Topic: Origin

Desdemona DiCarlo

Date: 2010-08-19 11:10 EST
In near every culture throughout the multi-verse, there are demons, those hideous beings who use deception, temptation, seduction to draw people from the path that will keep them safe from evil. They come to you in disguise, in flagrant celebration of their natural form, in whispers and thoughts which are not your own, even in spirit form.

No one is truly safe from them, but those who religiously follow the laws which condemn and banish them have ways and means to protect themselves. They have many names, many faces, yet there is no one race of beings who will not admit to their existence, at least in one form or another. But no one seems to have truly investigated where it is the demons come from, where they make their home when they are not satisfying the urge to harm or corrupt.

Close your eyes and open your mind, but beware of what may come to claim you, should you be detected. If you have been touched by one of them, they will have left their mark upon you, a mark by which you may follow their retreat from your world to their own. But it is not a world, not even another universe, to which that pulsating thread will lead you.

It is another dimension, one that exists at once all around you and in every part of every universe and world that there is. It is not Hell; there are no pits of flames, no tortured souls. Were it not for the fact that the population is dominated by the grotesque and the impossibly beautiful, you might even believe it to be paradise. Do not be fooled.

This is Pandemonium, the realm of the demonic races.

Here you will find faces from your worst nightmares, for though they delight in deception by beauty, here in the safety of their guarded dimension the demonic races see no need to hide their true forms. There are those who are winged, those who are cloven-hoofed; those whose height gains the roofs of the buildings, and those whose stature brings them no higher than a human ankle. There are tails and horns, fangs and claws. There are the beautiful, those who hold the natural form of elf, dwarf, or human, seemingly perfect pieces of walking art, designed to tempt and seduce without ever lifting a finger.

But there is one thing they all hold in common, one thing that will show you their inner natures. No matter the hue, no matter the color, no matter the size ....every pair of eyes burns with rabid hatred of those who hold a corporeal realm, a hatred that feeds and devours. Should they ever set aside their differences to join arms, whichever corporeal world they choose will surely fall.

The dimension they rule is vast, it is true, though there are a relatively small number of true demons which dominate and control the rest of those who live in Pandemonium. These others are made of the races the demons have brought to their realm, enslaved for their own purposes.

Chief among them are human, elves, and dwarves, the dominant races on many planes and worlds. Their ancestors were brought to Pandemonium many thousands of years ago, and there these descendents remain, living out their lives beneath the yoke of demonic rule.

Enslavement is, perhaps, a word filled with too many implications to correctly describe the lives of the mortals who live in this plane of existence. Though their ancestors were slaves in the truest sense of that word, no civilisation can survive without evolution, and the demonic civilisation is no different. If you walk Pandemonium, you will come across villages, towns, and cities entirely populated by these slave races, with no sign of the demon who influences or directly rules over them. Many live out their lives without ever even seeing their overlord and master.

But some do ....and one such story is the origin of Desdemona DiCarlo.

Desdemona DiCarlo

Date: 2010-08-20 08:52 EST
A lifetime ago ...

The whispers and rumours spread through Kaos like a brush fire, spoken in each town, each village. The city had been razed, the master was not pleased with them. He was looking for something, they said, something he could only find among the human population. Something he was focused upon finding without delay.

Suspicion bloomed between neighbours, accusations were made, brawls and lynchings became commonplace. The blacksmith was creating a sword capable of destroying one of the Princes; the apothecary had poisoned the master's favourite; the wise woman had turned herself over to the master and become his spy. Such stories had no truth in them, but they were enough to instill panic into the population as news of their overlord's imminent arrival rushed through the village of Discord in the southern most reaches of Kaos.

It had been so many centuries since the master had ventured from his towering castle at Babel that no one could even bring to mind his appearance. Was he one of the winged beasts, grotesque in appearance and burning to the touch' Or was he one of the higher, more powerful beings, who's physical beauty hid the evil incarnate within" More importantly, how could they defend against his wrath if he did not find what he sought within their borders"

As news of the approaching army sent the terror to boiling point, the elders of Discord sent out a call. All those who answered to the village were to return at once, to take up places within the village to await the master's coming. They did so, for even after centuries of peace, their overlord's name was still enough to strike fearful obedience into any heart.

The army arrived first, a highly disciplined rabble of imps and goblins, those who had been created to serve the Princes and the masters and did so with malicious relish. As the elders had suspected would happen, every member of the village - every human member, that is - was rounded up and brought onto the fallow fields at the northeast of Discord. Then, to the chagrin of the men and children, the women folk were further separated, dragged further from the village and huddled together within an encompassing circle of leering imps.

The outcry this created was hardly long-lasting, however, for there was a ear-splitting roar from the pavilion erected no more than a few feet from the crying, terrified women. The sound shocked them all into silence, fully three-hundred pairs of frightened eyes turning to the richly draped cloth tent, each knowing in their heart what would now step out.

A male form, fully as tall as the mud huts the villagers lived in, unfolded itself from the pavilion. Cloven hooves dug into the fallow ground beneath him, the satyrs' unwilling gift to demon kind of a goat's lower half, though the hide was a black so deep one could see within it shades of other colours, just barely hidden from true sight. The rough hide dissolved into smooth skin and sculpted muscle, a torso and arms glistening darkest blue in the weak sunlight. Terrified, fascinated eyes swept higher, to the undoubtedly handsome face, all smooth line and angles and aristocratic bone structure; to the ribbed horns of black, curling up from a long mane of blood-orange hair that spilled down the dark blue back; to the eyes, deep pools of unknowable knowledge and evil that burned as they swept over the women-folk gathered together.

The Demon Lord Sahael studied his subjects with a cruel eye and arrogant sneer. When he spoke, it was in a voice so rich and deep that the ground beneath them trembled.

"Hear me, people of Discord. I seek a female, for purposes that are my own. If I do not find one suitable here in your village, I will personally slay every tenth man and child."

This news was recieved with barely a sound, only a low moan of renewed fear from the women closest to him. He stepped forward, casting his gaze with probing accuracy over the huddling, sobbing females. So many young specimens, he mused, when his orders had been so very clear. He turned, and his large hand lashed out, the force of the blow sending the imp on the recieving end of it several feet through the air before it landed.

"Did I not specifically state that only mature, child-bearing females were to be presented to me?" he demanded in a mild tone that was somehow more frightening than the sudden blow. His gaze turned back to the women. "See to it, or watch your children die."

Despite the fear that radiated from the group, the women were fairly quick to obey, sending the young and old from their ranks to stand with the men and children, far behind them. Sahael laughed as he watched those who were left stand defiantly before him, some even daring to raise their eyes to meet his.

"You show promise, people of Discord."

He moved toward the remainder of the women, inspecting each of them with an intimacy that caused shame and anger to flare in many eyes as he passed. He had a purpose, a wish to satisfy his own curiosity, and as such, their shame, anger or fear meant nothing to him.

Stepping back, he considered the women thoughtfully. One hand reached out, a taloned finger uncurling to point to one among their number, she who had withstood it all without sound.

"You. What is your name?"

She was a fierce little female, he would give her that. As she was singled out, her chin lifted, hands clenching by her sides as she answered with a single word.

"Desiderata."

Sahael laughed once again. How appropriate, that she should be called that which is necessary and highly desired when that was exactly what she was now to him, her lord and master. He beckoned to her.

"You will come with me."

He turned away, listening as the villagers behind him erupted into fearful, angry cries, wishing to keep her with them, no doubt. His imps and goblins closed in, holding back the struggling masses as the winsome Desiderata was dragged after Sahael. The Demon Lord paused just as he was about to enter his pavilion once more. There, beneath the furious shouts and terrified screams, there were smaller voices raised in fear.

"Mamma! Mamma!"

He turned, looking down at his new favourite, lifting her chin to make certain she saw the threat implicit in his eyes as he spoke.

"You have borne pups before, this is good," he told her. "You will be a worthy vessel for my curiosity."

She shuddered under his gaze, tears springing to her eyes at the thought of her childrens' deaths should she disobey. The imps continued to drag her after their master, throwing her into the pavilion after him. That was the first and last anyone from that generation of the village of Discord ever saw of their master Sahael. The woman he had taken ....her story was yet to unfold.