PhoeKun
2007-07-17, 04:29 PM
In Hell, trust is given rarely, and at one's own peril. Not a single denizen of Baator would think twice about stabbing another in the back. Not if it meant a rise in station. Not if they found someone stupid enough to believe they understood the whole truth. And nowhere was this more true than the frigid waters of Stygia, the aquatic and self styled principality of Hell ruled by a being entombed in ice for his arrogant scheming: The Treacher, Leviathan (better known to some as Levistus).
But the Prince of Stygia stood as the ultimate example of why this advice held true in more ways than one. His attempts to wrest control of Hell from the vice-like grip of Asmodeus were the stuff of legends, and for them he was entombed in a permanent glacier, condemned to drift helplessly along the waters of Stygia even as he ruled the plane. The Treacher was forced to trust... and he did not appreciate the irony.
Still, Leviathan's predicament proved to be a boon to the other devils in his company, particularly an ambitious young female Pit Fiend named Kishara. Kishara had desperately clawed her way through the hegemony of Baator, rising from her miserable position as a Lemure to Pit Fiend status, and on the cusp of nobility. And even that was not enough to quell her desperation. Always in the back of her mind were the terrified memories of her time spent as a Lemure on the front lines of Hell's armies; when she was less than a grunt, barely even cannon fodder. How many times had she stared at the claws of powerful demons? How many times, through pure, unadulterated luck had she survived? She could never distance herself enough from that position.
If there was one thing Leviathan loved, it was taking advantage of the desperation of others. He shuffled Kishara through an endless string of sideways promotions, piling duty after duty on top of her while investing her with only the barest traces of authority needed to complete her assigned tasks. She furthered the machinations of the Frozen Prince, and clung to him desperately as her only means of pulling herself into the upper echelons of Hellish society. Until the day he sent her to spy on Asmodeus...
Of course she would be caught. He knew that; Kishara had simply outlived her usefulness, and this was the perfect way to cast her aside. Imagine his surprise when she returned, excitedly weaving a tale of her capture and subsequent rescue at the hands of Mephistopheles. More exciting still, the Lord of the Eighth had shared with her a secret - a ritual that could shatter Leviathan's icy prison. At once, he suspected a trap, and yet... what if it was true? Mephistopheles was just as brazen, perhaps more so, in his attempts to depose Asmodeus, and freeing Leviathan would certainly be something that would aid in his scheming. He did not like the idea of owing a favor to Mephistopheles, but he liked the idea of remaining in his glacier even less. If the opportunity turned out to be genuine, and he passed it up, he knew that something in him would snap. His choice was clear: he had to trust Kishara.
The ritual began, and the Treacher's precious Amnizu loyalists were slaughtered by the thousands to power its dark magics. Dismay turned to hope as cracks formed in the ice. Hope turned to jubilation as massive chunks fell away and floated into the inky blackness of the Stygian depths. Jubilation turned to fear as he heard the sound of laughter - the dark and terrifying laughter of Asmodeus. Leviathan's body quivered within its weakening prison as the truth tore at him like a rusted saw. He was never meant to gain his freedom. His every scheme and desire were simply pieces of the far grander plot of the Overlord of Hell. The ice had become synonymous with his body, and both crumbled away to nothing, leaving only a tortured scream lingering in the waves.
Almost at once, the layer began to change. The temperature rose. Ice everywhere, once considered impossible to melt, began to do just that. Water began to evaporate, but more than that, it drained; hungrily absorbed by the land. The Styx itself seemed to disappear, reduced to the merest trickle. The air, present for the first time ever on Stygia, was arid and dry despite the black and angry storm clouds hanging overhead. Many of the former aquatic denizens of Stygia lay dying on the parched earth, some crumbling to dust as their life force was sucked out of them. Surely, this dried and desolate wasteland could no longer be called Stygia. A new name whispered through the winds: Antenora.
Kishara stood stunned. And her body, too, began to wither. Her flesh dried out, cracked, and crumbled away. The Pit Fiend named Kishara was no more. Standing in her place was a lean and hungry figure who would never again know satisfaction. The new Lady of the Fifth. The Black Hunger: Fame Nera...
But the Prince of Stygia stood as the ultimate example of why this advice held true in more ways than one. His attempts to wrest control of Hell from the vice-like grip of Asmodeus were the stuff of legends, and for them he was entombed in a permanent glacier, condemned to drift helplessly along the waters of Stygia even as he ruled the plane. The Treacher was forced to trust... and he did not appreciate the irony.
Still, Leviathan's predicament proved to be a boon to the other devils in his company, particularly an ambitious young female Pit Fiend named Kishara. Kishara had desperately clawed her way through the hegemony of Baator, rising from her miserable position as a Lemure to Pit Fiend status, and on the cusp of nobility. And even that was not enough to quell her desperation. Always in the back of her mind were the terrified memories of her time spent as a Lemure on the front lines of Hell's armies; when she was less than a grunt, barely even cannon fodder. How many times had she stared at the claws of powerful demons? How many times, through pure, unadulterated luck had she survived? She could never distance herself enough from that position.
If there was one thing Leviathan loved, it was taking advantage of the desperation of others. He shuffled Kishara through an endless string of sideways promotions, piling duty after duty on top of her while investing her with only the barest traces of authority needed to complete her assigned tasks. She furthered the machinations of the Frozen Prince, and clung to him desperately as her only means of pulling herself into the upper echelons of Hellish society. Until the day he sent her to spy on Asmodeus...
Of course she would be caught. He knew that; Kishara had simply outlived her usefulness, and this was the perfect way to cast her aside. Imagine his surprise when she returned, excitedly weaving a tale of her capture and subsequent rescue at the hands of Mephistopheles. More exciting still, the Lord of the Eighth had shared with her a secret - a ritual that could shatter Leviathan's icy prison. At once, he suspected a trap, and yet... what if it was true? Mephistopheles was just as brazen, perhaps more so, in his attempts to depose Asmodeus, and freeing Leviathan would certainly be something that would aid in his scheming. He did not like the idea of owing a favor to Mephistopheles, but he liked the idea of remaining in his glacier even less. If the opportunity turned out to be genuine, and he passed it up, he knew that something in him would snap. His choice was clear: he had to trust Kishara.
The ritual began, and the Treacher's precious Amnizu loyalists were slaughtered by the thousands to power its dark magics. Dismay turned to hope as cracks formed in the ice. Hope turned to jubilation as massive chunks fell away and floated into the inky blackness of the Stygian depths. Jubilation turned to fear as he heard the sound of laughter - the dark and terrifying laughter of Asmodeus. Leviathan's body quivered within its weakening prison as the truth tore at him like a rusted saw. He was never meant to gain his freedom. His every scheme and desire were simply pieces of the far grander plot of the Overlord of Hell. The ice had become synonymous with his body, and both crumbled away to nothing, leaving only a tortured scream lingering in the waves.
Almost at once, the layer began to change. The temperature rose. Ice everywhere, once considered impossible to melt, began to do just that. Water began to evaporate, but more than that, it drained; hungrily absorbed by the land. The Styx itself seemed to disappear, reduced to the merest trickle. The air, present for the first time ever on Stygia, was arid and dry despite the black and angry storm clouds hanging overhead. Many of the former aquatic denizens of Stygia lay dying on the parched earth, some crumbling to dust as their life force was sucked out of them. Surely, this dried and desolate wasteland could no longer be called Stygia. A new name whispered through the winds: Antenora.
Kishara stood stunned. And her body, too, began to wither. Her flesh dried out, cracked, and crumbled away. The Pit Fiend named Kishara was no more. Standing in her place was a lean and hungry figure who would never again know satisfaction. The new Lady of the Fifth. The Black Hunger: Fame Nera...