Fresix-Vebrezio Tapina, novice scholar of arcana and demonica, sprinted down the darkened, mildewed catacombs that twisted beneath the foundation of the College of Physics and Celestial and Esoteric Studies. High above in the skies over Arquesal the sun shone brilliantly in the noontide, but here there was only a pervading dampness and the light of distantly spaced torches that burned by way of ancient rags soaked in petroleum. Having traversed these passages countless times before, Vebrezio had but little trouble finding the correct course through the labyrinthine darkness. Thrusting his bony fingers into the folds of his cloak, he produced a brass ring holding a cluster of large keys and strained his eyes searching for the required one while muttering in an ancient tongue. Finding it, he unlocked a large wooden portal braced with iron and hurriedly moved through the threshold before the door locked once more.
The room he entered into showed to be constructed of the same large, ashen stone blocks as the corridor outside once illuminated by the glow of newly-lit candles. It was better kept than the tunnels however, and stank less of mildew though it was austere in decoration, possessing only a single stool, a long working table cluttered with various artifacts and a portrait of a nameless, grizzled man on the wall above it. The novice adjusted the magnifying lenses so that they better amplified the light of the flickering candles and seated himself on the stool. He proceeded to flip through a huge leather-bound book with aged, beaten pages, searching for a text he had memorized years ago amidst the same dancing lights. Memorized or not, to enter into the forbidden realms he was about to delve required the utmost caution and certainty: the book he was searching was a grimoire of ancient power, filled with the knowledge of some of history’s wisest and most foolish regarding the summoning and binding of demons. Vebrezio kissed the protective talisman that hung about his neck and dispatched a silent prayer before beginning the necessary preparations – the ritual self-purification, the drawing of symbols of power, and the painting of a protective circle – the last of which he paid special scrutiny to and was only satisfied with his efforts after a full thirty minutes of contemplation. All was prepared.
Vebrezio moved within the innermost layer of the circle and wielded the grimoire in his right hand and a slab of polished obsidian in his left. The black mirror was a treasured and little-spoken-of possession of his ailing master, the Pontîx-Quanio Madrugal. Passed down to him from an unknown origin, it allowed the accomplished sorcerer to contact the denizens of the aetherial plane without need of having them appear in person; a very dangerous proposition. Interrogation of demons via scrying tended to be inaccurate as the wily demons took advantage of the summoner’s degraded control over them to present all manner of lies and illusions, rendering such attempts useless at best. The obsidian mirror, the Menaillurada, on the other hand, was an artifact of such enchantment that it accepted no falsehoods to be displayed on it.
The act of summoning a demon was a feat he had never attempted before, so it was with considerable hesitation that he held aloft the obsidian mirror and began the ritual. “By the name and power of the Emperor of the South, O great, potent, and all-wise Illuminarch Ionomîs,” he bellowed with as much courage and force as his lungs could muster, “and also by the Powers and Directives that bind and pervade the Universe, I summon forth Ne’thu-Sagan, Prince of ten billion servitors and Critic of the Dominion of Infinite Twilight, knower and teller of all truths!” Ne’thu-Sagan, a moderately prestigious demon of truth and insight, was one of the few recognizable words uttered repeatedly by the delirious and fever-stricken Madrugal, though what place he had in that context, if any, was unknown. Vebrezio considered it a fair chance that it was a plea for help from his suffering mentor and thus the impetus for this undertaking was to find out what help the demon could provide.
“Ne’thu-Sagan, I summon and bind thee to my will, so that thou might answer my questions with truth and perform my bidding, so long as they be sanctioned by the Powers and Directives of the Universe, until I release thee from my service!” he shouted again and traced a symbol in the empty air. Now, drawing mightily upon his inner resolve, he spoke the final words, “Ne’thu-Sagan, present thyself in my command!” and sprinkled a pinch of ground vegetable matter onto the black stone, so that the demon might use it to manifest his answers, and waited. And waited. And waited – and there was nothing. Vebrezio moved his eyes around the room searching for some sign of the demon’s presence, but he found only stillness. While his concentration waned however, there came a slight draft, only powerful enough to displace some of the dust from the mirror to the floor below.
A noise like the straining and grinding of gears on a failing machine sounded followed by a whiff of ozone and ammonia and the summoner’s hairs stood on end. There, just beyond the protective circle where moments ago nothing but bare stone tile and a bit of dust rested, stood an unearthly figure. Ne’thu-Sagan it was, a single rubbery serpentine leg holding aloft a translucent purple barrel-shaped torso with four-arms, ten gossamer wings, and a shrunken head that looked as if it belonged to an ancient desert nomad with leathery, deeply-wrinkled skin. “O Sorcerer, et cetera, et cetera, I have answered thy summons,” the thing croaked, it’s forked tongue flitting. “Ask me that which you desire answers to!”
Vebrezio recoiled with disgust and surprise and momentarily lost his balance. The obsidian mirror dropped to the ground unharmed and as he was tumbling backwards, he realized that he was in a very delicate situation. He struck the floor with half of his body outside of the protective circle and already the demon was slithering towards him with tremendous speed. The novice conjurer shrieked and shielded his eyes and prepared himself for the unbearable horrors of being transported to infernal regions.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw Ne’thu-Sagan perched above him, extending one of his arms in a gesture of help. The demon wore a perplexed expression and slowly backed up to his original position, heedless as he moved directly through the protective circle. “Forgive me,” the demon ventured sounding a trifle embarrassed, “that was very impolitic of me. Please, regain your composure. I will wait.”
Tags: Fantasy Eternalempire Sorcery Demon Magic
