The Imp Act
Chapter One: The Imp Act (Trent)
'Should a non-warlock incidentally summon an imp or any other demonic figure, said non-warlock shall undergo tests as detailed in index A-42 of Regulatory Actions and Laws,' Regulatory Actions and Laws, section W-12; The 'Imp Act'.
It was a simply hot and miserable day. If Trent had his preference, he'd rather be in Northrend than Stranglethorn Vale. The trees towered over him silently, watching his every move. The view besides that was bleak; old decrepit Troll buildings and temples lined the distant horizon while tangles of weeds, trees, bushes and other herbage overgrew the dirt pathway leading to Booty Bay. Mosquitoes had a field day, stealing their sustenance from any and every passer-by. This, of course, included Trent.
A paladin-in-training, Trent was used to seeing exotic locales and other such places. This, however, wasn't quite as exotic as the travel brochures had mentioned. 'That's the last time I trust one of those damned things,' he thought miserably. The mosquitoes merely buzzed and drank from his every pore.
He traveled for a time, until he came upon a travel-worn undead. Being a paladin-in-training, Trent was more than happy to take care of the pest. Unbuckling the large and heavy mace (which had been making his travels even more miserable), Trent charged the undead. Caught by surprise, the poor ex-man had no choice but to be crushed under the tremendous weight. The deed was done, and Trent was exceptionally happy, but soon a blinding light exploded from the undead man's pouches.
When the light subsided, Trent peeked from under his mail gauntlets to find a very peculiar sight; an imp stood in the center of a large circle of char, looking around in a confused manner. Finally, the diminutive creature caught sight of Trent, only thinking of him as a large man in a shiny suit. Trent, watching with bewilderment, only thought of the imp as a sort of deformed insect brought forth by some joker in the woods. He was about to raise the mace once more, but was halted by a trilling voice in his mind.
"You summoned me… why? What do you need killed?"
Trent gaped, mouth opened wide, at the imp. "You can speak?" he asked incredulously.
"Of course, idiot. How do you think we communicate, with smoke signals?"
"But I'm not a warlock, I couldn't have summoned you!" Trent explained.
"That's in direct violation of Regulatory Actions and Laws, section W-12!" the imp's voice hissed within the confused paladin's mind.
"What?"
The imp sighed. "The Imp Act. Don't you keep up on your laws?"
Trent scratched his head, more confused than ever. "No, I can't exactly say that I do. I have too much training and traveling to stop anywhere near a library."
The imp sighed again. "Very well, fool. I'll make it nice and simple so that your puny human brain can comprehend. You. Summoned. Me. You are not a warlock. Therefore, you can either go through some very simple trials, or you can be carted off by whichever agency decides to come. I do hope it's SI:9. They have the most imaginative torture devices anywhere!" the imp seemed to say this with delight.
This time, it was Trent's turn to sigh. "What's the first trial, then?" he asked, exasperated.
The imp chuckled in a trill. "Alright, mortal. The first trial is so simple, one of your children can complete it with passing marks."
Trent gulped through a newly-formed iron lump. "Passing marks? What should happen if I fail one of these trials?"
Once more, the imp chuckled. "You'll see."
The imp raised one of its twig-sized arms and instantly, he and Trent were transported to a dark arena, lit only in the center by arcane means. The imp lowered its hand and nodded to Trent. Suddenly, he disappeared in a pop and a cloud of smoke.
"The first trial is to summon me. Simple enough," it said telepathically. "Oh yes, you have two minutes before you fail by default."
Trent became both increasingly worried and confused. How had he summoned the imp in the first place? All he remembered doing was killing that undead on the road! He had two minutes before he failed, so he had time to think. He took that time going over the steps in his mind. One of the times he had stopped into Stormwind's library, he had been particularly interested in one of the dark tomes on the near-top shelf. It turned out to be a warlock's guide to summoning. But alas, that had been years ago.
The imp's trill returned to Trent's mind. "Time's up, mortal!"
"But it's only been ten seconds!" he complained.
"I forgot to mention this, but in this dimension, time passes about a hundred-and-twenty times faster than in your world. Goodbye, mortal. Hope to see you in the Nether soon!"
A white portal ripped through the dimension's very walls, beyond which showed three warriors in black mail, wearing ridiculous-looking red ties over the armor. One stepped through, clenched Trent's mail collar, and pulled him through the portal. As far as he knew, he was in some sort of dungeon. It was exactly that. No one has seen poor Trent since.
A/N: Sorry the ending was a bit rushed, but hey, it sounds quite alright to me! I hope you enjoy, and just know that this is only a side project to take my mind off of King's Crest and Silent Soldier (Metal Gear). Still, thanks for taking the time to read my newest dribble. Enjoy!