Bloody Misfits Farewell: The Night

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The hour grew late as the feast went on, and one by one humans, halflings, dwarves, drow, and elves alike left to find their beds until only the servants remained to clean the hall.  Well, the servants and one barbarian woman passed out in a corner with a huge wildcat that growled at any who came near.

Berriam sighed as he crossed the hall towards the snoring female and her overzealous companion.  He had been in the middle of getting ready for his own rest when his steward had quietly knocked on his door and asked if he would not mind speaking to the cat and letting it know the servants meant no harm? He was growling at any who came too near and giving the cleaning maids quite the fright.  So here he was, barefoot, hair tied loosely back, a plain cotton tunic and woolen breeches, about to ask a giant, fickle predator to stop ‘protecting’ it’s mistress.

“I need to find more sober comrades,” he muttered as he drew near.  Fluffy had seen him enter the hall but, not wanting to leave his sleeping mistress, had waited for Berriam to approach them before greeting the elf lord.

//Berriam!// the tiger was excited to see him, getting up and rubbing vigorously against his leg. Used to such enthusiastic greetings from the dire tiger Berriam was able to keep himself from being knocked over.

//Shadow// Berriam responded, calling the cat by his true name rather than the nickname most others used. He knelt down so he was face to face with the cat and began running his fingers through the tiger’s ruff.  Shadow’s eyes half closed as he began to rumble. //You no sleep?//

//Mistress sleep. Shadow watch. Shadow protect mistress from elf strangers// the great cat opened his eyes to glare towards the servants watching safely from afar, the rumbling turning into a low growl.  Berriam hastily soothed the cat.

//Mistress safe Shadow.  Elf strangers Berriam friends. They no hurt mistress. Shadow no growl elf strangers// Shadow laid his ears back.

//Too many strangers near mistress// he huffed.

Gods Berrriam’s head was starting to hurt.  This ability to communicate with animals was not intended for such a lengthy conversation.  He thought quickly.

//Wake mistress? Find her den for sleep?// Shadow’s ears perked up and he stopped growling.

//Yes!  Den for sleep.  Much better for mistress//

Shadow turned and nudged Elga with a paw as large as a dinner plate.  The woman mumbled something unintelligible but otherwise did not stir. Nuzzling her shoulder, Shadow managed to get his head under her arm and partially roll her over, where she promptly began to snore again.  Shadow looked over at Berriam with an almost sheepish expression.

//Berriam wake mistress?// he asked.  //Mistress drink too much rotten grass and fruit water. Shadow can’t talk to Mistress now until next sun//

Only Shadow would refer to the finest wines and ales in his cellar as ‘rotten grass and fruit water’ the ranger thought to himself as he bent to the task.

“Elga? Elga my dear?  Time to get up,” he called loudly as he shook her shoulder to no avail. Undeterred, he tried again. “Elga wake up! Humbrol has the Ever Lasting Beer Barrel and he needs your help to drink it!”

“Huh! Wha! S’ok! Fer glory and…skull…bears…” Elga started awake and sat up blinking blearily around her before focusing on Berriam.  “S’bed times?” she slurred.

“Yes, bed times, come on,” he held out his hand and helped the woman to her feet, ducking under one arm as she started to sway.

“Ok now let’s go.  One foot after the other leaning on me yes?”  Elga nodded as she frowned in concentration as she stepped forward. Shadow stood up and pressed gently against Elga as they walked, bracing her from the other side.  //Shadow helps// the cat flicked his tail across the back of the legs of human and elf.

Nodding to the servants to continue their work, Berriam and Shadow carried and supported Elga down long hallways and up several flights of stairs.  The trip becoming easier the more they walked as Elga swiftly sobered up.  The one good thing Berriam and the other Misfits had learned about being around a barbarian on a drinking binge was that they sobered up quickly.  Finally, they arrived before Elga’s chambers.  Not quite able to juggle opening the door and supporting a still-drunk Egla, Berriam turned to her companion for aid.

//Shadow open door?// he asked.  The cat obligingly lifted a paw and levered the door handle down, pushing as the latch disengaged. //Grateful.  Berriam set mistress to sleep, let Shadow in//

Shadow huffed his acceptance and laid down outside the door as Berriam stumbled into the room under Elga’s weight.  Thankfully the room was large and spacious so he did not have to worry about crashing into anything.

“Well that’s a problem,” Berriam muttered as he caught sight of the bed.  It was strewn with the contents of Elga’s backpack, her clothing weapons and armor piled in a disarray across the plush bedding.  “Alright my dear lady, do try not to fall over while I take care of this.” Slipping out from under her arm Berriam began moving items so his friend could sleep. Finally having cleared everything off, he turned around to help Elga into the bed.

“Come along now my dear, you must get your beauty rest before you return to your people…in…the…” Berriam’s words trailed off as he looked up to see Elga hopping on one foot while she tugged her boot off the other, which just so happened to be the last article of clothing she had on.  Berriam just stared at her for a moment as he tried to decide what was more surprising: that she was able to keep her clothes on for this long or the fact that he was still surprised by anything this woman did.

“Elga,” he finally asked. “Why are you naked?”

Elga made a rude noise as she weaved towards the bed. “Can’t sleep with my clothes on silly,” she muttered.  “Oh!  Wait no, can’t go to sleep yet.  Need to find an elf for the night.” Changing course and making her way around the end of the bed with a surprising amount of grace for a drunk naked barbarian, she made for the door but Berriam wisely intercepted her.

“And why dear lady would you need ah…how did you put it…’an elf for the night’?”

“This is my last night as a Bloody Misfit!” Elga proclaimed dramatically.  “I must partake of debauchery to the highest degree!  And this means drinking, feasting, fighting and fucking! I have had ample of the first three both here and abroad, and am at a loss for the third.”  She made to move past him again but the elf lord stood his ground. “Berriam,” she sighed “you have two choices.  Find me a bed mate or stand aside while I find one for myself.”

He shook his head. “At least put some clothes on first-“

“Nope!” Elga said cheerily as she made another attempt to get past him. “I shall find that lucky elf in all my glory!  Unless you want to be that elf?” she winked saucily at him.

Berriam sighed and held up his hands in defeat.  “Fine, I know better than to argue with you when you’re like this.  Just…sit down before you fall.  I swear you are the only barbarian that can get black out drunk and still be as eloquent as me,” he muttered as he steered the woman back to the bed.  Elga giggled as she flopped down on soft mattress and laid back across the bed, drumming her heels off the floor as she began humming a nameless tune.

Berriam made to leave but hesitated at the door, one hand on the latch as he gazed at the woman laid out across the bed before him and  His eyes ran along her naked form. He remembered once when he was wounded she carried him to safety to be tended, and held him in the night when nightmares plagued his fever dreams, stroking his hair and murmuring comfort into his ear.

She was such a paradox.  A human with higher than average intelligence. An educated barbarian prone to prose.  A warrior who thought first and fought second. Her body hard and corded with muscles honed from fighting, but she still had the soft feminine curves that drew the eye of most every male around her.  She could take lives in the morning, swinging her axe with abandon to fell her foes, and tend to her comrades with the softness of a mother’s touch in the night.

To the hells with it, he thought as he felt himself stirring.  He slid the lock on the door in place before he could change his mind.  Elga looked up as she heard the lock engage, a look of confusion on her face as Berriam began crossing the room towards her, tugging off his tunic and letting it fall behind him.

“Berriam?” she asked as she sat up.  “Why?”

“Why not?” he asked with a shrug pulling out the tie that held his hair back, letting it fall around his face and shoulders. “You said to find you a bed mate or take his place.  I’m taking his place.”

Elga’s face closed and became guarded, but before she could voice a protest Berriam reached out and gently cupped her face in his hand.

“Believe it or not, you are a beautiful woman Elga Serpentbane,” he murmured. “Beautiful, fierce, and wild.  Any man would be honored to lay with you, and a fool to turn such a chance away.  And I am no fool.”

He leaned in to kiss her, using his forward momentum to gently push her back down across the bed until he was stretched out on top of her.

“Besides, you are among my most special and honored guests,” He purred, trailing his lips down her neck, punctuating each word with a kiss, “I would be remiss if I did not dedicate myself to ensuring your full enjoyment of my…hospitality.”

Elga’s deep throaty chuckle swiftly melted into a moan and they did not speak again for a long time.

Bloody Misfits Farewell: The Feast

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Elga wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and belched, loudly and with great appreciation for the hands that had made the feast she had just devoured.  A few heads turned towards her, but the faces mostly smiled or smirked in her direction for the barbarian woman was well known within the valley and many tolerated her antics with wry amusement.  Much like a parent with a particularly winsome child. Elga gave a mental shrug as she drained another flagon of wine and let her gaze roam over the assembly.  It mattered not what the elves of Beriath’s Valley thought of her.  They were far too proper and while she was careful not to overstep her limits, she enjoyed tweaking their noses with her ‘brash and crude’ mannerisms. Served well to remind them that there was more to life than soft words and softer beds.

“Yes! Yes and then lady Surina, aided by yours truly of course, faced down the dragon…” Elga smiled as Sil’s voice rose and fell among the noise of the revelers.  No doubt she was regaling the elves with a tale of the Misfit’s adventures, and if she knew the little Halfling sorcerer at all it would be a tale that grew taller by the word. Now where…

Ah! There she was, at the far end of the hall surrounded by a group of wide eyed younglings.  The little female’s hands gestured and fluttered excitedly as she continued her tale.  Elga let her gaze continue as she sought out the rest of her companions from the Bloody Misfits.  Oh, there was Bargle and his wife Halia deep in conversation with…more wizards it seemed like.  She smiled and shook her head slightly.  Ah wizards, never passing up an opportunity to study and learn even in the middle of a party.  And it looked like Dietrich was busy trying to charm some local merchants into expanding their trade routes.  Nobleman first, fighter second that one.

Liberating another flagon that passed through her peripheral vision from the hands of a server, she heard the faint strains of a dulcimer and saw Surina attempting to ply her charms upon a noblewoman of the valley.  The bard may have been a drow but that did not stop her from trying to get into a lot of pants. And skirts…and nests…lairs…pretty much everything/one that they had fought or met in their travels.  A chorus of shouts from outside told Elga where the party’s dwarven cleric Humbrol and half drow paladin Torlold had disappeared to.  No doubt attempting to grow their churches through the power of conversion…via a good wrestling match of course.

Elga sat back in her chair, flagon in hand as she surveyed those assembled in Berriam’s hall.  She could not remember the last time she felt so satisfied or at peace.  Her belly was full, she had a steady supply of ale and fine elven wine, her Shadow was a warm presence dozing at her feet, and she was surrounded by her friends who over the past years had become more her family.  All she needed now, she mused as she eyed a passing guard, was a male to warm her bed tonight and everything would be perfect.  The guard noticed her appraisal and boldly returned it.  Winking at him, she turned her attention back to her drink.  There would be time enough later for that.  Elves did not need to sleep like most other races and Elga wanted to hold off choosing her bed mate for as long as she could, not wanting to miss a minute in the company of her comrades.

For despite the joy of the evening there was a bittersweet tinge.  This was their big send off after all, the last hurrah for the Bloody Misfits before they took their shares of the treasures collected on their journeys and settled into quieter lives.  Who knew when or if they would ever met again after this? No, she mused, she had a mate and with a little luck many nights of bed play after this, she would not choose that over these last few precious moments among those who she had risked everything for, and who had risked everything for her in turn.

“Here’s to you Kithri and Milo, where ever you may be,” she muttered as she drank a silent toast to the first Halfling sorcerer to join their group, and the only member of the Misfits lost to death, and the little halfling rogue who was with their party for too short a time.

“What was that my dear woman?” Berriam asked from beside her, not looking up as he methodically cleared the plate that had been set before him.  The Bloody Misfits had been given seats of honor at the head table, but these two were the only ones left as the others had quickly eaten their fill and gone to find other amusements for the night.  The only reasons they remained was as host and lord of the hall, Berriam was only now truly getting to his meal after dispensing with all the formalities such a gathering entailed.  And Elga, after putting away three or four courses of food, was just taking a few moments to wash it all down before joining the others in the throng.

“To Kithri and Milo,” Elga saluted Berriam with the flagon.  Eying the container, Berriam deftly plucked it from her fingers, and ignoring her sputters of mock indignation, poured the remaining wine into their glasses, setting the empty flagon between them before picking up his glass and motioning for Elga to do the same.

“Kithri and Milo,” They drank to the memory of their fallen and absent comrades. “Hey Berriam, you mind bending over for me?” she asked innocently as they set their glasses down and Berriam gestured to another server for more wine.  “I wanna see how big that stick up your arse is.” Berriam rolled his eyes at her.

“Ha ha very funny” he drawled.  “Why are you not down among the rabbl- I mean populous with the rest of our comrades?”

“Why that would deprive you of the pleasure of my company,” she batted her eyelashes mockingly at him.

“I think I would survive,” They grinned at each other as the server set down a platter of flagons filled with various wines and ales in front of Elga.

“Ah ha!  This is more like it!  Elga like!” Laughing heartily, Elga swept up one container and drained it in two swallows before picking up the platter and bowing low to Berriam.

“And such a fine bounty you have provided my lord! Too fine for the likes of a lowly barbarian such as myself.  I must share this with others more worthy!” she mocked, her words starting to slur slightly. “Come along Shadow mine,” Elga bade her tiger to follow. Berriam chuckled to himself as he watched her weave away from the table, her dire tiger companion Shadow aka Fluffy close to her heels and helping to clear a path as people made room for the giant cat and his mistress.  Although an outsider would sometimes be hard pressed to see the camaraderie in the jabs they shared, such teasing was common between the two, for the elf lord and barbarian chieftain were probably the ones who understood each other the most among the rest of the companions.

They were all close and dear friends to each other of course, he mused, but as was the way of things in such bands, some people formed closer bonds than others.  Dietrich shared Berriam’s love of the finer things in life, but held not as much respect towards the wilds.  Sil’s tongue was more silver than the coins in Berriam’s coffers, but her heart always belonged to another which led her to many weeks away from the Misfit’s side.  Humbrol was a fellow cleric although fanatical in his devotion to his god, Torold was far too rigid, and Surina…Berriam hid a grimace behind his glass. Surina was just weird.  Elga understood his connection to the wilds, even asked him to train her as a ranger so she could form a closer bond with her companion and care better for the neighboring lands she called home.  She shared his love of fine food and drink, even as she poked fun of his fine clothes and rich lifestyle.

And, if he was completely honest with himself as he continued to surreptitiously watch her mingle and laugh with strangers and friends alike, she was quite attractive.  For a human of course.

A touch of his sleeve and a murmured ‘My lord?” drew him from his thoughts and back to the present.  There would be time enough later for remembrances and musings.  For now he had a feast to host.

Goodnight Sweet Barbarian

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Today is a very bittersweet day for me. Three years ago I had a bad breakup with my then-bf of 5yrs, and subequnetly my RPG group of the past 10. Two and a half years ago I moved out to Toronto to start anew. A few months later, one year since I had last rolled some dice, I sought out my first RPG, and coincidently my first DnD group. I found my group through the first friend I made since moving, and I went in determined to play something vastly different than the tanky melee fighters I had been playing to date.

When I get there, the group has 2 melee and 4 ranged characters, so despite all my determination and vows and whatnot, I choose to play another melee characters as I felt that would have balanced the group best. And thus began the journey of Elga ‘Serpentbane’ Greyskull, barbarian berserker. I was actually pretty disappointed I was playing melee again and entertained perhaps dropping that group and finding another so I could play a ranged/spellcaster class.

I did not realize then how much Elga would grow on me. Little by little she told me her story and grew from something slapped together at the last minute to slip into an already existing group synamic, into a full fledged character that I was able to bond with and grew to love. We had so much fun together in the Bloody Misfits, crafting memories that will last a long time to come.

However, all that came to an end today. Today was the last ride of the Bloody Misfits, all members have now retired to carry on their lives as best they can. This is also end of my first campaign and my first character since I chose to start a new life for myself, so it has made me a bit emotional. RPGs have always played a big part in my life, and DnD has helped me get over my most recent hurts so it’s hard to say goodbye.

Oh, I know the players will come together again one day (we’re running a Shadowrun campaign next). Logically I know we will have just as much fun or more in the next DnD group we craft together as we did in this one. But it won’t be my Elga. They won’t be my Misfits.
So tonight, I bid bon voyage and raise a glass to the passing of an important chapter in my life, in and out of game.

Farewell Elga. Sleep well Misfits. Perhaps one day we’ll come together again.

Her Greatest Fear

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So in the campaign where I play my human barbarian Elga, the party was caught in a psychic trap and each character learned something deep and dark about another.  Elga unwittingly revealed her greatest fear to the party’s drow bard Surina:

Surina shivers and wraps her arms around herself, trying to block out the bite of the chill wind that blows across the seemingly barren steppe around her.  A figure crosses her field of view.  She recognizes Elga, wrapped in a cloak, head down, trudging forward into the wind.  Occasionally she looks up and around her, seeming to search for something before returning her gaze towards the ground.  Surina looks as well, but sees no landmarks.  The snow is too thick to see far, but she does see shapes in the swirling snow, silhouettes of figures familiar and alien. Elga seems to catch sight of them as well, crying out and rushing forward and Surina is pulled along with her.  But no matter how fast or far Elga runs the figures get no closer.  She yells herself hoarse but they do not turn to her.  When she slows from fatigue and the snow thickens and hides them from her, she bows her head and continues her trek.

Surina watches as Elga walks, unceasing and unending. She watches her companion trying over and over again to catch up to or gain the attention of the figures that are fleetingly suggested in the distance one minute, only to be swallowed up by the blowing snow and howling wind the next. And she watches the years pass in Elga’s face as she swiftly grows older.  From warrior, to matron, to elder, then crone.
Finally, Elga stops, clutching the now tattered cloak close to her frail chest with her bony hands, wisps of her thin grey hair whipping in the wind.  Her eyes are cloudy so she has to squint into the wind, but she either can still see the silhouettes, or just senses that they’re there.  She reaches out one last time to the figures in the distance and calls out one name.  When no response comes, she lets her arm fall to her side as a single tear rolls down her wrinkled cheek.  Then with a small sigh she closes her eyes and drifts down to the ground, where she lies unmoving as the snow covers her body and everything grows dark.

It is only after the telepathic link ends that Surina can recognize what she felt as she watched her friend die.  The atmosphere of the steppe was heavy and she realizes the Elga’s emotions had bleed out into the very air around them, and all of a sudden everything makes sense.  Why Elga cleaves so fiercely to members of the Mistfits the moment they join the group.  Why she defends so vigorously those that lend the Misfits aid.  Why she throws herself into battle, heedless of the consequences, trying to be everywhere and to protect everyone at once.
Surina realizes that Elga is afraid.  This strong, loud, brazen, fierce, loyal, seemingly indomitable woman’s greatest fear is of being -and dying- alone.

Elga Serpentbane

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So I am currently playing in two 5th ed D&D campaigns.  I play a half wood elf ranger in one, and a human barbarian in the other.  My GM for my barbarian character is about to start a new campaign for us, but we’re not all at the same level so he’s offered an XP bonus for a short blurb on character backstory to try and get us all up to speed quickly.

My only problem with my story is that it’s too long lol!  But I liked it a lot.  So I’m posting the full version here and sending the coles notes version to my GM.

And away we go…

***

Born to War Cheif warrior of the nomadic Greyskull tribe, a berserker named Egil Giantslayer, Elga was as only child.  Her mother, Egil’s second wife, died in childbirth and Egil had no desire to marry for a third time.  With no sons to follow him, he trains Elga as a warrior in public, and in private teaches her the path of the berzerker. For among their tribe, female warriors are common but female berzerkers are considered almost anathema.

Elga spend her childhood training with her father in the wilderness of the ancestral lands her wandering tribe called home.  As a young warrior Egil had traveled and slew a giant single handed, earning him the moniker of Giantslayer.  He taught his daughter what he knew of the wider world, including the language of the foe he loathed so much.  For the giant he killed was the one who slew his first wife, the love of his life, whom he had met and married in his travels.  It was the death of his first wife that drove Elgin back to his tribe, to grieve and heal among his kindred, eventually meeting Elga’s mother and marrying again.

When she came of age, Elga was betrothed to the son of the chieftain of a rival tribe in hopes to form an alliance.  As was her tribe’s custom, Elga went hunting to make her wedding dress from creatures she killed by her own hand, and to come back to her people alive and whole.  Both feats would serve as proof to her betrothed that she was worthy of being his bride.  Strong enough to care for the sons she would bear him, and strong enough to defend their young and her husband’s home when the men of the tribe were gone hunting or raiding.

While she was gone, a migrating clan of lizard men came across her tribe and set upon them in the dark of night, wiping out the Greyskulls down to the last child but sustaining heavy losses themselves.  Upon returning to find the corpses of her people, Elga searches for someone, anyone, left alive but her search proves fruitless.  All she found were the tracks of the lizard men and the body of her father under a pile of dead that he took with him to the afterlife.  Elga swears vengeance on the ones that made her an orphan on the cusp of her wedding.  Donning her wedding dress and prying her father’s axe from his cold fingers, she follows the tracks of the enemy.

But she was not as careful as she should have been.  So caught up in her grief and rage, Elga is ambushed by the lizard men.  She draws on all that her father taught her about being a warrior but it isn’t enough.  Wounded, losing ground, Elga sees her end, seemingly decreed by the gods, and chooses to defy them.  She pulls on the forbidden knowledge and enters her first berserker rage, finally destroying her enemies.  Covered in the blood of her first sentient kill, armed with her memories, her father’s axe, and the intimate knowledge of the lands she grew up in, one by one she tracks the last of the lizard men.  And from each one she killed she took one trophy: a tooth.

Bloody, battered, battle weary and with a string of still-pink lined teeth around her neck, she returns to the site of the massacre to find her betrothed’s tribe had arrived for the wedding.  Elga tells them her tale and with their help is able to lay all her kinsmen to rest.  When it was done and her betrothed and his tribe were ready to depart, they invited Elga to join them, saying they would honor the betrothal as their tribe could always use a warrior like her.  And despite the stigma against female berzerkers, after hearing her tale having her as a chieftain’s wife in the future would garner them much fear and respect.  After all, they said, her tribe was dead now and best forgotten.

At those words Elga fetched her ruined wedding dress and laid it at the feet of the chieftain’s son.

“If I live, then so do they.”

Elga left her homeland that day, taking with her what little provisions she could scavenge from the ruins of her tribe, and a new name.  No longer would she be known as Elga Greyskull or Giantslayer’s daughter.  Now she was Elga Serpentbane of Greyskull.

Determined to bring honor and glory to her fallen kinsmen, she sets forth to become a legend.  For so long as her name is spoken and remembered, then she will live forever, and through her so will her fallen tribe.

Taking odd jobs here and there when she needed coin, Elga eventually crossed paths with a wizened old sage who needed a bodyguard on his travels.  Elga accompanied him in exchange for him teaching her the tongue the lizard men.  Upon seeing the sage safely to his destination, she found herself adrift with no direction to turn to.  Until she heard tales of a dangerous and mysterious island guaranteed to test the mettle of any warrior to set foot upon it.  Here, on this island, Elga sees a way to ensure her place in history and she books passage for the Isle of Dread.

A Demon’s Story: Part 6

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Part 5

It was a difficult task, killing my father.  A long, complicated process of reuniting with my family, luring them out for my father to attack, protecting them as he did so, all while gaining enough of my father’s trust before finally being in a position to blind side him and take his life.  Only now there was no one else to take his blood but me, so I did.  I killed him as I killed my daughter, although it was a little more difficult, for in hell all weapons are designed to kill demons whereas on earth not so much.

Fate must have been guiding my life since the day I was born, for among my adoptive family I counted a scion with precognitive dreams, and a fallen angel.  One had dreams that my father would return, and enlisted the help of the other in creating a weapon strong enough to kill him.  They would have failed in the end for they only would have cut him up and let him be, and in time he would have come back.  But I took the thrice-blessed angel blade that they had forged from them, and once I saw my chance I stabbed my dearest father in the heart.  I drank every last drop of blood that was in him and took all his strength, powers, and memories into myself, and at last I cut off his head.

That was almost two years ago.  And things have been relatively peaceful up until now.  I created this home for myself and the younglings on the land where my father ripped open the doorway to hell.  I live here to guard against it ever being opened again.  And as I watch over it, I raise and train the younglings in the ways of demon and mortal kind.  We have lived, loved, laughed and lost as family and friends do while trying to meld together these two very different world.  But it works for the most part.  Thing were quiet and peaceful.  We lay low during the day, learning and training, and I leave the young to rest at night and hunt with your bretheren.

But then you came along.  You crossed the water, thinking you’re king shit and you know what’s best for your people, trying to take over and rule the roost and disrupting the pace of our world.  Let me tell you a not so little secret right here and now warriors: you don’t know jack.

Now for what it’s worth I’m sorry we had to meet like this.  Spiriting you away against your will and holding you in my home during the time of day that you are most vulnerable was not entirely fair I’ll admit, but would you have bothered to listen had I done it any other way?

So, you asked me who I was.  I’ve told you that and much more than you were willing or wanting to hear, but you needed to know to understand why I chose to act as I did.  I brought you here to tell you my story.  To tell you why the path you have chosen is the wrong one.  You choose to battle against your brethren when you have a greater foe, and when the survival of your race means the survival of so many more.

Do you not see the road of death and destruction you walk?  If you do not stop now, the two sides will be too busy fighting each other to defend against the true threat.  One side will wipe the other out, leaving the survivors vulnerable to that threat, else you’ll both be wiped out together because you’re do damned blind and stubborn to see the truth!

I know you don’t believe me.  I can see it in your eyes, despite the oath I swore before.  Which is fine, I figured you wouldn’t.  My tale is indeed a strange one, but I don’t think you have taken one very important fact into consideration.

Demons are long lived creatures.  The only true way to kill us is to destroy our hearts as well as our heads, and drain our blood into another living demon.  The demon who absorbs or drinks this blood, in turn gains all the memories, power, and strength of the demon that has died.  My father was a duke of hell, second only in power to the princes who rule the realms.  He had lived millennia by stealing, killing, plotting and planning.  And the thing you are forgetting mortals, is that I killed him.  I, a half breed demon only two millennia old, killed a duke of hell.  I was smarter, more cunning, and more manipulative than him.  I killed him, and too all that he was into me.

So now, my quivering mortal friends, do you see where I am going with this?  I am no longer the mewling demon or half mortal creature that my father bred years ago.  If ever I chose to return to hell, I would be given a place at the right hand of my prince there and become the new duchess of the realm of Lust.  I am powerful and stronger beyond your ken you stupid stubborn bastards.  I could have easily wiped you all out without breaking a sweat but I haven’t.  Instead I brought you to my home, fed you, gave you warm beds to rest in and told you my story not because I felt it was needed, but because I wanted to.

I want peace between you and the brethren you fight against.  I want the future I have seen in my dreams every night since you crossed the water not to come true.  For as much as I am and call myself a demon, I am as much the child of my mortal mother as my father, and I do not want to see this world fall into ruin because two sides are waving their dicks around trying to see who’s is bigger.

But enough talk for now.  I grow weary and the day grows short.  There is nothing more I can say to convince you of the truth, and so for now I will leave you.  Think on what I have said, take part and enjoy the hospitality of my home, and once the sun sets you will be free to leave.

I only hope that when you do, you remember my words.  Remember them, and remember that it is not just your lives hanging in the balance.

A Demon’s Story: Part 5

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Part 4

I couldn’t kill her at first of course.  She was my daughter after all, and despite how strongly I felt it had to be done, it took much to screw up my courage and take that step.  And then of course once I prepared to do it, I had to plan it all.  The how, why, when, who would clean up afterwards, it was all quite tedious.

In the end I decided to go the straight and simple route.  The weapon was easy enough to come by, for all things made in hell are made to kill those who dwell in the realms.  I stabbed her in the heart, sending her into the demonic equivalent of a coma.  While she was out, I had the twins drink her blood and drain her dry.  Then I cut off her head.  It’s the only way to truly kill a demon and ensure they remain dead.  Destroy the head and heart of a mortal creature, they die.  Destroy the head and heart of an immortal, and you merely incapacitate them for a time for even with those wounds a demon can still heal and come back so long as they keep their blood.

Blood is everything as you know. It is strength, it is life, and without it not even immortals can survive.  And with demons, when we take the life force of another demon into ourselves so completely, we take in all that the other being was, melding with it and tying that life force and all the strength accompanying it with our own.  In such a way does one become stronger and more powerful.  The older and more battle weary a demon, the stronger they are for the more demonic foes they have vanquished and taken their strength.

The method is simple, the theory behind it….less so.

So while my hand was the one that dealt the damage, the younglings were the ones to reap from it for they drank from and of her and gained her strength, and my father congratulated me.  Sly, smug, devious bastard that he was.  He left her alive on purpose, for a reason.  She was to be my final test, and I apparently passed it with flying colors.

Demons treat their spawn as chattel, fodder, unnecessary and unworthy of any kind of attention until they prove their strength, usually by killing another.  Then they are called younglings, worth keeping half an eye on for they have turned out not to be completely useless.  After a few more centuries, they are upgraded to yearlings, strong enough to survive and worth something to train to become full grown demons.

Mortals obviously are more attached to their young than demons, and I was no exception for I was born to and raised as a mortal.  My father knew this, for he was able to see into me to some degree though much of my soul remained hidden from him thanks to the demon blood he gave me.  And so he allowed her to live with every thought and intention that I be the one to take her life.  He considered it to be my final test, the act that showed him that I had been fully corrupted and could be brought back to the mortal world to fulfill his vision.

And he was right, in a fashion.  I was corrupted.  The things I had seen and done to survive in hell…I don’t think I will ever be able to scrub my soul clean.  But what my father didn’t know eventually killed him.  If I hadn’t been born and raised mortal, with mortal ideas and values, his plan might have worked.  But as it was I had friends and family here on the mortal realm, and it was them that kept me from going mad and losing myself entirely to the darkness and insanity of hell.  I kept them in my heart and they helped me to keep my mind, if not my very soul.

Yeah, go ahead and laugh.  Don’t think I don’t see those smirks you’re giving each other.  I realize exactly how corny that sentiment is, but it’s true.  It was only the thought of those who took me in, cared for me, and called me ‘sister’ that kept my father from achieving his goal.

Oh and what a goal it was.  My father intended for me to return here and kill those I considered kith and kin, and once they were dispatched I was to continue on and wipe out the rest of your species.  Rather apropos don’t you think?  Having me wipe you the very race that took me in and raised me up?  Either that or its irony.  I can never remember which.

Surprised are you? Well don’t be.  You should have guessed by now that your battles against your enemies are more than a mere race war.  It’s one of the keys to the apocalypse itself.

Don’t get me wrong, humans are the ultimate deciding factor in the when, where and how of the end of the world, but there are so many other things to take into consideration that affect the humans in making their decisions, and wiping out your species is one of them.  It’s set to speed up the doomsday clock considerably for your enemies feed on humans.  And if there is nothing to hold them in check, what is to stop them from running wild and killing those humans who are important to the fate of the world.

Think of it this way.  A woman is in danger, threatened by your enemies.  Should you intervene, her bloodline will rise up to save humanity from another great plague, the likes of which has not been seen since the Middle Ages.  But if you are not there to save her and she dies her descendants never exist. Mortal lives are little more than dominoes in terms of fate.  Knock on down and the rest follow.  Take one out or add one in and the collapse is slowed, or stopped altogether.

So, long story short, I finally learned of the master plan my father had been concocting for millennia.  Breed, train, and raise up a demon powerful enough to wipe out an entire race.  Needless to say, things didn’t work out exactly as he planned.

Part 6

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