Death to the High Lords 4:
Malice and Motivation
Asmodeus and the remainder of his troop returned to the relative safety of the Dungeon, licking their wounds yet feeling triumphant. The Dungeon's garrison was back to full strength thanks to the attraction of the Portal, it's crystal pillars glowing gently in the torchlight as they marched past.
The Mentor headed straight for the Dungeon Heart. Imps avoided his every step; word travelled fast in the Imp community and they had heard that Asmodeus had received a hammering from the local heroes. Everywhere he looked, there were Goblins walking the corridors, a far cry from the beautifully terrifying creatures that used to grace his master's halls and corridors. Oh, how he missed the wicked laughter of the Dark Mistresses as they pleasured themselves in his Master's torture chambers; the stealthy movement of the Rogues; the sylph-like Dark Elves and their grace in long-range combat. The only thing he did not miss was the vile, globulous Bile Demons and their awful smelling habits, not to mention their leathery backsides scraping along the dungeon floor as they knuckled their way through the passageways to the only thing they cared about - the Hatchery.
Asmodeus passed through the membrane of the Dungeon Heart to his Master's chamber and bowed before Flamuli. The Keeper was resting within his crystal, soothed by the beating of the Heart. Asmodeus coughed politely. The slit-like gaps in the smoky substance of Flamuli that served for his eyes slowly opened. A wicked smile graced his mouth.
"Welcome back, Asmodeus. I see that you have survived unscathed as usual in your errand. Do you have my library?"
"No, my lord, but we have it's location. Alas, my forces were whittled down so much that I could not pursue it straight away. You see, I had to track down a band of Dark Angels to help us in the search."
"Hmm, they are fickle beasts, Asmodeus. Not to be trusted if they do not serve a Keeper."
"They may not serve a Keeper, Master. However, neither do they serve the Dark Gods."
If Flamuli had eyebrows, they would have shot up in surprise. "Then they are leaderless."
"Not entirely, Lord. They serve the Legions of the Damned, another branch of hellish deities that exist on one of the Netherworld planes. I have yet to resolve who these beings are, but they could prove useful if we can ally with them."
"Indeed, Asmodeus. You have done well. We will seek to contact these Legions once we have further knowledge of them, and for that, we will require that library."
"Yes, Lord, however, it is more than likely guarded by Wizards, and Goblins are notorious for being afraid of Wizards."
Flamuli seemed to consider this. "Then we must seek to rescue the stronger forces that are imprisoned here. Scry for possible positions, and we shall seek to dig them out of their prisons."
"At once, my Lord."
Asmodeus left the chamber and made his way to his study, glancing through the odd doorway here and there. The Dungeon was really taking shape now, but many of the rooms he saw were standing unused because they lacked the creatures with the skills to use them. The workshop stood empty, it's tools lying on workbenches uselessly gathering dust. The fresh compliment of Goblins were training, the clang of swords striking targets accompanied by the grunts of the creatures hitting them. Only himself and the Imps seemed the busiest here, as hordes of the little creatures worked on the finishing touches to the torture chamber, fixing leather restraints onto the circular tables, filling a vat with hot coals beneath a revolving wheel, and mopping up the blood from the test subjects that Flamuli had placed in there. Most of the Goblins could be found in the Casino now, gambling their meagre wages away on a fruitless gamble when they were not sleeping noisily in their beds.
He sat down at his desk, removing the velvet cover from his crystal ball, waving his hands idly over it. The mists within cleared and revealed a large stone chamber, lit by the sun streaming in through the window. Pacing the room was a man in more than familiar garb - the new proclaimed Avatar in his red and yellow livery and plate armour on his shoulders and shins. A broadsword swayed slightly at his hip as he paced, mouthing something at two Wizards who were listening patiently. Asmodeus concentrated, focusing his powers, and eventually, he began to hear…
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"When did he re-enter this realm? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Avatar Brandicor's voice thundered at the Wizards who flinched at his scathing verbal assault.
"Well, your Lordship…" began Grell, one of the Wizards, but he was cut very short by another outburst.
"Highness! How many times do I have to tell you? It's Highness!"
Grell glanced at his companion, Melkum. They exchanged a significant look. Their Avatar was displaying precisely the sort of traits that the previous holder of the title did not; ambition, selfishness and a total lack of understanding of his people. Many of the serfs who tended his vast lands often said they would rather live under the yoke of an oppressor like Flamuli because at least then you knew where you stood. When the Avatar was your dictator, you felt more stood on.
"I beg forgiveness, Highness," stammered Grell, "But the fact remains that Flamuli's powers have grown to such an extent that he is able to place himself directly beneath our noses."
The Avatar nodded slowly. "Then we should remove this troublesome flyspeck!"
"Highness, that may not be so simple." Melkum regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth.
The Avatar turned on him. "I am Avatar of these lands, the greatest hero, the mightiest of the foes of Evil. I will strike him down. Or I will burn every inch of the old underground domains until nothing remains for him to build in!"
Grell and Melkum stared at the Avatar in disbelief. It was as though the man was possessed by a zeal that no Lord or King had ever shown before against the Keepers. They neglected to inform Brandicor of the new uprisings from the realms below that had sprung in Flamuli's absence, and the fact that Flamuli himself was threatening the borders of Smilesville. Their Avatar would only want to march in with sword swinging and get himself killed which, no matter how much the people hated him, would throw the population into chaos. How odd, that the people could rally around a title. There was a time that people rallied around a man.
The two Wizards bowed their heads in acquiescence. "We shall do all we can strive to…"
"Wait!" Grell interrupted Melkum with a hand on his shoulder. He glanced around the room, touching his temple, his eyes squinted in concentration. "I think we're being scried."
"What?" bellowed Brandicor. The Wizards ignored him. Grell looked up at the ceiling…
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And stared straight into Asmodeus' eyes. Asmodeus waved his hands over the image to dismiss it. Sweat had broken out on the Mentor's forehead. Had Grell really seen him? Did this mean they would be expecting visitors? They had to run the risk of attracting attention anyway, and the investigating he was hoping to do was cut short by Grell's intrusion. The thought of Dwarfs tunnelling down towards them with reinforcements did not bear thinking about. They had to move against the library without aid.
Asmodeus leapt up from his chair and marched to the lair, where most of the Goblins were sleeping. The few veterans that remained were fully healed and ready for more sleeping, much to his disappointment. Well, it's time for them to be disappointed, he thought. "Wake up!" he shouted.
Several green heads popped up from underneath blankets. When they saw who was addressing them, they hastily clambered out of bed, planted their helmets on their heads, and stood to attention.
"That's more like it. Now, we move against the Uplanders' library today."
There were assorted squeals of protest.
"None of that! We will strike terror into the hearts of it's guardians, and we will claim their knowledge for our own. Once it is claimed, then we will be able to attract Warlocks with the promise of arcane knowledge." He glanced around at the Goblins' blank expressions and he knew that once again he'd lost them completely. He sighed. One day, I will be able to hold a conversation with someone here, he thought. "Oh, let's just go and fight!"
To this, the Goblins actually cheered. Well, some of them.
Asmodeus led the way from the lair with his thirteen strong retinue of Goblins marching in some sort of order behind him. They were happier than most Goblins because they didn't have creatures of higher station picking on them all the time. Asmodeus was not classed as a creature because he was an ever present element in their existence. But others such as Mistresses, Bile Demons and Trolls picked on them incessantly. They were glad to be serving somewhere where they could get some peace and quiet for a change.
They walked outside the confines of the Dungeon walls. Asmodeus winced at the lack of protection they had where their area met the lava streams. There were no Trolls to help them with manufacturing, and try as he might, he could not get the Goblins to do anything in the workshop. They just did not have the brains.
They stepped cautiously past the Temple of the Dark Angels, fearful that more of their number may be consumed by the pool's minions. But they passed on in peace and headed north until they reached a dirt wall, which was rapidly disintegrated by a pair of Imps that teleported out of nowhere.
They continued on their journey, dodging flying clumps of earth, and suddenly, the earth parted to reveal a cave, in which was a doorway. Asmodeus recognised the sigils that adorned the magic door. They would have to be careful how they approached.
The Goblins decided that brute force was all that was necessary, and so they charged headlong at the undefended door. Fireballs immediately began to spit forth from the centre of the door, and by the time they managed to batter the door to pieces, three Goblins lay unconscious. What greeted them on the other side of that door, the Goblins were not prepared for.
Four Wizards were happily pouring over their scrolls and book until they heard the hammering. The magic door had given them plenty of time to prepare their spells, so when they saw the door reduced to matchwood, they let fly with a fireball each, all of which hit the same Goblin, reducing him to his component parts and showering the ones behind him in green blood. If it were not for the fact that they needed the library and death was the consequences of failure, they would have turned tail and fled that instant. They ran into the room, the Wizards using the bookshelves as cover as they threw more fireballs.
Two more Goblins fell with horrible burns on their chests, barely alive and being dragged away by helpful Imps. With any luck, they will live to fight another day, thought Asmodeus as he watched the battle. If there is another day.
The situation was becoming desperate.
It was while he was thinking about how to tell his Master that he had failed for the first time in his life, that he noticed that one of the Imps was climbing up on top of a stalactite that had grown nearby. It was tapping away at the loose earth in the ceiling.
"What on earth are you doing?" he shouted up at it.
As the earth fell in on top of the Imp, squashing it flat, Asmodeus hid in the passageway as several figures fell towards the floor of the cave. He felt sure his end was nigh.
Then the screams began…
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