Shephard
Still in Statis
So...It's settled then.
He towers above you, the boiling flames failing to scour away the hard, writhing shadows that make up the god's ethereal form. Before the burning pit, you cower, your ghostly forms small to the infinite rock and flame of the underworld and nothing compared to the divine form before you. Demons chitter in the darkness as the Dark God smiles.
Perrrfeeeccct...heh...haha...AH HAHAHAHAH HAHAHAHAHAHA
MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
He towers above you, the boiling flames failing to scour away the hard, writhing shadows that make up the god's ethereal form. Before the burning pit, you cower, your ghostly forms small to the infinite rock and flame of the underworld and nothing compared to the divine form before you. Demons chitter in the darkness as the Dark God smiles.
Perrrfeeeccct...heh...haha...AH HAHAHAHAH HAHAHAHAHAHA
MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The underworld shakes, and your forms begin to dissipate before what feels all the world like galeforce winds. A variety of demons swirl around you, chitinous clawed things, horned monsters with flaming wings, beautiful ones with skin of obsidian and marble. A pair of beautiful Fey, nigh identical despite their different genders, laugh in tune with the Dark God with sound like jingling bells. Even a gold burning Celestial in billowing white robes is visible, busy writing something down on a slate as she watches you from under her stained glass wings. The hell flames suddenly shrink as all grows suffocatingly dark, leaving the Lord of Shadows illuminated only by a halo of flames and his titanic figure shudders with laughter that could shatter cities.
Then he coughs.
Right, sorry about that. Force of habit. Anyway, let's keep this on the downlow. I want it to be a surprise to my wife. Plus she miiggght get a little peeved at me letting you go without asking first.
The god shrugs, brushing his claws together with a sound like a thousand simultaneous thunderclaps and the screams of a dying country. The light returns, and world stills.
Much faster than the last lot that came through, that's for sure. I just about threw them into the nearest fiery pit of torment and despair. Ah, good times, good times. Anyway, first things first...Paperwork. Deepest apologies. I hate the stuff myself, but I can't just raise you from the dead without having an excuse for the other divines. Have to make sure you do the whole disclaimer and 'of my own free will' signature stuff, because apparently my bloody word isn't good enough that I'm not corrupting your souls to evil and what-not. As though I'd risk my Wife's wrath on that, the pompous bastards. Just because I love to….heh 'play' with their little plans at times... Well, I could always ignore the paperwork, annoying them is always fun, but my Wife would probably be annoyed at me. And that would defeat the point of this whole endeavor…Then he coughs.
Right, sorry about that. Force of habit. Anyway, let's keep this on the downlow. I want it to be a surprise to my wife. Plus she miiggght get a little peeved at me letting you go without asking first.
The god shrugs, brushing his claws together with a sound like a thousand simultaneous thunderclaps and the screams of a dying country. The light returns, and world stills.
I promise on my dark heart that you don't have to sell your soul for this. Not aiming to trick you mortals, as much fun as that would be! Not that my Wife lets me collect souls anymore…So let's begin! Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth! Over here! The Dark God shouts with a voice that shakes the ceiling in the clouds above. A horrible demon thing comes out of nowhere, its body crab like and covered in a thick shell dotted by maws and tentacles, with burning clawed hooves for feet and tentacles for hands. It glares at you all with its six burning eyes, its vicious serrated mandibles pulling into some facsimile of a grin before it...Promptly pulls out a quill and an obsidian slate, covered in burning writing that is strangely in ordinary 'Common'. A moment later, it slides a trio of reading monocle over its right eyes and taps the quill on the slate.
"'Tis simple tongue, sirrahs, with just as simple purpose and wording. Merely disclaimers to confirm thou art not being coerced and taking this contract is of thy own free will, and that all evil deeds thou perform in thy new undead forms art of thine own free will, that thou concur wholly to all parts of our contract, ect. ect. Dost not bother looking for fineprint and hidden loopholes and the ilk. Sadly, 'tis part of mine contract that I'm not permitted to attempt such."
As much fun as it is, it'd slow down the process too much if every mortal was looking for it. I mean, sure, you mortals already go 'Oh, Demons, better double-check everything for fineprint!' but hells, Demons are just too good a source of employees to pass up. Most Fey are too flighty and Celestials tend to be pricks-No offense! He calls out, the few Fey and Celestials mostly continuing on without a care, save the one Celestial with burning gold hair who just gives a thumbs up. Also, don't call us, we'll call you. This doesn't mean I'm your patron, so don't expect me to answer your prayers unless I have a bloody good reason to.
"Indeed. Alloweth us to proceed to business." The Demon utters.
God and the Snake
"The 'honorable'-" The Demon begins, tentacles waving in the quotation gesture. "Duke Lucius de Montechiaro de Caito de Racalont the Third. Scion of the depress'd line of Racalont who once hath served the most wondrous Dark Lord as bannermen and-
Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth? Can you cut it out with the Archaic Common, it's giving me a headache."
The Demon quirks its head. "Ah, but thy highness it maketh me sound so much more respectable."
Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth...it just makes you sound silly. Just get on with Duke Lucius de long name, please.
The Demon sighs. "Yes, your shadowyness. Well...Duke Lucius, it is a dark pleasure to meet you. Your father was a famed bureaucrat in our circles. I hope that his skills have passed onto you." The Demon says with a respectful nod, handing his obsidian plate over. Strange, wispy pieces of paper appear on it. "Sign here, here and here your lordship. You may write in your own blood if you wish, but hellfire script is also acceptable."
Ah, bureaucrats. Truly there is no more evil profession than that. Though, being an assassin is quite a bit more entertaining to watch as a god. And Silvertouch? Nothing like a good ol' rivalry between assassins! Seems she's straight up angry you up and got yourself killed by someone else-how inconsiderate of you! Oh, you'll be fun indeed. If you prove fun enough...I might even let you add my name to my resume and not send a plague of locusts to strip the flesh from your bones for doing so.
"Truly, your generosity knows no bounds, your most diabolicalness. Hrmph." He takes the slate back in claw. "Everything in order. Good luck, sir duke. And try not to explode next time."
Try not to get killed by any Assassins! Have fun toppling the kingdom!
With that, the god slams his foot into you with force enough to rip a hole in the veil of reality. You fall, screaming back into life.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You wake up to the the noise of meat tearing and animals growling. You also wake up in pain, because it's your meat tearing as a pair of hungry wolves chew on your left leg. Reacting with swift, well honed training you bop them in the nose and make growling noises back. The surprised wolves quickly run off.
Picking yourself up, you try to reorient yourself. The moon sits high above in the sky, and you seem to be on a forest covered hilltop overlooking the scorched remains of a castle. Seems you got blown straight up the mountainside from the explosion. And you really didn't fare too well, looking at your body. Your wounds are slowly sealing before your eyes, but your skin is charred, insides are visible and...You're pretty sure all your bodyparts are currently attached with some strange form of gray material covered in script reading 'Demon Tape'.
Well, you were in a lot of pieces from that explosion.
Below, you hear barking. Through the brush, you hear voices.
"Oh shite, wolves!" "Ach, don't worry! They're clearly hunting dogs!" "Whew! And here I thought we were about to die. Seriously, who has hunting dogs out when the Royal Inquisition is patrolling?" "Well, there's that Assassin-Oh wait a sec-GRK." "Where the burning hells did tha-URK!"
You hear two very loud sounding thuds from the brush. Well, that's ominous.
Daraken
"Loremaster Logren Longrow."
Absolutely awesome alliteration, mortal.
"Sixth son of the highly virile Longrow line, a graduate from Vexir's Academy for the Ambitious-Not a bad choice, though I think Amacia's University for the Unusually Gifted was superior. Still, my respects to Headmaster Vexir. In any case, graduated with high grades but no particular honors, and served as a Loremaster for the Dark Library where he-"
Ahem. The Dark God coughs politely. I already know their history, Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth. I don't need to hear it.
"You never let me have any fun, your omniscience." The Demon sighed. "Still, Maleficus made a good choice in you, Longrow. World conquest requires dedicated minions alongside the occasional fool to execute for incompetence. Sign here and here and here please."
Y'know Longrow, Maleficus actually mentioned your name in our conversations. He was quite complimentary, and especially thankful for your help in researching Dark Elven courting rituals. A pity that little relationship ended with those sudden and unexpected cases of decapitation.
"Almost as frequent an ender of evil romantic relationships as betrayal. Accursed Adventurers." The Demon comments as you sign the slate. "Lich fits you well, but take care. True liches will have nothing but hatred for you. And you'll have to keep your amulet away from people who want to sell it at the local pawn shop. You may want to brace."
Have fun toppling the kingdom!
And with that, you're kicked creaming through the ethereal veil.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You wake up at the outside of an open grave, a pile of freshly moved dirt lying alongside it. A simple wood plank sits before it, inscribed. "Ser Logren Longrow. Servant of darkness, teacher of forbidden knowledge, but a noble nonetheless. May the Light cleanse his accursed soul so his family may see him in the next life."
How nice of them to actually dig you a grave, though you're confused on how you got ou-
Well, it'd be useless to revive you if you got stuck in a hole in the ground. As amusing as your panic would be.
Ah, that explains that. You're near the abandoned ruin you were tracked down and killed in, and in the distance you can make out the town that stands at a crossroads in the region. It is currently night.
Mina
What a beautiful song you sang, ms. Duchamp. But now, you'll sing on your terms, not that of a petty fey.
"Damned Fey. Stupid plant loving bastards. Too flighty to be of actual use. No offense you two!" The Demon calls out to the male and female Fey twins flying about the field.
"Much taken!" The two giggle in perfect unison, disappearing behind a plume of smoke.
"Alright mortal, sign the contract. Try not to waste a second life by being screwed with by some half-plant that gets off on murder."
Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth, you also get off on murder.
"Well, yessss...But I do it professionally. There's a style-a discipline to murder and mayhem, your obscureness. Fey are just so random about it. It's disgustingly amateurish." The Demon states.
A fascinating rant, my friend, but our little songbird is more interested in filling out her contract than hearing it. A banshee...Ah, yes, that fits. Sing well for me, good little girl. And show those Light pricks you're the best in all the world.
"Yes...Knock them dead, as they say." The Demon says, pointing out where to sign. "I suppose that you won't have to worry about breaking legs as a ghost." He adds, taking the slate back. A moment later, it disappears from thin air and he pulls another out of nothing.
Well, everything in order? Good. Now...Let's test your screaming voice.
As it turns out, your screaming voice is just as good as it used to be, judging by how loud it is as the god kicks you through oblivion and out the other side, back into life.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It is a dark and stormy night that you find yourself on the peak of a cliffside on the Alvarian coastline. A tad cliche, but still quite appropriate for a soul as artistic as your own.
"Suffer not the witch to live." Comes the all too familiar voice of Sir Nicolas Maes from nearby. You twirl about, your ethereal form beginning to shimmer in the moonlight, and you are greeted by the consuming flames of a fire so hungry, even the drenching downpour cannot stop it. Lightning flashes as you look upon your own body, lopped into dozens of pieces, pierced through with consecrated blades burning upon the stake.
Multiple men, knights and men-at-arms and even a pair of what looks like clerics, stand about the fire as your mortal form burns. Though they shiver in the drenching downpour, and flinch as thunder booms in the distance, they do not leave. They do not even seek shelter in the church just down the path a little. B
"Is this truly necessary?" One Knight calls out over the sound.
"We all saw how much killing this Witch took! We must ensure she never threatens the realm. On this consecrated ground, the Witch's spirit will be put to rest forever more." Knight Maes replies, his eyes burning with nearly as much intensity as your pyre. You shudder, feeling faint. He is not wrong that this is holy ground.
"You have dishonored yourself, Maes. After this, we part ways...But in this, I am agreed. Let her burn." A knight replies, to muttered assent.
Then, Maes' gaze begins to turn from the fire, scanning the twinkling moonlight that for the moment. Half-blinded by the lightning and flame, he does not see you immediately. But after just a moment, his eyes begin to narrow, and-
A faint whistle, like a bird song echoes from the bushes behind them. The knights all twirl around, drawing swords in a nervous rush.
"The burnin' hells? No way a bird would be out in this weather, would they?" You hear one ask.
Wade Garret
Agatha Malloch? The Dark God utters with a voice that sends lava spurting from the fiery pits of torment and despair. Splashes of it sizzle on the ground around you. Oh, this is wonderful! It's my favorite nun!
"Bloody Agatha." The Demon chuckles. "You are quite the talk of the Burning Hells. A blind religious zealot who murders countless in the name of Lady Nightsong? Big fan of your work. I don't suppose I could get your autograph?" He asks with a wry twitch of mandibles as he presents the burning slate. "Just sign, here, in triplicate here, and here Mother Flaywell. Make sure to dot the pentagrams."
Aggy-can I call you Aggy? Ol' Lady Nightsong had so much to say about you over tea on Theoretical Tuesdays-what? Don't give me that look. Granny Nightingale's my mother in law, of course we have tea. She always brings these delicious little conceptual cookies and says such amusing stories. Nice lady, when she isn't glaring at you disapprovingly and makes me feel bad for being a Dark God. Ugh. Always feel like I need to set up a charity after tea with her.
"Well, the only charity this one will raise will be founded on blood and pain. Delicious." The Demon slithers, tasting the air. "Have fun out there, young gir-Wait whoops, humans get wrinkles and die before their first century. My bad." The Demon coughs, glancing over the slate. He gives a firm nod to the Dark God.
"I'll tell Lady Nightsong hi for you! Have fun toppling the kingdom!" The Dark God shouts, before punting you straight out of the afterlife.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"This really doesn't feel right." You hear a young masculine voice say as you slowly return to consciousness.
"Look, better safe than sorry, alright? Someone so utterly Evil has a habit of getting resurrected by Dark Gods or evil necromancers and such." Another voice, hard and feminine replies. You seem to be in some sort of pit. And there's a number of other bodies around. You seem to have been stripped of everything save a surprisingly intact robe, and your skin is thoroughly decaying at this point. For some reason, the stench doesn't bother you. The maggots on the other hand, just might.
"But she worshipped Lady Nightsong?" The first voice replies. "It isn't right to steal her from the Order's graveyards, even if she was a rotten monster."
"Worshipped burnin' Lady Nightsong and murdered that many people? Are you a nitwit? It was obviously just a cover. Besides, it's not graverobbing if we have a writ from the Inquisition."
Cracking open an eye, you look up. There's a pair of knights in full plate harness at the edge of a small rise above the pit you're stuck in. You also see a pair of men-at-arms in mail toss a body into the pit before striding off. All are wearing tabards bearing the heraldry of the Silver Drake Holy Templars.
"I guess...And I mean, fire always consecrates anyhow, right?" The first knight says.
"Correct." The second, older female one replies as the two men-at-arms return with tankers of oil, and promptly star pouring the flammable liquid over the corpse pile. That is probably not a good sign.
Greendoor
Ugh. Hanging is no way for a proper hero to die. I mean, you didn't even get a dramatic fight either. Such a waste...Well, let's change that. You deserve a better tale than being hung by peasants, my greenskinned friend. Let them rue the day they thought they could cut a hero's tale so dreadfully short!
"Ugh. Gruk the Masked Knight. Your mother would be so disappointed in you. A disgrace to the Sinester name." The Demon comments dryly. "Still...The best villains also make the best heroes. Perhaps you'll come around to your heritage one day, Gruk."
Now Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth, no corrupting the poor innocent souls I'm raising as unholy undead as part of my devious plot to bring down the Light gods blessed Kingdom of Eternal Light as a gift for my Wife the Goddess of Death! I mean, that extra step of evilness is just unconscionable.
"Your sense of irony is noted, your deep blackness. Sign please, Gruk."
I think you might be using irony wrong, Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth. Anyway, Gruk, good meeting you. Want me to tell your parents you said hello-actually, you might not want to. They'd be a little annoyed you didn't give them any grandchildren.
Well, either way...Show those fools what an Orcblood can do, Gruk. You have it in you, I know you do. Have fun toppling the kingdom!
He does a running start before he kicks you, the flickering, every changing shadows that may represent legs sucking the light from the fiery pits of torment and despair with every step. Then, he kicks you so hard the ceiling of the underworld cracks and you fly shrieking back to your body.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The first thing you notice as you come to is a disconcerting feeling of weightlessness. The second is the realization your neck shouldn't be at that angle, and that you have a rope around your neck. Your third is there are flies buzzing around you.
The forth is that you can still feel some sense of pain, judging by the arrow that just tore into your side. (Take two wounds).
"Ugh, bad shot that. I'll never get accepted as a yeoman at this rate." You hear a young voice complain as you twirl around in place. As you turn, you creep your eyes open slightly at three lads, probably eighteen or so, standing down the hill from the tree you're hanging from. Illuminated by the silver light of the moon, two string bows while a third sharpens a spear. Behind them and down the hill, you make out the village.
The shorter of the two bowmen, a boy with straw colored hair strings his bow and fires. This one strikes you dead in the chest with an agonizing *thud*. (take five wounds). You shake back and forth on the noose.
"Hah! Beat your shot!"
"Luck." The older boy with black hair comments. "Remember who the sergeant-at-arms complimented at the competition. Just got to get a little better at this and they're sure to pick me up."
The young lad snorts, sticking his tongue out. "Yeah well...Why are we even shooting this ugly monster? Thing's already dead, and it smells horrible."
The one in the back talks. From his voice and start of a beard, he's older than the other two. "Because we men-at-arms sometimes have to fight the undead. It makes good practice-aim for the heart and head and all that. You never know when some dread spirit may raise evil creatures from the grave."
"How do we know this evil creature isn't going to come back then?" The younger chap asks.
"There's not a necromancer in a hundred leagues of here. And nothing else would bother raising an Orc from the dead, Nobody gives a shite about Greenskins. Not even the Dark Gods."
Glint
The Dark God looks down upon you.
You are an idiot.
The Demon pauses, considering, then nods. "He is an idiot. An unlucky idiot. It is a surprise that he did not die younger."
Well, he is at least good at magery. Surprising, really. Usually fools screw up the math and then dramatically explode.
"Ahhh...So many fond memories." The Demon states. "Sign here, here, here, in triplicate here, and upside down here mister Edolas Blackhazel. Don't ask why. It'll break your feeble mortal mind with truths it was not meant to know."
Good luck finding your old pirate friends, 'Captain'. Ah...A pirate. It's too bad we never did allow gunpowder to exist in this universe. Pirate fights aren't as much fun without pistols and cannons and explosions.
The Demon pauses, tentacles scratching its head carapace. "...What's gunpowder?"
Nevermind that. It would break your feeble immortal mind with truths it was not meant to know.
"...Touche, your voidness."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You find yourself buried in a fancy church crypt. How nice. Though it's rather discomfiting to realize that you are missing all of your skin. And meat. And organs. And everything else fleshy.
You try not to think too hard about how you're still able to walk around without muscles, see without eyes, smell without a nose, or any of the other things. You do think for a moment too long, however, and a finger falls off. You very, very quickly stop thinking entirely as you reattach your finger. You can hear the faint muttering of prayers though the walls and smell the faint scent of incense.
Well. You're in a church crypt. As a skeleton. That is pretty bad. Really unlucky, really. But hey, at least it can't get worse, right?
That's when the Church bell starts frantically ringing.
"PIRATES!" Comes the bellow. Somehow, you have the sinking feeling they aren't going to be your crew.
OOC: I was originally going to have you emerge from the crypt, and based off my rolls, you ran into the Bishop(literally), who proceeded to easily catch you. But I facepalmed and realized that'd be taking control away from you-still, I found it amusing enough to share.
Sirlaggington
Ahhh, deja vu, Sir Tarkus. Good to see you, though I'll miss that Dark Elven rival you had. Anyway, so rare to get a proper dragonblood! We really do have a lot of interesting sorts dead today, don't we Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth?
"Indeed your shadowship. Though, today is a bit of a misnomer given time does not flow in the planar realms as it does in the-"
Stop correcting me, Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth. Anyway, mortal...My, you really are a strong one, aren't you? A real hero you. I'd say that makes accepting the deal of a Dark God surprising, but we've already had a few of those today. Still, happy to have you. I've always loved dragons and dragonbloods. In fact, I used to be the Patron God of dragons. No, really I was!
"Well, yes, you were. But that was primarily because your first portfolio had you as the patron god of 'Kidnappers of fair maid-" The Demon begins, before the Lord of Shadows lightly pokes the Demon with a divine claw, causing the demon to split in twain and sending both halves flying into a nearby fiery pit of torment and despair. "I REGRET NOTTTTHHHHIIING!" The top half screams before it disappears into the flames.
Myself damn it, how many bloody times do I have to say don't bring up my burning early portfolios. Ergh. Worst idea I ever had. Ever. You mortals do not want to know the types of creeps that pray to you with a portfolio like that. I just thought it'd be cute, what with princesses always getting kidnapped in the fairy tales. The Lord of Shadows shivers. Bloody fairies and their half truths. None of you get to talk about this ever again, or I swear by Myself and My Wife I'll remove you from existence. It's bad enough the planar creatures know about that, not letting that spread amongst the mortal realms. Burnin' hells, worst portfolio for a divine internship ever.
"Sir Tarkus. Please, sign here mortal." A demoness says as she suddenly appears in front of you, handing the slate and quill over. You pause, surprised at what looks all the world appears to be a Succubus is wearing practical and simple black robes. Then, you sign the slate. "Much obliged, sir knight." The Demoness tilts her head at the Dark God. "And we are set, your lordship."
Good, good. Go out and do your dragoning in my glorious name, mortal! Go and avenge your people's betrayal and all that loveliness. And don't mention a single word about my first portfolio or else. Good luck toppling the kingdom mortal! He says a mere moment before his divine foot connects with your ethereal body, and you're sent screaming through the barrier between realms…
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The first thing you awaken to is a first hand experience of what it's like to be pecked on by a bird. You shake the animal off, and it flutters away with a loud squawk. Luckily, nothing attacks you immediately thereafter. Your armor is stripped, your sword gone, and somebody even up and stole your pants. Bodies, still rotting surround you. Most are dragonbloods-the humans seem to have buried their own. Scavengers lurk among the dead, corpses shifting as animals feast...And mortal men seek wealth.
"Oh, this one had some gold in his boots!" "I'm more interested in the boots, honestly. Nice and comfortable looking, and just my size." Voices echo from nearby, and slowly you try to pick yourself up-but several bodies are laden upon you. "Oh! Hey, he's still alive. Get me my knife."
"No...Please..." You hear a familiar draconian voice gurgle, though you don't recall the name. Forcing the bodies off of you, you're about to move when more words break out.
"Hey! Back off lady! His boots are ours!"
"Yeah, she-elf bitch, he's-AGGGHHHH THAT WAS MY FAVORITE ARM YOU POINTY ELFED BI-HRK."
Several more screams echo out, only to end just as quickly.
"Thank...You." The Draconian voice rings out again.
"I would hold your thanks. I'm not here to save you." A voice like song echoes through the night lit valley of death. A second later, you make out the dearth rattle of another of the Dragon Knights.
A faint whistling tune echoes as Yuriel Bladewind, resplendent in silver armor, strides right past where you lie, smoothly wiping the blood off her beautiful blade.
Heaven Canceler
Oh good, another Dragonblood and more deja vu. Well, hopefully I'll actually get to see a fight with a werebear to completion this time. Pretend you didn't hear any of what Arx'Vrak'nralnar'ralsth said and only remember the 'used to be a patron of dragons' thing. You say anything, and I'll hear it. And I'll remove you from existence-well, probably just kill you again for my Wife's sake. Just wish to make that clear.
"...Oh you're kidding me. You're that wizard that prat Ayaka'razaly'furzu'muzur is...Grr. Do you know what that burning stereotype cost me?" The demoness in front of you asks, though you can only stare in confusion at what you can clearly tell from experience is a rather beautiful succubus wearing perfectly ordinary and unflattering black robes. "I almost made it in with the Archdemon Vrelsh'naralx've-"
With all due respect, I'm sure our good mortal here is completely unaware of his demonic companion's activities that involved screwing you over.
"What! I would never-"
Metaphorically, I meant my dear, terrible, terrible excuse for a succubus and excellent excuse for a secretary.
"Oh. Right then." The demoness coughs, smoothing her surprisingly mundane robes.
But my oh my, aren't you an interesting one wizard? Dragons don't breed with many mortals, that Cinigrad place hardly counting, and an Orc of all things…? There's a reason they're known as the slave goons of the Dark Armies, so that is truly an impressive curiosity. And you...A powerful wizard despite your orc blood, a respected member of society despite being an orcish, dragonblooded wizard, with a loving and caring family, and even managing to avoid becoming the slave of that Succubus and gaining her...Uh, friendship? Without even becoming evil! Oh, I do think you will be most interesting mortal...You're breaking so many of the classics. I just love it!
"Sign the burning slate mortal. Pun unintended. Here, here, octuplet here..." The demoness mutters, and you quickly fill out the slate. "It's in order, your lordship."
Good, good. Then, to our last soul of the day...Have fun, and good luck toppling the kingdom! He says a mere moment before he slams his divine foot into your, sending you flying into the air. You pass through the crowds, crash through the roof of the underworld, and fall screaming back up into the land of the living.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Well, well, well. Unlive after all, and by the grace of a divine too?" Rings the ever familiar voice, your eyes blearily opening to the rather fine form of the demoness you are well acquainted with.
"And here I was about to go to all the effort of tracking your soul down in the Planar realms. Went to trouble of dragging your corpse to this crypt to make sure the Pallies didn't decide to turn around and burn it, and have to run all over avoiding all those angry lightlovers searching for the body and then you just go and get yourself raised by a divine. How'd you manage that?" She asks, as you look about the barren and dusty tomb. Looking at your form, it's similar to your old one, but wrapped in shadow. And you are, rather noticeably, naked save for a few scraps of cloth.
"Don't look at me. You're the one who got set on fire by lightning and had everything burn off you. I'm not a necrophiliac. Well, except for Vampires." Aya sighs. "And of course, the only dead here are zombies and skeletons, of course. Do you have any idea how many useless rotters I took to get you here?"
