Mystara Campaign: The Journey...

Fiendish Exchange

Forgotten Realms

The Fugue Plane, the City of Judgement

Heavy footsteps echoed across the courtyard. Elyera cocked her head to the side noticing the giant winged creature making its way towards her. She stood up quickly making herself presentable: Dabbing on some blood-red lipstick, deepening her cleavage by lowering her netted negligee and extending her feathered wings in a welcoming pose.
She knew this meeting was going to be difficult.

She turned to meet him, dropping to one knee, “My lord…ungggh!”

A large burning claw wrapped tightly around her neck lifting her up into the air. Her wings fluttered in panic, her legs flailed wildly while her hands feebly struggled in an attempt to release herself from his crushing grip. It seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke.

“What was so important that you felt the need to summon ME here,” bellowed the fiend inches from her face. Green vile spat out as he spoke. Reluctantly he eased the pressure on her neck, allowing her the opportunity for a reply.

“One has arrived,” tears streamed down from her eyes as she continued, “someone whom I think you would like, no, need to meet.” She could now see the city beneath her.

“You forget yourself bitch,” his eyes burned with renewed anger, “the petitioning of souls is beneath my station.”
She felt her life slowly passing out of her.

“He is not from Toril, Oerth or any of the other mortal worlds,” she cried out in desperation. “He says he is from…Mystara.”

And then she fell and everything went dark.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When she finally came to, he was standing before her. They were no longer in the city, but based on the grey, bland surroundings they were still in the Fugue Plane. Her neck was aching from when he had almost strangled her earlier, she touched it gently. It would be weeks before the bruises would disappear. It was then she noticed she was naked and that fresh wounds now decorated the rest of her body. She held back her burning rage to remain composed in his presence.

“Has anyone come to claim him? Who else knows about this?” he asked, inwardly smiling while studying her reaction as the full extent of her violation dawned on her.

“No one, as yet,” she replied. Her mouth was dry. “But it won’t be long before word gets out. He is a perfect candidate for the wall. I fear Kelemvor will make no exceptions in his case. Jergal will see to it, of that I’m certain.” Elyera slowly rose to her feet, looking around for her clothing, which she could not find.

“And your attempts?” he queried, admiring his work on her.

“He is remarkably steadfast in denying me, even with the promise of power and knowing of the alternative. I’m afraid we might lose him, worse still, lose him to a thieving Tanar’ri,” she replied, accentuating the last word.

“What is his name?”

“Montano.”

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Demetrios Demetrios

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