In a vast hall, a conclave of representatives from dark races had assembled. This gathering was a macabre tapestry of Drow, Orcs, Duergar, Hobgoblins, Gith, Tieflings, Oni, Succubi, Lizardfolk, Kenku, and more. Among them, numerous clans, each proudly bearing unique banners and symbols, stood arrayed. While most clans were homogeneous, a few were intriguing blends of two or three different races, forming alliances as unlikely as they were formidable.

They convened to honour their supreme ruler, the Demon Lord, and to partake in an ancient and arcane ritual performed only once every hundred years. The prize for each clan was immense: the summoning of a Divine Weapon or, for the truly favoured, a Champion. As the celestial bodies above aligned, bringing the sun into total eclipse, the attendees gazed upward in anxious anticipation through the aperture in the ceiling.

As darkness enveloped the hall, now transformed into a ritual chamber, it was suddenly pierced by the eerie glow. The glow was magical in nature, it was the DarkFlame emanating from magical lanterns positioned around the chamber. This unnatural flame did not illuminate in any traditional sense; rather, it granted those assembled the Darkvision necessary to see in the pitch black, setting the stage for the arcane proceedings.

At this crucial juncture, the rituals began. The Oni from Clan Horn, for example, convened around a blood circle, their chants in a strange, guttural language filling the air. They sought the favour of their dark deity, their voices a mix of devotion and desperation. As copious amounts of mana drained from their bodies, they soon realized more was required. With ceremonial daggers, they slit their wrists, and their blood did not fall but streamed upward, coalescing into a massive blood sphere that floated ominously above the circle. The sphere and the magical circle below it ignited simultaneously, the flames burned in sinister crimson that consumed both blood and magic. While several Oni collapsed, drained by the exertion or overwhelmed by NegativeMana, their sacrifice was not in vain. The sphere ceased its inferno to harden into the form of a nodachi, a Divine Weapon bestowed by their deity, imbued with immense power and destined to bolster the armies of the Demon Lord.

Elsewhere, the Hobgoblins of Clan Warg enacted their own ritual. Known as master beast tamers, they had brought a caged warg, a fearsome creature in its own right. As they encircled the cage, their chants rose in a crescendo, and their hands clasped in fervent prayer, they offered up their magic, life force, and fragments of their souls. The warg within the cage absorbed this potent confluence of energies and began a grotesque transformation. By the ritual's end, it had not merely changed form but had ascended, becoming akin to a werewolf yet far more—a Champion endowed with intelligence and formidable prowess, ready to serve the Demon Lord with the same ferocity as Clan Warg.

Attention then turned to Clan Crimson, a newer but ambitiously powerful union of Tieflings, Succubi, and Oni. Without a patron deity to call their own, they faced a stark choice: vie for the favour of a known dark god or reach out to a deity forgotten by time and other clans. They chose the latter, stumbling upon an ancient obsidian tablet that detailed a mysterious ritual. With no specific deity in mind but desperate to forge a connection with some forgotten divine, they embarked on a perilous gambit.

Their ritual was macabre, involving an array of severed eyeballs and body parts—ingredients befitting a dark god's summoning. These were arranged into piles around which intricate glyphs were drawn with their own blood, infusing the grotesque assembly with potent magic as dictated by the ancient text. Remarkably, no chanting was needed, the silence adding to the chilling atmosphere.

However, something was amiss. Abruptly, the magic violently ripped from their bodies, leaving everyone afflicted with NegativeMana. The catastrophe did not end there; some members were drained of life so completely that they became nothing but mummified husks, others exploded into dust, and a few were left barely alive, their bodies grotesquely depleted. The ritual, fraught with danger, had misfired spectacularly.

Yet, from this chaotic failure arose an abomination. The amassed body parts, driven by the violent outpouring of mana and life force, fused into a trembling fleshy mass. It began to emit a shrill and tortured cry, its new appendages flailing wildly in the air.

“Bah-AHh-AhH.” It shrieked but in a voice distorted and beyond comprehension.

The gruesome sight and horrifying shrieks sent a wave of terror crashing over those nearby. In the midst of the recoiling crowd, a figure lunged forward, not in fear, but in morbid curiosity. Their intent: to Identify this unfortunately alive lump of haphazardly fused flesh.

"Behold!" cried a Kenku, shocked yet captivated. "A Champion!"

"No!" countered an Oni, his voice laden with horror. "It's an Eldritch Abomination!"

The horrific spectacle drew gasps and cries of fear from the crowd around, their collective dread growing as the creature's presence seemed to thicken the air with terror. The Eldritch Abomination writhed, its cries echoing like the wails of a tormented soul, chilling the marrow of all who heard it.

Despite the initial shock and awe, a drow, his face a mask of dark intrigue, murmured, "That's one bizarre deity they tried to appease." His words carried a tremor of both fear and fascination.

"But they did succeed, in a manner!" chuckled a succubus, her laughter tinged with mockery. "Look at the chaos they've wrought!"

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Mockery soon turned to scorn among the onlookers. "Look at it! It’s repulsive," spat a Gith, pointing disdainfully at the quivering mass of tentacles.

"Average stats... Pathetic," sneered a Tiefling, flicking her tail in disdain as she scrutinized the creature’s meagre attributes.

"What even is an Eldritch Abomination?" questioned a Duergar, his tone sceptical as he shrugged his broad shoulders.

"[Inspect]," commanded a Hobgoblin, peering closely. "20 HP, 10 MP, and 10 STA," he read aloud, his voice laced with disappointment. "Yes, truly pathetic."

As the crowd hurled insults, the abomination’s plaintive cries grew louder. "Ah... I'm... help..." it bellowed, the sound warping as it reverberated through the hall, compelling even the strong-hearted to step back.

Indeed, the monster’s mere existence seemed to afflict the onlookers with an intense Terror, a testament to its disturbing aura. Yet, this only seemed to increase the crowd's derision and resolve to be rid of such an anomaly.

"Let's end this farce!" roared an Orc, brandishing his axe with eager brutality.

Before violence could ensue, a shadowy figure materialized between the crowd and the abomination. It assumed the form of a featureless humanoid composed entirely of shadows. "No!" the Dark Adjudicator commanded with an authoritative tone that resonated through the hall. "This entity remains a gift to the Demon Lord."

"Oh, she wants that thing?" the Orc asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

The shadow shook its head, an action that seemed to ripple through its form. "No. She does not desire it," it clarified.

"I see..." Despite the Orc's typically slow understanding, he grasped the gravity of the situation.

Nevertheless, the Dark Adjudicator elaborated further. "The gift was rejected, but as is the right of Clan Crimson: They retain possession of it."

It was settled; Clan Crimson would keep the misbegotten abomination and bear the heavy penalty for their failed ritual.

"Ha-ha-ha!" the Orc laughed heartily, his earlier bloodlust replaced by a cruel amusement at Clan Crimson's misfortune.

His laughter was soon echoed by others, the hall filling with malicious glee. This day, marked by dark rituals and darker outcomes, would be long remembered by all present, especially the Klan Crimson.

…

A few days later, standing on the threshold of disgrace yet before the clan's sanctioned penalty was enforced, in the main residence of the Tieflings:

"Lucy, take this and dispose of our failure," commanded a gaunt and skeletal figure, offering a heavy mace with an air of finality.

Lucy accepted the weapon from her father's withered hand, her gaze shifting to the cage that imprisoned the Abomination. Despite being a Champion of a deity, this creature symbolized Klan Crimson's profound shame. It was the result of a failed summoning, called forth from some obscure and petty deity, and then subsequently rejected by the Demon Lord. The price for its summoning was steep, leaving key clan members dead or Drained, like her father.

She stared at the fleshy mass of tentacles with a mix of pity and revulsion. "HeLlO, wHaT iS yOUr Name?" the creature attempted to vocalize, its speech garbled and incomprehensible.

Lucy had been told it was trying to curse her with Terror, but since such effects never manifested in her status, she doubted the rumour. To her, it almost sounded like the creature was attempting to communicate, though what it was trying to convey remained unclear.

With the cage secured, Lucy began her grim task of carrying it outside. The Abomination continued to emit complex sounds which hinted at some intelligence.

"Perhaps you are sapient," she murmured, more to herself than to the creature.

Observing the well-behaved entity, she noted that it made no attempt to lash out with its tentacles or bite with its many mouths, despite ample opportunity as she carried it close. "It’s a pity I have to kill you," she sighed.

Under different circumstances, Lucy might have considered keeping the monster to tame it. Yet, she understood her father's orders. However, a memory of her mother's words echoed in her mind: "No matter how ugly, all creatures deserve a chance at life." Ironically, those words had been directed at her at her birth.

Lucy's own Tiefling heritage had cruelly played tricks on her, forcing less desirable demonic features to manifest prominently. Unlike her parents and most of her race, she bore hooves for feet, claws for hands, was entirely bald, and her eyes were mere obsidian-like orbs—all features that starkly reminded Tieflings of their demonic origins, making her particularly unsightly by her people’s standards.

When she was born, some family members had advocated for her disposal, but her father had objected. It was her mother who had later spoken the words now ringing in Lucy’s ears. Compelled by this sentiment, Lucy bypassed the mansion grounds and continued to the nearby river.

Standing knee-deep in the murky waters, she echoed her mother's philosophy: "All creatures deserve a chance at life," then she gently placed the cage into the stream. The wooden structure, buoyant enough to serve as a raft, was caught by the current, drifting toward the Forbidden Forest—a place teeming with dangers yet perhaps a suitable home for such an outcast.

As the cage floated away, Lucy thought she saw a tentacle wave in what seemed like gratitude. "Nah..." she chuckled, shaking her head, dismissing it as the creature's panic in the murky, fetid water.

Still, she waved back, her heart lighter as she walked away from the river. Glancing at the mace in her hand and noting the absence of blood, she mused, "I better produce some evidence… I think I saw a stray pup somewhere on the street," her mind shifted to the task at hand.

Unbeknownst to Lucy, as the wooden cage bobbed along the polluted river—indistinguishable from the other debris and waste—the current grew stronger, merging with a larger, cleaner river. Inside, the tentacled abomination remained optimistic. "Ah, a pleasant cruise. How lovely," it remarked to itself, "And, I guess I am free. Sort of…"

The journey continued until nightfall when the creature reached the forest. Attempting to swim to shore proved futile against the strong current, and exhaustion soon drained its meagre 10 points of Stamina, causing it to fall asleep.

When it awoke, it found itself on the rocky shore, the bars of the cage broken—a serendipitous gift from the nearby rocks.

"New day, new beginning," it murmured, tentacles wriggling with renewed vigour. True, it had been summoned to an alien world as an unwanted creature, mutated and alone. But it also realized it had survived what felt like death in another life.

"It’s good to be alive!" it declared, enthusiasm undimmed by its solitude. "Let’s explore this place!!!"