Registered Member #24078
Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 1715
RIFTCIPRICATION
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The tiefling gives a playful wave to the three radiant women as he melts away into the shadows of that infernal prison. One is a deva, the other an elf, the third a battered and broken commander, and all were knights. Knights of the Celestial Order. All seemed quite out of place in there current location, for it was a place of iron and blood. Of baying hounds from the depths of the Hells themselves. Of stoic, somber knights and vengeful devils. It was the Iron City of course; the last place demon or angel alike would want to be., yet here they were. The tendrils of darkness wrap and crawl over him, slowly obscuring the three celestial knights from sight as he feels his body being pulled through the thin veils of existence.
A promise is a promise. He had reunited the deva with her dear commander, all the while reveling in the violent downfall of scores of infernal troops all along the way as the unlikely allies tore themselves rather inelegantly through the streets of iron and into the belly of the Iron City Inquisition itself. The fiendish man grins as the shadows draw him in, leaving the reunited knights there in the dark heart of those chambers of bloody chains and infernal tortures.
That should keep them out of the way for a while.
As he falls through the waves of shadowy terrain his thoughts drift back to the epicenter of all this madness, and the final element in his demonic ambitions: A dwarf of all things. Not that the dwarf part was important, gods no, it is only what it could bring into the Abyss that the tiefling truly needed: A part of Celestia itself.
Some time ago the unlikely dwarf had aided the fiendish man in freeing himself from the Thayan chains that bound him; chains ultimately broken by the Abyss itself. The dwarf did not leave the Abyss unscathed however. He took with him a mark, an indelible brand of madness and malice, one that had began to compromise his work within his cherished little grove. He desired balance once again, and few things could serve to counteract such a vile brand, with the notable exception of a diametrically opposing brand: A mark of Celestia. A mark that would be essential in banishing the demons that stand to oppose the tiefling.
The fiend started bargaining. He almost began to feel like a devil. Almost. In the end the celestials agreed to balance the wayward dwarf in return for the whereabouts of their beloved commander, the same Empyean commander that the fiendish man had absolutely, positively, no hand whatsoever in capturing. None.
...Well. Perhaps some.
Regardless, the pieces were falling into to place - something neigh inconceivable to the chaotic maelstrom that is the demonic mind. Such a volatile thing is seldom honed and conditioned to concoct complicated plans or schemes. No, a demon's mind works to one end: To take.
Rhandum's thoughts hiss with the twisted voices and callings within his diluted demonic blood, blood seeking to erupt to its full potential.
Registered Member #24078
Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 1715
RIFTSPITE
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The dretch plummets though the rising heat of the carmine layer of the Abyss. Beyond the endless horizon looms a crackling storm arcing with bolts of reddened lightning that crack the void that serves as a sky in this chaotic realm. The lowly demon falls and tumbles end over end as the spike ridden abyssal floor draws closer. It sees a number of other twisted and mangled demonic bodies, each splayed, splatterd, and broken upon the glassy rock that draws ever so closer with each passing thud of the demon's dark heart. The ground rises to meet the dretch, skewering its bloated body upon a sharp spire of jagged rock that grows from the ground.
"Finally!"
The demon atop the tower smiles, kicking yet another unlucky dretch from the dark precipice of the tower in the process. His dark eyes follow the creature's descent as it tumbles and falls. It too lands upon the spire, skewering itself upon the protrusion.
"I'm getting good at this!"
The demon turns to the rest of the demons that leer from atop the dark tower that rises from the malignant layer, winking to them as he settles down upon a macabre chair wrought of various demonic body parts. Peace and contentment are not things that come to mind when one thinks of life in the Abyss, but the fiend revels in the same twisted form of the commodities that have been claimed, no, taken from the Abyss. From himself.
He settles into the disgusting chair, swinging a leg over the contorted armrest as he ponders upon what transpired that day the dwarf, the dark elf, and himself had made the move to bind Red'effenys. To finally know he was truly free. From the Abyss. From Thay. From the Rift. From Gorrath himself.
The demon's reddened eyes gaze across the swirling maelstrom of crackling abyssal lightning that roils across the angry plane. He never considered that the true chains that bound him were, in fact, himself. He remembers the touch of RED as he jaunted the tiefling deep within the recesses of his own rifttouched mind, wherein he confronted the literal demons of his past and shades of memories that are best left to die alone in the dark corner of a demon's mind.
And they did.
He left his mind that day, free of the last thing that would ever bind him. He left RED to warm the throne of the Late Gorrath as well. Perhaps they will have to kill one another in the coming days, perhaps not. One can never tell with demons.
The demon smiles and rises from the chair, eyeing the lines of dretches still standing too close to the tower balcony's edge. For once in his life he had found respite, and already he grows bored with it. As the last dretch falls to join its unfortunate peers, Rhandum makes for the nearest Rift to the Material.
Registered Member #24078
Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 1715
RIFTQUEST
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Lacerating screeches of abyssal gales cut over the glassy rock of the reddened layer. The gusts burn like a wave of angry heat from the maw of a furnace as they swirl and twist over the ramparts of the lone tower that grows upwards among the broken spires of demonic rock. A figure stands upon the ramparts, allowing the torturous currents of hateful air flow over his carmine flesh, stirring both his rancid coat and leathery wings into motion. Amidst the howls and moans of the misery laden wind lurks something else: A voice; one that contrasts to the unbridled chaos of the growing maelstrom. The tri-toned voice cuts through the planar wind and slithers into the demon's ears....
"Servant of the World-Eater, heed my call...."
Rhandum blinks, then glowers.
"Servant?!"
The demon grows livid, searching the ramparts for something, anything, to rend apart as his rage builds. He spies a dretch who already knows its fate as the enraged figure storms over...
The voice beckons again, and this time the demon sees something....a gate?
Rhandum stares into the crackling portal as it rends itself through the Abyssal air, then he sees the source of the voice. It was a man, wreathed and shadow and uttering a spell over a number of arcane and esoteric components. The dretch scurries away as the livid demon storms through the gate and vanishes with a crack of arcane energy...
.........
The man was clever, and to make matters worse, he was prepared.
Rhandum steps from the crackling gate and finds himself in a dark cave filled to the brim with old tomes, moldy jars, and countless other arcane components that were quite beyond his reckoning. He also notices that he has stepped into a neigh perfectly inscribed circle of binding.
"This is Fine."
He glares at the shadowy figure and and tests the glowing lines, provoking a burst of searing arcane energy with each attempt to break the glowing lines of the sigil. His sanguine eyes lock onto the mage.
"I don't know -who- you are, but I am no one's servant, not even the World-eater's. What do you want mage?"
The mage was wreathed in shadow and ethereal chains, and spoke in a a stoic, tri-toned voice as he made his intentions rather clear to the demon. Rhandum listens to the strange mage, all the while contemplating his escape from the hated circle.
This mage speaks of gathering essences from a number of powerful entities, Gorrath being one of them...
Could Gorrath, the World-Eater; harbinger of Cataclysms, truly be undone? Despite his frustrations with the clever mage, Rhandum could not help but wonder what such a wild power vacuum in the Abyss would be like. Madness. Chaos. Good fun, and with any luck it may even spill over into the material....
He listens to the arcanist's proposal and suspects he will be seeing him again soon enough.
The demon sees the shadows that crawl about the cave, the same ones that break over into the binding circle. Rhandum focuses on those thin lines of darkness and soon feels his body melt into the shadows as the mage and his dusty lab vanish in the growing darkness.
He will be seeing him again, this time on his own terms....
Registered Member #24078
Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 1715
CORRIFTSPONDENCE II
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A dark drizzle of something that was certainly not water poured lazily from the crackling wisps of volcanic ash and swirling mists overhead. The drops patter upon the glassy rock of the layer, each one sizzling violently as it scores the tortured terrain until a scalding gust of abyssal wind drives the acrid droplets onward across dismal plane.
A lone winged figure prowls about the downpour, wiping the greasy, stinging fluid from his tangled mane of dark hair. Sanguine eyes survey the sizzling remains of a rather out or place encampment someone had abandoned to the ravages of the Abyss.
The demon is soon distracted by a flash of violet light at the head of the raging storm. He rises from the smoldering remains of the camp as the acidic rain eats and dissolves the materials away. His eyes soon catch sight of something flying towards him, a small figure being vaulted forward at incredible speed by the growing gusts behind it.
It was a Bebilith.
The insect-like demon buzzes closer, making a direct line for the demon below. It draws closer before stopping abruptly midair as its flight is terminated by the jagged blade of the thrown riftblade that buries itself into its carapace.
The thing crumples and falls to the rocky ground below, humming and crackling with the corruptive energies of the blade that now skewers its bloated abdomen.
The curious winged demon sauters forward and picks a single bit of parchment from the thing's twitching legs.
Rhandum rips the abyssal blade from the dying demon and smiles.
Seems like another jaunt to the Material Plane would be in order.
Registered Member #24078
Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 1715
RIFTROT
The numerous tumultuous layers and depths of the Abyss hold a great many features, with each manifesting its own brand of demonic and hostile characteristics. There are tepid swamps and frozen wastes; fiery infernos and endless seas of murky waves and crashing storms, all teeming with the various manifestations of demonic denizens. Much arcana and literature is devoted to these creatures, but many neglect the equally intriguing -and terrifying- flora that calls these various inhospitable layers their home.
It is my intention to record my discoveries in such a barren field of planar research in this collected volume of various notes, observations, and reports garnered from the expanses of the known planes....
------
The Riftrot Tree
The Riftrot tree, also known as Bloodleaf, is a wildly diverse group of deciduous (In so much as it sheds its bloody and pulsating leaves with some degree of regularity) tree found in a number of layers of the Abyss. Distinguishing characteristics include, but are not limited to:
- Bloody, often slimy leaves arranged in a wild, ever-changing pattern. - Thick, gnarled bark that often contorts and twists to allow the tree to consume living matter, as well as to expel such things when necessary. - Plump, fetid fruit that emits a sharp, sickly sweet aroma, growing to the size of a man's head, and changing from bright red to a pale yellow when "ripe." - Often maintains a symbiotic relationship with juvenile Bebilith demons, who draw in in other demons for the tree to feast upon, whilst eating the remains themselves. - Known to expel half-digested demons of other types when threatened. - Radiates a palpable aura of corruption that causes sickness and malaise in non demonic creatures.
It is unknown as to where the first Riftrot tree manifested, but they have clearly since spread across the Abyssal layers, favoring warmer or wetter environs. It is rumored that the tree may even be capable of taking root in other planes, but little substantial testing has been performed in this particular area of inquiry (For rather obvious reasons). Many scholars suspect the spread of this demonic tree is often attributed to the valuable qualities of its fruit and leaves.
The fruit, often referred to simply as Riftrot Fruit, or Demon's Apple, would scarcely seem appetizing to any sensible creature, but one taste may prove otherwise. The fruit contains a potent chemical that has been found to sharpen the imbiber's senses and even reflexes, resulting in a short, but noticeable rise in one's mental and psychical aptitudes. It is not known what the side effects, if any, may be to excessive consumption of such an otherworldly fruit.
In a somewhat related note, the leaves themselves are said to be brewed into a vile and potent tea by some of the more "refined" demons. There are even accounts of such creatures tending macabre gardens of such trees for this very purpose. In any case, the bloodied leaves have proven to grant the drinker a brief surge of vitality, but as with the fruit, the prolonged effects of consumption remain elusive.
One final note: Some planar scholars and even number of notable demon lords profess that the Riftrot tree possess a dark sentience of its own, one beyond the simple instinct to survive. I write now that this is shear folly and my own observations maintain that it is but a tree: an evil, bloody, and wretched tree, but just that: a tree.
-Introduction and excerpt from Libro Demonum Plantae, by Archmagus Ferlazian D'Acannadias of Waterdeep
Somewhere on the bleak expanse of Gorrath's Layer.....
A battered demon bends down to pick up the strange fruit, casting a curious glance to the pulsating tree seeping blood and ichor in the process. He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders as he rises, still recovering from his recent jaunt back into the demonic plane. He pops one of his wings back into place with a grimace and dusts the residual burns from the magical onslaught that sent him reeling back into the Abyss.
That wrinkled old elf was something...
It was never a pleasant trip, and often left the demon reeling in pain as his body slowy recovered.
His eyes turn back to the throbbing fruit in his clawed hand, but a wretched sound causes the sanguine orbs to shoot back to the abyssal tree. Rhandum watches as the blackened bark of the tree's trunk cracks open and expels a disgusting, half-dissolved vrock from within its stem. The sizzling demon gives a wreched screech and rises from the pooling blood and offal, staggering towards him in a fit of unbridled rage.
Rhandum looks back to the demonic fruit before drawing his blade, holding the crackling thing with a still trembling arm. He thinks back to the withered old elven mage that was responsible for his recent jaunt back to his home plane and manages a smile.
Registered Member #24078
Joined: 3:40:59 am GMT 05/14/17
Posts: 1715
RIFTPPLES
...Bah-dum....Bah-dum....
The demon stopped mid stride, his pointed ears twitching at the sound. No, not a sound. A feeling. A calling.
...Bah-dum....Bah-dum....BAH-dum...
The cadence of the insidious beating pounds at his skull once more, growing louder, rattling around within his mind, prodding his abyssal blood into a frenzy...
He takes a long, slow breath, allowing the incessant siren call of the Rift to wash over him. It was not long ago he faced such force, even had the chance to banish the dark whispers all together, an enticing offer, one any sane creature would have leapt at. Who wouldn't wish for surcease to the madness-inducing demonic calls of the Rift? But alas, he was a demon and the Rift was a part of him, and he'd not be what, or who he is without its malevolent whispers echoing within.
...BAH-Dum....BAH-dum....BAH-DUM...
Rhandum follows the call across the lands, his own steps in time with the growing cadence of the Rift. It leads him north over the rolling hills and through the wounded woods of the Adumbral and into the shattered lands that neighbor the spider's wood. Soon the old fortress looms in the smoky air. In place of the fort, he now finds a war ravaged battlefield, one covered in the gore and screams of the bestial soldiers that spill one another's blood in a mad frenzy. He knows well this place, for it was not so long ago he walked here, garbed in the resplendent red of the Thayans who once held sway over him....
His reddened visage contorts into a mad smile as he sees the corruptive energies of the Rift arcing over a number of the goblinoid soldiers. Then he felt the bloodied ground quake as the hulking rift monstrosity stomped into view, crushing a devotee of the Flamelord under a heavy foot of solid riftstone. They had awoken the Rift once more it seemed, and more than just madness opens its eyes when such a call washes over the land. The demon drew his own blade, it too thudding in cadence to the insanity of the battle that raged before him. This time the the Rift did not need to coerce the demon to act. He knew just where to bury the hungry blade as he moved towards the lines of uncorrupted bugbears...
[ The Island of Thain ]
Riftflections