The Forsworn Theater was once a respected establishment very early in Grict’s history. According to legend, one night a wizard was allowed to go perform on stage. Wizards had a long history of showmanship, no one had any reason to suspect anything but some flashy tricks and dazzling sights. The wizard allegedly did only one trick that night.
What exactly happened is a mystery as this was before all acts were recorded, anyone who did make it out had refused to mention a word of it. The most the public has been able to figure out is that the wizard had conjured some terrible creature that exists only when someone who knows what it is has informed another about it. A fact only known because of complex divination spells used on the survivors that exploited some loophole in the strange rules the creature abides by.
When the authorities got into the theater, the interior was heavily damaged and many of the people were as described by the witnesses “Unraveled like a piece of cloth.” The theater was subsequently shut down and so it remained as a ruin for decades. It became something of a ghost story and urban legend over the years. The survivors refused to mention anything about it out of fear of the monster returning. The wizard who conjured the monster seemed to have vanished totally as well. All hope of getting to the truth was lost.
When they were remaking most of the city into the shining beacon of modern society it is now, the theater was ordered to be demolished. The first day of its demolition was of workers scouring the building for rubble and anything that should be removed before the place was to be knocked over. Then every worker sent inside had horrible visions, reliving the events of that night from the perspective of the victims. These visions persisted until the demolition was called off.
The solution for the problem was to simply build over it. Mages used terraforming spells to sink it into the ground in its own private chamber. No one knows anymore where the theater was put. Though every so often there were tales of people wandering the caves beneath the city and finding it. Vaughn had no desire to wander through caves aimlessly, he needed something to guide him there.
The playbill inside the museum was what he needed. A piece of the theater that Vaughn can trace back to its source like a divining rod. He had taken a tour there earlier that day to scope out the place and find a good way to get in. Now it’s midnight and he had returned to steal it. Vaughn was never big on stealing when it wasn’t a job. If he had another way he would, but that is the only reliable way to get to the theater.
Vaughn was sitting on a roof across the street to the museum. He wore his full necromancer outfit and sat on a plastic lawn chair someone had left up here. The building was some kind of accounting firm from what he could gather. No one will be inside until morning. He looked over at the museum from his seat.
Vaughn had no intention of going inside the museum himself. He pulled out a small palm-sized book from his coat pocket. He flipped through the pages and examined the possibilities. Sandau is more suited for armed robbery than thievery, the ventriloquist is too noisy, none of the animal tamers or actors are a good choice either.
Then he found it, Greena Yurbiast the famous catfolk contortionist. Vaughn blew a puff of smoke from his wand and Greena crawled out. The lanky feline was easily taller than him and stared down at Vaughn silently. He put away the book and looked him in the eyes.
“Infiltrate the museum and steal the playbill. Avoid getting seen or confronting any guards. I’ll use a spell to see and speak through you the whole way to ensure it all goes right.” Vaughn commanded.
Greena nodded in silence. None of the reanimations ever talked, Vaughn both liked and disliked that fact. The contortionist quickly made his way down the fire escape Vaughn used to get up here. Vaughn looked over the side of the building and saw Greena run across the street. Vaughn had already found a good spot for entry and all of the people he summoned shared his knowledge. He sat back in his chair and took off his crimson glasses. He muttered a spell and tapped his wand against them. Vaughn put the glasses back on and he now was seeing through Greena’s eyes.
Being able to see through their eyes was originally all Sumeria knew how to do. Vaughn later figured out how to make himself speak through them and deliver new orders. He always wished Sumeria had figured it out too before they met. Then he might have been able to tell Seron he was alive.
He hopped the fence around the museum in a single leap and sprinted towards a small window just off the ground on the side of the building. It was a small window that no normal person could fit through. Greena grabbed the side of the window and tore it open, snapping the simple latch holding it shut. Vaughn was thankful the people he resurrected had limitless stamina and their physical strength is equal to their actual strength if they were in a constant state of adrenaline.
Greena easily squeezed inside and entered an archive room of sorts. Shelves lined in books and documents, thankfully no one seemed to be there since the lights were off. He easily navigated the dark basement thanks to his feline night vision. The playbill was on the second floor of the museum in the section dedicated to the history of this city.
His feline senses ensured there were no guards around, Greena quietly sneaked up some stairs and to the first floor. Vaughn was glad he arrived in this city when he did. The museum was in the middle of getting new cameras installed. Half of the cameras in the building were nonfunctional since the hardware for the new ones wasn’t fully installed yet. Greena carefully made his way through the museum and towards a staircase, being alert for guards at all times.
Greena saw a flashlight at the end of a hall, a guard was about to round the corner. He quickly ducked inside a room to the side, an exhibit on the various schools of magic. He hid behind a large stone with runes etched into the side. Waiting patiently for the guard to pass.
“Who the fuck are you!?” a voice whispered behind him.
Greena turned around to see an imp hiding behind a wax statue of Grinbid the founder of modern illusion magics. The imp was looking at him with his ever so slightly glowing orange eyes. He was hiding too, Vaughn wondered why he was in there. He then spoke through Greena to get answers.
“Who the fuck are you!?” Vaughn asked.
“Get outta here! I was here first, I’m taking this score!” the imp whispered.
“What score? I’m just here for one thing.” Vaughn said.
“Fuck off I’m getting it!” The imp said.
“Getting what? I’m after the playbill from the Forsworn Theater! What are you after?” Vaughn asked.
He took a closer look at the imp. Vaughn wasn’t very familiar with demons as he had little experience with them outside of what limited knowledge Seron told him. The imp was one of the smaller breeds of demon. Only three feet tall and rather thin bodies equipped with wings, this imp’s skin was a deep orange color. Imps are actually other demons that have been punished and sentenced to serve their version of community service, which is being transformed into this diminutive form and tasked to work off their time. Vaughn knew that imps are trouble, he was fully prepared to have Greena attack him if needed.
“I’m after the Magma Heart!” the imp said.
“Great, can you just go work on that while I do my thing?” Vaughn asked.
“Fuck you, I was here first! Get out, I don’t need anyone else messing this up!” the imp said.
“No! I’m not missing this perfect chance to-” Vaughn said before hearing a noise and going quiet.
A guard peeked into the room, Greena and the imp hid behind their respective hiding spots. The flashlight’s beam shined into the dark room, the guard looked around at various spots but stood in place. He grumbled and then moved on with his patrol. The imp quickly scampered inside an air vent hidden behind a chair. Greena will have to move fast, no doubt the imp planned to use him as a distraction so he can make a clean getaway. Greena climbed into the vent after him, his flexibility and thin frame allowing him to follow the imp.
Vaughn took off the glasses and decided that he should set up an escape plan. Originally Greena was just going to come back and Vaughn would walk away with the prize. Now there was the threat of the whole heist going bad. Vaughn made his way down the fire escape and onto the alley below. He took off his mask and hat and his coat. He found a small but empty cardboard box and stuffed them all inside along with his wand. Vaughn then sat against the wall beside a pile of damp boxes and did his best impression of a bum. He was good at it since he essentially was one for most of his life. Now if the police arrive and begin searching, he would just look like some random guy trying to nap.
Vaughn put the glasses back on and saw Greena peering at the playbill from the vents. The sound of the imp crawling away was also heard. Greena must have spotted it during the chase and stopped. He carefully removed the cover to the vent and poked his head out to look for guards.
None could be seen or heard. Greena silently dropped down from the vent and approached the small glass case that held the playbill. It was at this moment Vaughn let out an audible “shit” at his realization. He forgot to figure out how to silently open the glass case. This museum is rigged with alarms set to go off if the glass around the displays are shattered. Greena had no way to get to it since the displays are locked tight. Then Greena heard a loud crash and the shattering of glass in another room before then hearing a very loud “FUCK!” before the alarms started blaring.
Whatever the imp was doing, he seems to have done a bad job at it. However, Vaughn knew not to waste this chance. Greena grabbed the vent cover and smashed the glass, then he snatched the playbill and stuffed it inside his tight clothes. All of the guards were going to be converging on the area, Greena began sprinting away from where he heard the imp.
Greena practically jumped down the staircase to the first floor. Unfortunately he landed right in front of a birdfolk security guard. Greena quickly jabbed them in several pressure points along their feather body, the security guard found themselves instantly weak and paralyzed. They collapsed onto the floor, by the time he can speak again Greena will be long gone. Unfortunately, others down the hall saw Greena as well. He ran down the stairs and to the archive room, they scrambled through the window they used to enter and sprinted across the street.
Vaughn took off his glasses and waited. Greena came sprinting by and swiftly tossed the playbill against the wall beside where Vaughn was sitting. He quickly grabbed it and hid it under the cardboard box. Greena continued to sprint down the alleyway and turn a corner. Guards soon came running down the alley trying to give chase. One looked at Vaughn and he replied with “He went left” The guards sprinted after Greena once more. Vaughn smiled and tapped his wand to dispel Greena.
“Great, now this whole place is gonna be a crime scene, I ain’t going to get any sleep in this spot.” Vaughn said just in case anyone was listening before packing the playbill in the box and carrying it all down the street.
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“Come on, what’s taking him so long?” an agitated merfolk sitting in the driver’s seat of a van said.
“Just calm down okay, he’s got as more riding on this than we do.” a gnome in the passenger seat said as he looked towards his colleague. “He knows if he does this, he will get de-impified or whatever they call it. Even if he is a bastard who deserved to be turned into one, he ain’t gonna risk losing that.”
“But what if he runs off with the Magma Heart?” the merfolk said.
“You don’t know what that thing does? Any demon who holds it too long will have their soul burnt to a crisp and become host to some spirit or something. Just even being near it too long will do it unless it’s sealed in a specially made container.” the gome says as he points to the metal box resting in the back seat with markings etched into the side. “That thing had to be custom made to hold the heart, no way he’ll survive running off with this thing.”
“Okay, you have a point there.” the merfolk said.
“Not to mention that demon who hired us explicitly said he’ll hunt down any of us that try to screw him over on this. I’ve worked with him before, he won't blame us if that little shit runs off. Our only problem right now is if we all get caught.” the gnome said.
“Well now I’m worried again!” the merfolk said.
“You’re just nervous since this is like your third job. I’m a pro and I’m gonna make sure you-” the gnome said before seeing someone staring at him through the window beside the merfolk.
Prince Lavor reached through the window and put the merfolk in a headlock. The gnome tried to react but was grabbed from behind by a pair of large demonic hands. Cyreen and Lavor had found where Morot was going to rob, their plan was to intercept him at the escape vehicle. They both held onto the two thieves tightly, the gnome stayed calm while the merfolk was about to panic.
“Who might you two be?” The gnome asked.
“We need information from Morot, so we figured we’d get him here.” Cyreen said.
“Cooperate and we’ll have no reason to harm either of you or disrupt this heist. We only want Morot, what you are stealing is of no concern to us.” Lavor said.
“Alright! Just let us go.” the gnome said as he pressed a button to unlock the doors.
Lavor and Cyreen released their grasp on both of the thieves. The merfolk seemed to be calming down ever so slightly, the gnome was tense but cautious. The two got in the back seats and sat patiently. Lavor had no weapons with him, but even with the human arms he is still a good deal stronger than anyone in the van.
“Might I ask what you want with Morot?” the gnome asked, trying to distract his partner.
“He was involved in a job recently. I need to know more about it.” Lavor said.
“And what do you intend to do with him once you know?” the gnome asked.
“Make sure he can’t warn the one who hired him for that job.” Lavor said.
“Fair enough. You’d be doing the world a favor by getting rid of him anyway.” the gnome said as he settled back into his seat.
Suddenly they heard the alarms go off inside the museum. The gnome cursed under his breath, if Morot gets caught then none of them will get paid for this job. Cyreen spotted a thin grey figure running out from a different side of the museum than they were facing. Several guards give chase after them, Cyreen briefly wondered why they looked familiar before seeing Morot. Jump out of an open window.
He’s clutching a glowing red-orange object in his hands as he flapped his wings to fly over to them. The gnome grabbed the case and held it open as Morot landed nearby. The imp quickly shoved the Magma Heart inside the case and the gnome sealed it shut. Morot opens the door to the back seat and is instantly grabbed by the throat by Lavor.
“ACK! What the fuck! Where did you come from!?” Morot asked as he fruitlessly tried to get free.
“Sorry Morot, they just kinda showed up.” the gnome said as Lavor and Cyreen stepped out of the van. “We’ll go tell him you upheld your part of the deal so if you make it back you’ll get the credit you needed.”
The van sped off into the night, Cyreen and Lavor quickly ran further into the alley in case anyone tried to track Morot. He clawed at Lavor’s arms and kicked with all the strength his minuscule frame had, Lavor felt like holding a child having a tantrum. An interrogation here was not ideal, they both agreed he should be brought back to the hideout. Lavor pinned Morot against a wall as Cyreen grabbed the front of his head. She weaved a spell with her other hand, a green streak circled her hand before traveling up her arm and down the other arm. The underside of her hand glowed as Morot suddenly went limp.
It was a simple anti-demon spell, almost like a tranquilizer. It will weaken larger demons but smaller ones like imps will be knocked out from it. Lavor slung Morot over his shoulder and they began their walk back. The police sirens in the distance unaware where their target is going.
Morot woke up tied to a pipe in one of the bathrooms of the gas station Cyreen and Lavor turned into their hideout. Cyreen stood against a wall as Lavor kneeled down and glared at Morot with all four eyes. Morot was a depraved and despicable excuse of a demon, but even he knew his limits. He silently tried to hold back any fear he felt.
“It’s been a while Morot.” Lavor said.
“Yeah, it has. Lots of people have issues with me but no one has ever done this! So what is it? Upset I helped that skank overthrow you even though as an imp I’m practically obligated to serve demons like her?” Morot said.
“Oh I’m very upset about that and plenty of other things you did to deserve being an imp, but that’s not exactly why you’re here. You helped in the capture of a warlock named Ginsyg, where is he?” Lavor asked.
“You want to find your sugar baby huh? Yeah the big cunt downstairs told me to nab him, so what?” Morot asked.
“I’m giving you a chance to tell me peacefully, tell me where he is.” Lavor said.
“Or what? Do you know how many times I’ve been beaten, cursed, dismembered, and even killed!? There’s no easy way out of an imp sentence! Even if you get burnt to a crisp you just climb out of the spawning pits in the same scrawny body!” Morot said.
Having anticipated it would come to this, Cyreen opened the door for Lavor. He reached for something just outside the door and pulled it into the room. Lavor brandished the Holy Torch of Sangvald and Morot’s eyes went wide. He looked at the bandaged arms on Lavor and the large demonic arms on Cyreen.
“No fucking way, you swapped arms so you could wield that thing?!” Morot said.
“Yes, we did. That’s how determined I am to get my throne back.” Lavor said.
“No way, that’s gotta be a fake!” Morot said.
Lavor Held the lantern up to Morot’s face so he could see the intricate carvings of all the demons who were killed by the torch. “You know damn well the last thing I want is for you to warn her. If this was a fake and I killed you with it, you’d just appear back in the pits like you said. You know me, do you really think I’d do something stupid like that?”
“That flame is certain death for any demon. Even for an imp.” Cyreen said as Lavor held the flame closer to Morot’s head.
“Alright! I’ll talk! We took the guy to a demon refuge in the tunnels!” Morot said.
“Little Deep, I know the place.” Lavor said.
“It was my job to lure him there so some of her goons could nab him! They said they had a place to keep him there! That’s all I was hired to do, I swear!” Morot said.
Lavor knew he was telling the truth, imps are literally unable to lie. He heard it was some kind of change built into the whole imp curse. So he knew Morot’s words were good. That also meant he had no more use for him.
Lavor quickly swung the lantern, hitting the side of Morot’s head and breaking his neck. His body twitched and burst into purple/gold flames as he let out pained gurgles. The flames burned bright and intensely, yet they produced no heat. Soon all that remained of Morot was a golden ash stain on the bathroom floor. A small patch of light shined on the top part of the lantern as a stylized carving of Morot was etched into the metal.
“What now?” Cyreen asked.
“Hold on, just savoring the moment.” Lavor said as he stood up straight and smelled the ashes wafting off the floor, the scent burned his nostrils but he didn’t care.
“He really deserved that huh?” Cyreen asked.
“If anything I just made more enemies because I was the one to actually kill him for good. There were plenty of others who wanted to do that.” Lavor said.
“I’ll take your word for it. So what did he say about a demon refuge?” Cyreen asked.
“An old demon lord made an underground base in preparation for some attack on the city above. It failed but the place is still standing and it was well made. So once the whole demon wars ended, some turned it into a small community of sorts.” Lavor said.
“Neat. So we’ll be heading there?” Cyreen said.
“Not me, I’ll get recognized immediately. You need to go alone.” Lavor said.
“Okay…. I understand why, but how am I supposed to find him? I don’t even know what he looks like!” Cyreen said.
“It has been a while, let me think….” Lavor said before gradually getting a sullen look in his eyes.
“Lavor…. You okay?” Cyreen asked.
Lavor didn’t answer, he just walked back to the storage room. Cyreen and Lavor had cleaned it up and turned a shipment of clean towels into makeshift beds. Lavor pulled off his hood and revealed his face with a short snout like that of a bat’s but without the weird nose. He propped the torch against the wall and laid down on the bed. Cyreen kneeled down beside him and looked at his tired eyes.
“You okay?” Cyreen asked.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been okay. You asked me what Ginsyg looks like and I was remembering back to the day I became his patron since that was when I last saw him in person. Then it got me thinking, what the hell am I doing being a patron? I don’t even know any magic! Sure the powers the throne gives me are great but that’s not a skill like your stuff, it’s just a tool.” Lavor said.
“I’d say it counts as magic.” Cyreen said as she sat down on the bed beside him.
“But that’s not the point. Why am I even a patron in the first place?” Lavor said before grabbing one of Cyreen’s hands and looking at the symbol under the wrists. “All because I crawled out of those pits with those things etched into my skin?”
“We’re all born with shit we don’t have a say in getting. I would have liked to not be persecuted for my heritage and have grown up inside an actual house with my real parents.” Cyreen said.
“Do you know what it’s like for a demon when we are born?” Lavor asked as he let go of her wrist.
“No, I don’t know much aside from the fact that you all crawl out of some primordial demonic ooze.” Cyreen said.
“If a demon wants an apprentice or something akin to a child, they more or less stroll down to the pits and grab whoever catches their fancy. Then it’s their job to raise and teach them. We’re all born with inherent knowledge, our bodies start out equivalent to an eight year-old human. So we learn fast.” Lavor said.
“Wish I could have kids that start out like that. Then I might actually consider having some.” Cyreen said.
“I didn’t realize this until a few months ago. But someone there must have been looking for someone with those marks to emerge. The moment the person working the pits saw those, he picked me up and made sure I wasn’t mixed in with the others. Then my master arrived and took me in.” Lavor said.
“Are you saying your master was preparing for someone like you to be born?” Cyreen asked.
“I was. My master had no malicious intent, but he believed all of demonkind needed a leader to guide them out of this rough period. I imagine he wanted the marks on me to ensure I would get the throne.” Lavor said.
“And why is this coming to mind now?” Cyreen asked.
“I’m here, in a city I don’t know, using arms that aren't mine, living with a random witch I found in a prison, and others of my kind are trying to hunt me down. Just…. Why the fuck am I dealing with all this?” Lavor said.
“Are you saying you want to just give up?” Cyreen asked.
“No, I want my throne back. I want to help demonkind. My master may have trained me for this but it was ultimately my choice on if I wanted to follow through or not. That’s the one choice I can wholly say was my own. Everything else is me reacting to someone else’s choice or someone deciding for me.” Lavor said.
Cyreen sympathized with Lavor. Wasn’t her choice that any of the major life changing events in her life happened to her. She first thought Lavor rescuing her was a trick and tried ditching him at first. She’s glad that guess was wrong.
“Well, your next big choice can be how you want Deinia executed.” Cyreen said.
“Oh she’s getting turned into an imp first, then I smash her with the torch.” Lavor said with a smirk.