The Imp Warrens were a nasty place to find yourself, especially if you were an imp.
They were dark, cramped, dirty, and dangerous. Cut into the omnipresent black stone of the Underworld, they ran beneath almost every inch of the infernal plane in a sprawling network that was accessible from almost anywhere, as long as you were welcome. The tunnels housed millions of imps that bit, clawed, hexed, deceived, and cheated each other daily with the type of enthusiasm that was rarely found outside of crowded marketplaces during sales or certain festivals. Despite the rampant barbarism and treachery, the exact center of this enormous network was lavishly crafted with nothing but opulent hedonism in mind. Huge stone gates guarded by armored Lesser Demons wielding large mallets divided the haves from the have-nots quite effectively, and the complex within was almost a different plane of the Underworld entirely.
Groups of powerful imps sat in elegant finery as they wove increasingly outlandish tales to one-up the others in attendance in beautifully carved parks of obsidian stone. Decorative pits of molten rock spat pillars of flame into the air in an artful imitation of the surface that lay a great distance over their heads, the illumination kept inoffensively low. Wide, well-paved roads were laid out in tasteful circles around the Inner City of the Warrens, and each resident had a small holding carved into the stone of the cavern. Each was warded by exceedingly brutal boobytraps and runes that bordered on suicidal in their effects, all uniquely devised by the Imp that inhabited them. Zeptik emerged from the largest such residence, which dominated the most desirable section of the cavern wall by what passed for a marketplace in the Inner City. He smiled viciously as his doors slammed behind him with an obnoxiously loud bang that echoed out around the almost silent city like the crack of doom.
He smoothed down the scruffy mane of fur that covered most of his body before activating the arrays he had painstakingly arranged before he departed from his abode. He swelled in size, towering almost head and shoulders over the other imps that quickly excused themselves from his general vicinity, and his horns grew at an alarming rate until they curled back over his head. Zeptik made sure that the runes proclaiming his Nobility were the brightest of all as he checked the sigil that had manifested itself over his heart with a gleeful nod that made his long pointy nose bob alarmingly. Today was a good day; Master had returned to the Tower along with Barthalas' prison and was hard at work unsealing the stuffy killjoy of a demon from within. Mirriana had volunteered to 'guard' the prisoner they had taken during the assault on the Verren Adventurer's Guild and Virax was asleep like always. That meant that he had time to collect on a few bets, bully a few rivals, and rub his success in everyone’s faces whether they liked it or not, something that he felt he was particularly skilled at.
"Oh Frazrep, Renvip, Grodrit too!", he sang loudly with wicked glee, "You all owe me, yes you do! When I come knocking, what should you do? Pay up stupid, or I'll eat you!"
He took the time to walk on two legs despite running on all fours certainly being faster. Zeptik appreciated the way all the other imps looked away or groveled at his feet while he strolled directly into traffic down the wrong side of the road, forcing the rest of the entitled imps to veer off to the sides of the street and wait for him to pass. A few of the minor Nobility looked like they wanted to say something, but after the first emerald incineration for looking at him sideways, they wisely joined in on the groveling. Zeptik mostly ignored them, only stopping to taunt everyone a few dozen times in a show of great self-control before he made his way toward the center of the cavern and the most important building to all of Impkind. He gazed lovingly at the monolithic spire of dark rock that dominated the center of the Inner City and served as the heart of Imp culture since the dawn of creation.
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The Gambling Den.
Zeptik owned half of it, which was a feat in and of itself, considering the Imp King owned the other half and the whole thing had been the entire eternal property of the Royal Imps previously. Zeptik swore he could still hear the begging as he ‘convinced’ the King that it’d be smart to let him buy his way into the scam every time he walked through the enormous archway ahead of him. Nasal shrieks of victory and rage drifted out of the Den as he approached, ceremonial door guards dropping to the floor to kiss his feet as he entered. He magnanimously allowed them to do so, only kicking the ugly ones in the face as continued his smug stroll through the long tunnel that led into the heart of the Gambling Den and the court of the Imp King himself.
The lovingly decorated onyx tunnels soon ended and the floor descended away to a huge amphitheater, with balconies carved into every inch of the hollow spire’s walls as they soared above him. He grinned nastily, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he darted down the long staircase to the field of the amphitheater itself. Cries of alarm spread out in his wake as more and more of the imps caught sight of his hulking form while he dashed towards the King's Court like bad news incarnate. Zeptiks horrid clawed feet skittered off the polished stone of the steps and he threw himself into an acrobatic leap, vaulting over the last flight entirely to land a few feet past the circle of guards that surrounded the field.
Zeptik threw his arms up in a flourish as he landed the flip before performing a mockingly precise bow towards the Imp King where he sat glowering on a pile of treasure. The pile of the day appeared to be Void Pearls, and Zeptik exploded into laughter instantly at the sight of it, pointing brazenly at the loot. He clung to his knees and doubled over with raucous laughter, somehow maintaining eye contact with the Imp King the entire time before theatrically wiping away a tear from his eye and straightening up.
“What’s the matter, your Highness? Afraid if it was something good I’d take it again? Thanks again for the Flawless Soulprisms by the way, I use them for everything these days, I see why you liked them.”
Grodrit gritted his teeth angrily from his perch atop the pile of slightly less exorbitant wealth than usual as the insult stung his pride, “Nah, just didn't wanna have to wash the stench of the mortal realm from my belongings again. You smell like dirt, by the way, it suits you. Really.”
Zeptik laughed along with the King’s cronies as they automatically guffawed at the verbal jousting as per their contractual agreements.
“Aha ha ha ha…Oh, yeah that’s great you finally learned how to name smells. You always did struggle with that, but your hygiene is what it is…I mean I get it, we all have our problems, right?” Zeptik nodded sagely before stopping with a raised eyebrow as he regarded Grodrit evilly, “Problems like owing me big time.”
It took absolutely everything Zeptik had to stop himself from dancing in place with joy as the Royal Imp before him began to visibly sweat, his eyes darting about desperately for someone to pin the debt on.