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The Tale of Decimus Demonfist

jeezycreezyjeezycreezy Member Posts: 7
edited September 2014 in Art and Fiction
Sit now and hear the tale of the young elf who caused the decimation of the Blackfist clan. The stories say that he was meek and quiet before, but they always say that about the ones that turn out to be secretly vicious, don’t they?

The young elven man was an orphan, keeping his plate filled by working for a rather illegitimate entrepreneur who also employed the services of a young maiden. The girl was an elf, just as the young man was, but a different type, you see. The stories vary all the time; she is a Wood Elf in one, a Moon Elf in another. I think I even heard one in which the maiden was a Drow, but no one really believes that one. I just don’t see a native of the Underdark playing the role of domestic victim, do you?

The elven man went about his duties with the sordid organization and he was quite skilled at them, keeping the books in order, remembering names, sketching out profiles and organizing all of the information into neat files and texts. His skill with the written word and the handling of information was never called into question; merely his courage. Had the elf been more aggressive or ambitious, he might have risen through the ranks of his organization and become a prominent and dangerous leader. But unfortunately for him, and fortunately for us, it was not to be. The elf was timid, speaking softly around those who gave the orders and barely able to form words around females of any race or form.

The young maiden, was different, however. She spoke to him and he to her. She disregarded his meek nature and he ignored the vile rumors that were spread about her. To her, he was a trusted friend; one that she did not have to impress nor garner favor from. To him, she was an angel who gifted him with momentary salvation from his unsatisfying and fear-filled life.

For the maiden, though, there could be no salvation; not from her abusers and not from the enslaved fate that awaited her if she ever failed to please her masters.

“I wish there was something I could do about this,” he would say to her as he tended her injuries. “I wish I could do more than just mend your wounds.”

“My sweet friend,” she would reply, “you do not just mend my broken body, but my heart, as well. You cannot save me from these men and I need a friend much more than I need a hero.”

Her words could not calm the elf. It was true that he was incapable of confronting his employers about her, but nothing could stop him from scheming. In his off time he would fantasize about glorious heroics and sweeping his angel from harm like a dashing knight or cunning wizard. He was neither, though; just an elf with no magic, too lean to fight and too frightened to speak up. He had his books and his fantasies and that was sufficient.

…until the day that it wasn’t.

One of them had been lying; friendship was not enough. The elf was horrified to learn that the maiden had fought against one of the employers, a high-ranking member of the organization. She had finally had enough and was sent to the dungeons for her courage.

The elf tried to do what he could. He spoke up to his boss, asking for leniency for the maiden, but was rebuked. He asked the women who watched the slaves to look out for her, but they only extorted him for the small bit of savings he had and left him indebted to his employer for the first time in his life. He tried even to take her place, but was informed of his importance with the bookkeeping.

“Your value with the books is much higher than any value we would get from your skinny body, elf,” his boss told him.

“And you know too much for us to just let you leave. You’ll continue doing your job, forever, and you’ll not bring up that wench’s name to me again.”

To make his point, the boss had the elf stripped, beaten and humiliated before the entire organization. He was given a new, degrading nickname and the small bit of respect his skill had garnered him before was now completely lost. His hours behind the desk multiplied, his possessions were gradually confiscated to repay his debt and he neither saw nor heard from the maiden for two years. But when he was finally reunited with her, it was not as he would have ever hoped.

“She asked for you,” the annoyed female said, dragging him from his desk late at night. “If my mum hadn’t raised me under Kelemvor I’d never’ah bothered with this request, so ya got lucky. But ya better make it quick.”

The elf was brought to a small room near the back of the dungeon and the door was shut behind him while the female warden waited outside. The maiden lay upon a cot and though the elf knew her better than any other, she was barely recognizable to him. Her body, once full and marvelous, had wasted away to the bones and her eyes were sunken in pock-marked sockets. Her once-luscious hair now clung desperately in single strands to her withered scalp. Her breathing was shallow, but her smile still shined upon him.

“I’m so glad you came,” she croaked through chapped lips. “I wish I were more presentable for you. The diseases that wreck my body have not robbed my mind of you, though. For that I am blessed.”

“I must find a healer for you,” the elf said, barely getting the words out through his thickening throat. “I’ll find a way to pay for it.”

“You’ve wasted too much on me already, my dear,” she replied. “I pleaded with them to just release you… no one wants to listen to a tainted slave girl. I wish I could have done more for you.”

“Those are my words,” the elf sobbed, dropping to his knees beside her.

“These men… these women… they take everything from us…” the maiden wheezed, reaching down to grip his hand. “Until all we have left are these impotent wishes.”

And with that, the light of the maiden was snuffed. The elf could do nothing but clutch her hand and weep as the breath left her lungs and did not return. Soon the warden entered the room and the yelling began.

“So she’s dead now?” the gruff female asked, shoving the elf aside. “Took’er long enough. Holdin’ out fer so long with that gross body, and fer what; a few words with a scribe? How annoying!”

The female grabbed what little hair was left to drag the maiden out of the room, but the fragile strands came loose and the warden shook them with frustration, not wanting to touch the diseased maiden’s body.

So occupied with the possible contamination was the warden, that she did not see the elf smoldering beside her. All his life he had wished that he could do something, but never did he. Now the maiden was gone and his tormentor cared only for keeping her hands clean. It was finally too much for the meek man.

In an instant the warden’s dagger was in his hand, plucked from her side like a thorn. The soft leather of her boot was little protection from the blade she so intently honed and her ankles were cut before she could move. The warden screamed in terror, unable to rise from her wounds, but the elf did not flee. Instead, he shut the door so that no others in the upper floors would hear and then he turned his full attention to her.

In that dark dungeon, hidden away from all living eyes, the elf indulged himself in those unresolved fantasies. The torment he had endured had given him endless patience and he took his time, until finally the warden was as cold as his beloved maiden. Then, knowing what would come next once he was discovered, he turned the blade on himself.

But even in that tomb, unholy eyes still gazed upon him and a warm, silken hand slid around his, halting his unsteady grip.
“Poor, tormented elf,” the seductive voice purred in his ear. “Such a weighty heart, filled with such delicious desires. It is much thicker than the others above you and burns thrice as brightly. I cannot allow you to waste it so foolishly.”

The woman looked barely more than a girl, but her figure and stance was entrancing. She was physically the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, with straight, black hair that hung to the sides of her fairy-like face. Her clothes revealed vast amounts of flawless flesh, stretching tight against her and pushing her skin in lewd fashion. Atop her head rested a pair of small horns and behind her flicked a spaded tail. Her eyes glowed red in the darkness.

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  • jeezycreezyjeezycreezy Member Posts: 7
    edited September 2014
    “I am Fierna, mortal,” she said. “Have you heard this name before?”

    “I have not, but I am very meek and unworldly,” the elf replied, finding it easy to speak in front of this woman. “What are you?”

    “What I am is too bothersome to talk about right now. We should be talking of what I can do, instead. For I am a granter of wishes, but only those I find worthy. Your wishes have reached my ears and now I have graced you with my attention.”

    “My wishes?” the elf laughed. “My wishes were for her, always. I had wished that she could be free and that she could be loved by someone worthy of her affection. Instead she has only suffered, in body and spirit, until she is now dead from it. Now I wish only for death. If you have any mercy, Mistress, please grant this wish for me.”

    The devil woman reached down and took the dagger from his hand, but she did not plunge it into his heart, as the elf wished. Instead she called upon the unholy magic of her kingdom, Phlegathos, and imbued the weapon with it.

    “Death, you say? That is some other fool’s fetish, but not mine. My interests lie in the flesh, both pleasure and pain. Give this to me, mortal. Sacrifice flesh in my name; gift me with the agony of your fellow man and the ecstasy of the women and I will give you what you were really wishing for all of those years.”

    “And what is that, then?” he asked, taking the now wickedly twisted dagger from her.

    “The power to do something, of course,” she answered, slipping behind him and running her hands over his blood-soaked chest.
    The elf felt his lungs fill with energy and his frail body hardened with lean muscle. Crimson tattoos burned demonic patterns into his arms and face and he felt a stirring in his loins.

    “Strike the bargain with me, elf… and then strike down your tormentors. Fill my coffers with pain and pleasure and you shall command the power of my realm… and my personal appreciation.”

    “I will strike this deal, Mistress, and serve you faithfully… if you can give my maiden back to me,” the elf said.
    At those words the devil Fierna’s mouth curled into a wicked smile.

    “If you wish to add such an expensive request to the bargain… so will I,” she said, yanking him to his back and crawling over him like a playful feline. “You eviscerated this peon beside you without thought to any reward but momentary satisfaction of vengeance. I wish to see what you are capable of when you have true motivation. Show me, elf. Show me what you can do for me; show me how committed you are to serving me and I will visit you again with your reward.”

    Then the she-devil grabbed the female warden, who immediately drew breath anew, and dragged her screaming through the portal to the realm of Phlegathos. The elf saw in the warden’s undead eyes sheer terror as she realized her destination… and he smiled.

    Then the elf crept back to his station and went immediately back to work. Though he now had the ability to slay his employers, one by one, he was not an assassin and a quick death would not satisfy his new mistress. Instead he took to his books and called up an old, unrealized plan from his dark days of thought.

    The elf, as I stated earlier, was very skilled with books and written words and retained information. He remembered faces and facts; those of the organization’s allies and those of the enemies. With the powerful tattoos hidden under his clerk robes, he went back to the books and worked with renewed fervor.

    The first time one of the organization’s associates came calling, asking about missing payment or undelivered goods or whatever the case was, the elf was scolded. But the elf was clever enough to cover his misdeeds and the evidence he showed his bosses pointed to another, lower member. The it happened again and once again, the elf showed proof of conspiracy within the ranks.

    In less than a moon, the elf had orchestrated a full-scale mutiny within his organization using nothing but a quill and inkwell. His unholy dagger lay dormant in his hut and his crimson tattoos were dull with disuse. All around him men and women were tortured for information they did not have and bosses were burned alive in their sleeping quarters by vengeful minions. And just when it looked as if order would finally be restored through the merciless might of the leaders, the organization was set upon by both enemies and allies.
  • jeezycreezyjeezycreezy Member Posts: 7
    edited September 2014
    In their haste to quell the chaos, the elf’s bosses gave him more and more responsibility. After all, the elf was the one among them smart enough to root out all of the defectors and traitors. The elf was trusted with highly secret information, because he could use it to restore order in the ranks and, after all, he was too meek to misuse it. The elf was no longer meek, however, and as the bosses struggled with cleansing their ranks, the elf busied himself with supplying their enemies and allies both with motivation to unite.

    The bosses gasped in petrified perplexity they were beset upon by the wolves of other organizations, who just happened to know when they were at their weakest. The entire town blazed as the elf’s employers tried vainly to repel the attack. In the chaos, the elf darted about the buildings and battlefield, snatching any of the female wardens he found and directing them to regroup at pre-designed rally point. Some of them even praised him for his courage in saving them, which was… quite bittersweet.

    For you see, there was no rally point; just another figment of the elf’s imagination given life by his skill with words. In the end, as the men of the organization were in the midst of dying or torture, the unified raiders followed a carefully crafted trail to a single room, filled with tired and confused female wardens and minions and two bosses… all of whom thought, up until the door was opened, that the elf had saved them. That was the sacrifice, you see; pain and pleasure. Pain for those who had wronged him and pleasure for those who unwittingly carried out his vengeance for him; he had filled his mistress’s coffers with one, fell strike.

    Disguised as one of the minions from the other, raiding organizations, the elf pulled his hood back as the enslaved survivors filed past, so that they could all see who it was that had sewn their destruction. Then he travelled down to the dungeons, where he had hidden the corpse of his beloved maiden, and dispatched the few raiders who had wandered down there. His infernal powers finally served him in this endeavor, manifesting as a large, demonic, clawed hand made from eldritch flame that slashed and burned through the unsuspecting minions.

    There, in that tomb, Fierna came to him, drunk on the gifts he had sent her and enamored with his dedication to pleasing her.

    “I was right about you, elf,” she purred in his ear as she fawned over him. “You were but a sapling when I first came to you, but I knew you would bear fruit for me… and oh, how you sprouted bounties and let them ripen!”

    “My gift to you, Mistress Fierna… proof of my loyalty and commitment,” he said, kneeling before her. “If it pleases you, I implore you to fulfill your bargain with me. Resurrect my friend.”

    “As you wish,” the she-devil replied.

    Then, with her dark, unholy power, she called upon the souls of the minions he had slain in that dungeon and coalesced then inside of the maiden’s corpse. Inside the withered husk, a shadowy abomination was born; a shroud-wrapped apparition that resembled the maiden in shape, but where the maiden was radiant and warm, this creature was wicked and devoid of light.

    “What is this dreadful spectre?” the elf gasped.

    “A puppet,” the she-devil replied. “It has your friend’s shape and even some memories, perhaps, but most of all, she is bound to you and will defend you for as long as she retains her form. A marvelous weapon, indeed.”

    “This is not what I wanted!” the elf roared. “I wanted her back. You promised!”

    “Foolish mortal!” Fierna screeched, dropping him with her foul power. “You think I can simply snatch a soul from the domain of the gods? Had your insipid beloved not been so benevolent and kind; had she indulged herself with a bit more debauchery, and she was certainly in a position of opportunity nearly every day of her life, then she might reside within my realm. Then I could have reunited you!”

    “So you lied to me?” the poor elf asked.

    “Lies are in my nature, foolish elf,” she laughed. “But I merely defined the aspects of our pact and allowed you to overlook the details. Be thankful. I am impressed with your resolution and have gone the extra measure to gift you with as much of your beloved maiden as is possible for me. Continue to reap pain, suffering and death; only with those offerings will she be able to maintain her form when you call her forth.”
  • jeezycreezyjeezycreezy Member Posts: 7
    edited September 2014
    “Her true soul is with the gods, then?” the elf asked, to which the devil affirmed. “Then she is at peace and I have paid the price for attempting to rob her of it. But know this, Mistress, that I will not sew chaos like this again. I will send you pain and pleasure, per our agreement, but the pain will be that of evil men and the pleasure… will be that of the tormented that I free from misery.”

    “That is glee, you fool!” she screeched. “That is elation and gladness! I cannot use that!”

    “As you have done with me, Mistress, you will have to take what I give and use it as best as you can,” the elf replied. “Or, did you perhaps define the nature of your gifts so specifically?”

    Lady Fierna growled in frustration, but soon a smirk crept across her diabolically beautiful face.

    “You have too much darkness in you to keep to the path of righteousness for long, young elf. Of that you have just proven. I can wait… because I now know what capricious carnage you can unleash once you stray and I will not so easily give up on my investments.”

    Then the she-devil placed her hand upon the elf’s face and branded it with power as she spoke in a voice filled with dark magic.

    “Hence forth, you are known as Decimus Demonfist, acolyte of Lady Fierna and wielder of the Flames of Plegathos…” She then ended with cackling laughter, “…however you wish to wield them! Go now, Decimus, and do as you please… as long as it pleases me in return.”

    With that the mistress was gone and the elf’s soul puppet faded, to be called upon when he needed her and after he had fulfilled the requirements of her manifestation.

    And that is the story of how the Blackfist clan was destroyed by one meek, elven bookkeeper. But that was not the end of Decimus. He had pledged to use his power for the good of the down-trodden and he began that night, freeing the remaining slaves in the dungeon and leading them out of the chaos. And in that act, he met his dwarven companion, Alanah.

    The blonde dwarf had known the maiden during their time in the dungeon and she had overheard the elf speaking with Fierna.

    “Me mother was a shield-maiden an’ I know the trade, sir,” the young wench said, as he released her with the others. “I’m tough an’ unafraid an’ I don’ mind gettin’ me hands dirty. Give me an axe an’ let me follow you… an’ I’ll keep your guard til Thoradin calls me home.”

    “You know that I am damned,” he said to her.

    “I don’ care about that,” the dwarf said to him. “I care about stoppin’ the slave ring that got me here. I know who they are and where to find more’ah these pleasure dungeons. I know who supplies the lasses for ‘em.”

    Decimus looked out over the flaming town that had so long hosted the Blackfist clan. Spending the rest of his life fighting the individual organizations would be worthless, he knew. The dwarf girl knew who to go after to cut off the head of the snake and she knew where to find them.

    “Show me, then,” he said.

    And that’s how Decimus Demonfist came about. They say that he takes on a companion from every slave dungeon he liberates. They say that there are so many women in his debt, from being liberated or freed from torment of some fashion, that for every ten ladies you meet on the road or in town, one of them is most likely his spy.
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