Agazuul found himself in Durnaelf, a large town. Now to find Carl Agazuul thought to himself. He looked around till he found a quest board. If he learned anything about Carl during their time in the Deeprealm together, apart from him being a coward, it’s that Carl overeagerly sought ways to get extra coin. There were multiple notices pertaining to mysterious demonic attacks on the taverns around Durnaelf. Agazuul sought out a nearby tavern and found Iorwen, a tavern wench.

"Did you see a man in a burgundy trenchcoat with light brown hair and brown eyes, deep-set eyes that betray his lack of sleep and tell a tale of sadness?"

"That does ring a bell, yeah; a moment ago, someone like that asked about the taverns. I couldn’t help him much as he rudely declared he already knew what I knew." Iorwen said it didn’t surprise Agazuul in the slightest to hear of Carl’s blunt rudeness.

"Any idea where he went off to?" Agazuul asked, making a big show of being extra courteous with his tone and demeanor.

"Pretty sure I saw him wandering the streets talking to anybody willing to listen. It didn’t seem like it was getting him anywhere, huffing and puffing all the while." Iorwen answered, frustration with Carl visible on her face.

"Well, thank you, Iorwen, you’ve been a great help!" Agazuul said, putting a grand smile on her face.

Agazuul returned to the quest board and noted every tavern that put up a notice. When looking over a town map with that information, it seemed as if the attacks had started near the main entrance and had been making their way through the town going southbound, which meant that if Carl were still as much of a drunkard as always, he’d find him in the first tavern that was still open for business–The Skookum Crow.

The glass shattered at the front entrance of the Skookum Crow, bringing with it not only shards of glass but also a man in a burgundy trenchcoat and a rat the size of a wolf. Agazuul reacted quickly, drawing upon a power that required a mere focus upon it, no need for any runes or incantations. Raging flames formed in his hand, and Agazuul sent it out towards the rat; the flame became green, and within a skull clacked its teeth at its future victim, the yellow glow in the empty eyesocks hungrily seeking out the monster.

The rat burst apart, leaving Carl covered in goop. Carl looked up towards Agazuul.

"You could’ve hit me, killed me!"

"Killed you? If that were the case, I’d have to reconsider my proposal." Agazuul said, playing up the dramatic theatrics.

"A proposal? What proposal?" Carl answered; Agazuul had him, with only the hook, no need for line or sinker.

"Let’s discuss over drinks; this seems like a fine drinking hole!" Agazuul declared, pointing at the trashed tavern Carl had just hurled out of. Agazuul looked upon his old companion, and old seemed right. Carl had aged quite ungracefully. A bald spot and thinning hair spoke of high stress, while the gray wanted to swallow what little hair was left.

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"Barman, your best whiskey!" Agazuul demanded. While Carl and Agazuul had their differences, it only took a few glasses to recognize comradery in one another. Had things gone differently, they might’ve met monthly or weekly over a round of drinks like this. They talked of worms that ate through stone like horses racing through meadows. They spoke of horrific demons, each unique in their cruel, brutal killings of the dark-elves that chased them but also of the dark elves who helped them. A long pause preceded Carl’s next question.

"Do you still think about the Demonic Dukes?" How could Agazuul possibly forget? But it was best to let Carl take the lead; otherwise, how could Agazuul ascertain how best to convince Carl of his plan. With a solemn nod, Carl continued.

"There were three demonic dukes down there, in the Deeprealm. Well, I’m just saying what we both know." He was having trouble recalling that part, seeing how many loose ends their fixing of the problem left. Holes big enough for world-ending nightmares to climb out of that would come for them first with a vengeance. Agazuul poured him another glass of whiskey and gave a reassuring nod to continue.

"The three dukes that almost ruled the Deeprealm–Debauchery, Deception & Death."

Carl slowly sipped his drink before slamming it back.

"Mendak, Duke of Deception, a tricky bugger, wasn’t convinced we had one over him till it was over; sometimes, I still fear we might’ve had it wrong. Scortas, damn him, damn that devil turned Demonic Duke, damn him and his debauchery, maybe Mendak came up with the ploy, but Scortas played us like a fiddle. To think he was Arathorn Sylgolor that whole time! Arathorn was instrumental during our escape from that dark-elven trading post. If it weren’t for Lixiss, we would’ve never even known! Orcus, Demonic Duke of Death, I banished that guy! I had to; he was going to kill us! Although I can’t help but admit life might’ve fared better, and I might’ve slept more soundly had I the comfort of knowing he was gone for good." There it was, the bolts Agazuul needed.

"That’s why I sought you out; I am going to put an end to the Duke of Death!" Agazuul stated, convinced it was already a fact. Carl was flabbergasted. Carl left to go outside, and Agazuul paid it no mind. It was only natural for Carl. Carl wasn’t a hero; Carl was a coward, unwilling to risk his hide even to save it.

Agazuul could hear Carl talking himself into it; he did that sometimes. Carl entered through the broken window, too distracted to realize the front door was still fully functional.

"I’ll do it, Agazuul! If I do this one thing, I can return to my wife knowing I can stop looking over my shoulder." Carl trembled as he said it; Agazuul held his tongue. There were, of course, two more dukes slighted on that day. Those two dukes were as likely to have a grudge worth tearing a portal for.

"We just need one more person, our dear Lixiss!" Agazuul shouted, lifting his glass high. When he put it back down, Carl filled it and his own. They spoke of Lixiss but also of those they had lost along the way; Agazuul started explaining parts of the plan to Carl but, seeing Carl’s frightened demeanor, thought better of it and decided to go for broad strokes instead, finishing with:

"Well then, Carl, one last quest?" Carl turned to answer a positive answer for once upon his tongue, but he turned suddenly pale as milk. He stared towards a man sitting in the Skookum Crow, who had entered without a noise. His was a plain face, freckled with ginger hair, a suntanned complexion, and eyes of green.

END OF CHAPTER 8 - Agazuul 4