flesh Fell Obereon had were nearly melted to tallow, Faeles grabbed a fistful of the powder and threw it onto Fell's tortured form, letting the fine grains find their way onto his body and seep into it.

After a few minutes of what might have seemed like endless agony, it was over. Almost as quickly as it had come, the flame vanished and with it retreated too the pain and much of the injury that it had inflicted. "It is done."