Post by zandyne on Aug 19, 2009 0:12:32 GMT -5
**Forgive the odd writing style. This is a small almost back-story for Dantalion. Also note that this is before he acquired much of any ranking or power whatsoever. Any feedback would be wonderful and there will be more 'chapters' later. 
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The surface world was far from impressive. Though he had risen from the most blistering and fetid portions of Hell, this place was a different and more appalling realm. It was by no means clean in any way, feathered swarms of vermin clucked and darted to and fro as he walked. Larger beasts snorted and smelt piercingly disgusting in comparison to the standards of the smoldering depths of his home. He wrinkled his nose at the oxen and other work-creatures he passed, sneering at how easily they had submitted to feeble human rule and the unbearable odor they'd cloaked their bodies with as part of their submission to man.
He passed by them and the fields they were branded to die in as he reached the cobbled area of the town. The humans there were miserable noisy things, worse than the stock of animals they kept. They chattered more fervently and obnoxiously than the chickens and smelt and more terrible company than their horses and cattle.
He scanned around the primitive gathering for something to spare his nose and appease his quailing stomach. Surely even human food could reprieve his senses.
Nothing but ill-washed merchants trying to heckle him or appeal the contents of someone else's frugal money bags met his survey of the humble area. He decided to humor one of the cleaner ones and grace them with his attention. A waste-eating grin greeted his gaze and he resisted the overwhelming urge to gag at the visage or to wipe the baker's existence off the face of the Earth.
The man spoke warmly to him and much more articulately than he expected, once more he appealed to his sense of merciful protocol and simply nodded to the man at all the right moments and smiled at all the right instances of trivially jovial monologue. For a piece of coarse silver and wasting five minutes of his time, he was given the most fragrant sweet bread in the entire trading plaza. He took it with another well-crafted false smile and hurried out as fast and carefully as he could.
Even though he wanted to escape back to Hell, he didn't want anything to really touch him. He would never get the stench out.
However, in his haste and distraction he managed to get lost.
He stared in all directions but masked it so that he looked like anyone admiring the scenery. At finding no familiar territory or markers, he decided to rest his disguised legs, human feet were not meant for walking great distances, he admitted.
As he examined all angles of the bread, he tried to retrace his steps and scowled at his dilatory memory that had not once failed him previously. He became even angrier at his pathetic situation when he couldn't recall the exact method to return. Asking for directions entered his mind and left just as quickly. He would not admit defeat nor ask any of the straggling villagers to help him in finding the hill he sought.
He nibbled furiously at his bought wares, too distracted to notice how it melted on his tongue or take note of the dainty noblewoman who approached him.
A fine hand on his shoulder surprised him badly. He reeled back from the touch as though it burned and he almost glared at her, but half-realized that he was still on the surface world and caught himself before hissing with offense at her.
The woman laughed at him, it sounded like tiny bells and jarring like nothing else on his ears.
His very being burned with shame at being caught unaware, and rage at the prospect of her finding comedy in his surprise. He hastily slid back on his human mask and searched for an emotion to cover his tracks. The most appropriate one he could think of was embarrassment.
His human shell blushed and laughed nervously, trying to mimic the ugly sound she had made to perfect the illusion. Apparently it had worked too well and to his chagrin, she knelt down and began to speak to him again, holding out her manicured, perfumed hand to him. Somehow in his babbling act of false good-nature, he'd managed to accept her invitation to her home.
To her credit, she was the cleanest human he'd met, so it was easier to take the offered help despite how madly his will screamed otherwise at the mistake.
He ended up following her home to her grand, but mostly empty mansion. He caught himself gazing upon it with intrigue. She kept an impressive house all to herself and in such meticulous order while the rest of the surrounding village toiled so hard only to be rewarded with sleep on soil that was in actuality better than them.
Just for that, he considered that perhaps she did deserve the luxury she surrounded herself with.
After she'd treated him to all manners of charities that he didn't want but still indulged in for all their worth, she sent him to his lofty quarters. To his amusement, he noticed how brutal she was with her servants when she thought he wasn't paying attention.
Something that amused him further was the nightly activities that she apparently thought she kept to herself and her bed quarters. He chuckled at such vice and entertained the answer to a thoughtless mystery of how much sounds could come from a woman who had no man to spend it with.
The next morning allowed for more enticement to grow as he decided to see if she valued her dignity as much as her honesty.
Over fluffy morning bread and fine jam he posed the question to her regal face, "I heard some strange sounds over the night, was something the matter?"
She smiled quaintly over the rim of her breakfast tea as her long black lashes fluttered over the inquiry.
Hesitation and embarrassment he noted. She placed the cup down so softly it didn't make a sound, "I'm sorry?"
He continued with confusion on the outside and emotional sadism on the inside, "I...ah, believe I heard some things during the course of the night?" He laughed awkwardly again to ensure she understood that the outer self of him was being polite when the real him didn't give a damn.
She smiled something sickly and venomous at him, her deep blue eyes taking on a dead quality that annoyed him for some indiscernible reason, "Perhaps you were hearing things." She took back up her tea and sipped it more, it was clear to him she wouldn't be expanding on such a topic.
He munched at his food, disappointed at her answer and the lackluster turnout.
After finishing his meal he voiced that he had places to go and she absently began to see him off. He turned his back to her and that was when the burning sensation came again, this time it was wrapped around his throat. He yelled in offense and how unbelievable it was. He ended up crashing into the dining room furniture as she maintained her iron grip on him.
Certainly it was something painful but it was far from something that would kill him or even leave any lasting marks, but it burned like nothing before. His face hit the floor as he continued to struggle- the woman was somehow overpowering him with just her hands. He writhed from where he was pinned under her suddenly burdensome weight as he turned to face her and she saw those annoying blue eyes of hers boring into his. She was hissing something at him, whatever it was, she sounded enthralled.
He decided this woman needed only death.
He shifted and summoned whatever strength he had left and dug his fingers into hers, easily drawing blood and terrible shrieks from her painted mouth. It was enough to loosen her and he broke from her grip, gasping at the agony she left behind and expressing enough hatred for her frail frame that he could feel his mortal disguise beginning to slip from the outrage.
She brushed back her brown hair carelessly so that she could suckle the blood that was coming from her hands. She smirked at him having blown his cover.
He felt something on his face twitch at the nerve of this woman as he had to school his his facade back into the one he'd come to visit in the town overseen by one lone rich woman with.
He shakily got to his feet and stumbled to her and motioned to grasp her throat only to hiss again as her flesh burned mercilessly away at his. She cackled as he cradled his hands together, the burning only became worse each time he touched her he noticed.
"Dantalion," she breathed through lapping up the red essence of her body and he froze at her knowing his name.
She waltzed lazily back to her table and picked up a pitcher that'd been sitting there. He noticed with dread that it was a metal one and with even more apprehension as she fearlessly dangled her bleeding hand over the open top of it.
He sucked in his breath, dreading what she probably was going to do and helpless to stop her as she did.
The blood dripped into that wretched pitcher, and apparently she'd known more than she'd let on as he heard a ringing incantation echo in his head and before him in excruciating stereo, "Dantalion, granter of love and knowledge and bearer of many faces, I contract you in your truest form so that I may know my heart's profound desire and can fulfill it."
He felt his body warp into a guise of a different man, one who was thinner and a tint more exotic than the body he had been. He was now in a heavy winter cloak, his eyes were violet instead of black, his scalp crowned with near-white hair instead of a tousled mouse brown.
He knew she was smiling above his cringing form from the abrupt forcing of his being. Not because of the meager conversion however, but partly because he knew how much his body was aching to take on the guise of his more monstrous, truly demonic self. Such a form would have easily crushed this conniving woman's house, but would have broken the pact between the Celestial and the Damned. So instead it harmed him scores more than the precious treaties and formalities that were above his understanding.
He would have credited this woman, if only it wasn't such a crippling shock to his ego. He tried to will himself to recover from the toll it had taken on him. It maddened him more as he saw her take a haughty seat back at the table and sip her tea in irritation like his suffering wasn't easing fast enough for her.
By the time she'd finished sipping her Earl Grey he'd just about managed to kneel from the ground. He body was wrecked with painful tingles and he was barely maintaining the support he was placing on his knees as he took his customary bow.
From his peripheral he could see her supporting her face with her finger and thumb. She addressed him oddly, "So you can be contracted."
At no immediate answer she jabbed her heel into his forehead, which he absently thanked didn't burn as badly as touching her skin did.
"I expect an answer from a low-level demon like you."
He felt her shoe dig harder into his head, it wasn't the action that caused him pain, it was the humiliation. He answered through gritted teeth, "Of course, but it didn't sound like a questio-."
She removed her heel to his temporary relief, and then to his horror she flicked scalding blood at him. He clawed at it to remove it, suppressing the urge to howl at how much something so insignificant practically blinded him with pain.
"No lip from you demon, you're mine to command, you will obey my whims."
She flicked more blood at him and he crouched low to the floor as she continued her tirade and threat, "I can banish you from where whatever ground you occupy you miserable creature!"
He didn't remember asking a question, but apparently he had.
"You sad little demon, my blood is blessed, my soul is untouchable by your greedy paws. You're my servant until I relinquish your worthless name and seal."
He heard her move closer and felt something soft press into the top of his head. It was the last thing he felt before he blacked out.
-------
The surface world was far from impressive. Though he had risen from the most blistering and fetid portions of Hell, this place was a different and more appalling realm. It was by no means clean in any way, feathered swarms of vermin clucked and darted to and fro as he walked. Larger beasts snorted and smelt piercingly disgusting in comparison to the standards of the smoldering depths of his home. He wrinkled his nose at the oxen and other work-creatures he passed, sneering at how easily they had submitted to feeble human rule and the unbearable odor they'd cloaked their bodies with as part of their submission to man.
He passed by them and the fields they were branded to die in as he reached the cobbled area of the town. The humans there were miserable noisy things, worse than the stock of animals they kept. They chattered more fervently and obnoxiously than the chickens and smelt and more terrible company than their horses and cattle.
He scanned around the primitive gathering for something to spare his nose and appease his quailing stomach. Surely even human food could reprieve his senses.
Nothing but ill-washed merchants trying to heckle him or appeal the contents of someone else's frugal money bags met his survey of the humble area. He decided to humor one of the cleaner ones and grace them with his attention. A waste-eating grin greeted his gaze and he resisted the overwhelming urge to gag at the visage or to wipe the baker's existence off the face of the Earth.
The man spoke warmly to him and much more articulately than he expected, once more he appealed to his sense of merciful protocol and simply nodded to the man at all the right moments and smiled at all the right instances of trivially jovial monologue. For a piece of coarse silver and wasting five minutes of his time, he was given the most fragrant sweet bread in the entire trading plaza. He took it with another well-crafted false smile and hurried out as fast and carefully as he could.
Even though he wanted to escape back to Hell, he didn't want anything to really touch him. He would never get the stench out.
However, in his haste and distraction he managed to get lost.
He stared in all directions but masked it so that he looked like anyone admiring the scenery. At finding no familiar territory or markers, he decided to rest his disguised legs, human feet were not meant for walking great distances, he admitted.
As he examined all angles of the bread, he tried to retrace his steps and scowled at his dilatory memory that had not once failed him previously. He became even angrier at his pathetic situation when he couldn't recall the exact method to return. Asking for directions entered his mind and left just as quickly. He would not admit defeat nor ask any of the straggling villagers to help him in finding the hill he sought.
He nibbled furiously at his bought wares, too distracted to notice how it melted on his tongue or take note of the dainty noblewoman who approached him.
A fine hand on his shoulder surprised him badly. He reeled back from the touch as though it burned and he almost glared at her, but half-realized that he was still on the surface world and caught himself before hissing with offense at her.
The woman laughed at him, it sounded like tiny bells and jarring like nothing else on his ears.
His very being burned with shame at being caught unaware, and rage at the prospect of her finding comedy in his surprise. He hastily slid back on his human mask and searched for an emotion to cover his tracks. The most appropriate one he could think of was embarrassment.
His human shell blushed and laughed nervously, trying to mimic the ugly sound she had made to perfect the illusion. Apparently it had worked too well and to his chagrin, she knelt down and began to speak to him again, holding out her manicured, perfumed hand to him. Somehow in his babbling act of false good-nature, he'd managed to accept her invitation to her home.
To her credit, she was the cleanest human he'd met, so it was easier to take the offered help despite how madly his will screamed otherwise at the mistake.
He ended up following her home to her grand, but mostly empty mansion. He caught himself gazing upon it with intrigue. She kept an impressive house all to herself and in such meticulous order while the rest of the surrounding village toiled so hard only to be rewarded with sleep on soil that was in actuality better than them.
Just for that, he considered that perhaps she did deserve the luxury she surrounded herself with.
After she'd treated him to all manners of charities that he didn't want but still indulged in for all their worth, she sent him to his lofty quarters. To his amusement, he noticed how brutal she was with her servants when she thought he wasn't paying attention.
Something that amused him further was the nightly activities that she apparently thought she kept to herself and her bed quarters. He chuckled at such vice and entertained the answer to a thoughtless mystery of how much sounds could come from a woman who had no man to spend it with.
The next morning allowed for more enticement to grow as he decided to see if she valued her dignity as much as her honesty.
Over fluffy morning bread and fine jam he posed the question to her regal face, "I heard some strange sounds over the night, was something the matter?"
She smiled quaintly over the rim of her breakfast tea as her long black lashes fluttered over the inquiry.
Hesitation and embarrassment he noted. She placed the cup down so softly it didn't make a sound, "I'm sorry?"
He continued with confusion on the outside and emotional sadism on the inside, "I...ah, believe I heard some things during the course of the night?" He laughed awkwardly again to ensure she understood that the outer self of him was being polite when the real him didn't give a damn.
She smiled something sickly and venomous at him, her deep blue eyes taking on a dead quality that annoyed him for some indiscernible reason, "Perhaps you were hearing things." She took back up her tea and sipped it more, it was clear to him she wouldn't be expanding on such a topic.
He munched at his food, disappointed at her answer and the lackluster turnout.
After finishing his meal he voiced that he had places to go and she absently began to see him off. He turned his back to her and that was when the burning sensation came again, this time it was wrapped around his throat. He yelled in offense and how unbelievable it was. He ended up crashing into the dining room furniture as she maintained her iron grip on him.
Certainly it was something painful but it was far from something that would kill him or even leave any lasting marks, but it burned like nothing before. His face hit the floor as he continued to struggle- the woman was somehow overpowering him with just her hands. He writhed from where he was pinned under her suddenly burdensome weight as he turned to face her and she saw those annoying blue eyes of hers boring into his. She was hissing something at him, whatever it was, she sounded enthralled.
He decided this woman needed only death.
He shifted and summoned whatever strength he had left and dug his fingers into hers, easily drawing blood and terrible shrieks from her painted mouth. It was enough to loosen her and he broke from her grip, gasping at the agony she left behind and expressing enough hatred for her frail frame that he could feel his mortal disguise beginning to slip from the outrage.
She brushed back her brown hair carelessly so that she could suckle the blood that was coming from her hands. She smirked at him having blown his cover.
He felt something on his face twitch at the nerve of this woman as he had to school his his facade back into the one he'd come to visit in the town overseen by one lone rich woman with.
He shakily got to his feet and stumbled to her and motioned to grasp her throat only to hiss again as her flesh burned mercilessly away at his. She cackled as he cradled his hands together, the burning only became worse each time he touched her he noticed.
"Dantalion," she breathed through lapping up the red essence of her body and he froze at her knowing his name.
She waltzed lazily back to her table and picked up a pitcher that'd been sitting there. He noticed with dread that it was a metal one and with even more apprehension as she fearlessly dangled her bleeding hand over the open top of it.
He sucked in his breath, dreading what she probably was going to do and helpless to stop her as she did.
The blood dripped into that wretched pitcher, and apparently she'd known more than she'd let on as he heard a ringing incantation echo in his head and before him in excruciating stereo, "Dantalion, granter of love and knowledge and bearer of many faces, I contract you in your truest form so that I may know my heart's profound desire and can fulfill it."
He felt his body warp into a guise of a different man, one who was thinner and a tint more exotic than the body he had been. He was now in a heavy winter cloak, his eyes were violet instead of black, his scalp crowned with near-white hair instead of a tousled mouse brown.
He knew she was smiling above his cringing form from the abrupt forcing of his being. Not because of the meager conversion however, but partly because he knew how much his body was aching to take on the guise of his more monstrous, truly demonic self. Such a form would have easily crushed this conniving woman's house, but would have broken the pact between the Celestial and the Damned. So instead it harmed him scores more than the precious treaties and formalities that were above his understanding.
He would have credited this woman, if only it wasn't such a crippling shock to his ego. He tried to will himself to recover from the toll it had taken on him. It maddened him more as he saw her take a haughty seat back at the table and sip her tea in irritation like his suffering wasn't easing fast enough for her.
By the time she'd finished sipping her Earl Grey he'd just about managed to kneel from the ground. He body was wrecked with painful tingles and he was barely maintaining the support he was placing on his knees as he took his customary bow.
From his peripheral he could see her supporting her face with her finger and thumb. She addressed him oddly, "So you can be contracted."
At no immediate answer she jabbed her heel into his forehead, which he absently thanked didn't burn as badly as touching her skin did.
"I expect an answer from a low-level demon like you."
He felt her shoe dig harder into his head, it wasn't the action that caused him pain, it was the humiliation. He answered through gritted teeth, "Of course, but it didn't sound like a questio-."
She removed her heel to his temporary relief, and then to his horror she flicked scalding blood at him. He clawed at it to remove it, suppressing the urge to howl at how much something so insignificant practically blinded him with pain.
"No lip from you demon, you're mine to command, you will obey my whims."
She flicked more blood at him and he crouched low to the floor as she continued her tirade and threat, "I can banish you from where whatever ground you occupy you miserable creature!"
He didn't remember asking a question, but apparently he had.
"You sad little demon, my blood is blessed, my soul is untouchable by your greedy paws. You're my servant until I relinquish your worthless name and seal."
He heard her move closer and felt something soft press into the top of his head. It was the last thing he felt before he blacked out.
