Searching for some old crap I might share with you ... as I just feel like I should give something in return. DD or Alex, if you are interested, I will send all my story fragments to you ... almost like Tania (Alex will know what I mean). Here's just the beginning of what was meant to be a story about Valen's past/grandparents.
Sorry for me not caring about formatting, but this is old trash, nothing more.
The Abyss, layer #777; Year of the Deep Moon {1}, Eleint {2}13
Like other true tanar’ri, he didn’t notice the malodor any more, the smell of sulfur and scorched flesh everything here gave off. Standing 12 feet tall, with huge bull-like horns and bat-like wings, flames covered his red skin as it was typical for demons of his kind.
Gildranoth, also known as the Burning Flame, was not amused, and a balor being “not amused†typically meant that even more unfortunate souls than usual had to suffer unbearable torture. Today, even the loud screams of pain and horror, the music of the Abyss, didn’t give him any pleasure. Not only had he slain less devils than Grimash’t during the last battle, thus being second to his arch rival again. After his return he had learned that his favorite slave had escaped. To make it worse, the **** had stolen a weapon from his collection, too.
The blue-eyed woman, might this wicked **** suffer eternal torment! Slaves normally were easily replaced, but that one had been special, making Gildranoth lust for her more than for any other woman. Not entirely human, the tailed female probably had been part incubus. As soon as he had hunted her down, he would punish the woman and try the new torture he had invented exclusively for her.
In his fury, Gildranoth had killed several of his other slaves, whining females mostly. The worthless ****es weren’t as good as the tiefling by far anyway. With one of his big hands, the balor angrily crushed one of the human bones adorning the armchair of his throne. He was in dire need of satisfaction. Someone had to feel pain and die, unfortunately the demon needed all his remaining subordinates.
If all else failed, spilling devil blood always was a good idea.
“Buglish!,†Gildranoth called for one of his servants, “Get me my armor!â€
Fearfully, the dretch hurried to serve his master, almost stumbling over his own legs. Whenever Gildranoth gave an order, you better obeyed immediately, even more so, if he was in a bad mood. Once, Buglish had been too slow, and he could call himself lucky that he only had been tortured for a few weeks. Trying not to shiver too much, the creature bowed low and luckily managed not to drop the heavy black plate mail and the helmet.
“Now gather the fighting slaves at the portal, unworthy vermin!â€
The small minor demon didn’t need to hear it twice. Bowing low once more, Buglish suppressed a relieved sigh. Glad to have an excuse to get away from his master, he almost flew out of the throne room.
Time to slay some devils. With a wide wicked grin, the balor put on his shining black armor and looked into the big mirror he owned. As always, he liked what he saw. Now, the features of Gildranoth’s monstrous face were almost completely hidden under the black helmet, only his blood-red eyes shone through the visor. That and his big horns, for which there hat been left two holes in the helmet, made him look mysterious and dangerous. Impressive, as a mighty demon should be.
Which weapons this time? Hellslayer? Gildranoth liked the way his enemies exploded when they were drawn towards his flaming body by the whip. Gildranoth decided to take Demonfire, his massive vapor sword, as well. It dealt additional damage by burning his enemies from the inside.
The demon almost had forgotten his losses already. A female slave and an exotic weapon were nothing compared to his agitation and anxiety to kill.
Killing Baatezu was all that was important and counted for him. Killing, gaining power and women, of course. Looking forward to the slaughter, the mighty demon stepped through his portal, connecting him to the Blood River, followed by his servants and slaves. Together they set off for one of the countless battlefields of the Blood War, the everlasting bloodshed demons and devils had to deal upon each other.
(-)
{1} 1294 DR
{2} 9th month
(-)
Somewhere else in the Abyss
Grimash’t grinned devilishly, for the lack of a better expression. No one ever should call a demon’s wicked smile “devilishâ€, not if he or she wants to survive in the Planes, after all. Bearing Gildranoth’s brand, the dead body of the woman looked like one of his arch rival’s slaves. Obviously she had died while giving birth to an ugly creature who was half or a bit more demon, half human. Cambions as they were called were known for their extremely hot temper and weren’t easy to handle. Still the balor lord decided to take the lesser being with him as his new servant. Not that demons would care much about familiy, but Grimash’t liked the idea to use his arch rival’s own son against him. The demon kicked the bloody corpse aside and continued his search for useful tools.
The tanar’ri could not foresee his own future or he would have destroyed the half-demon immediately. Unfortunately – or luckily, even immortals cannot know every little twist of fate.
(-)
Exactly thirteen years from today, far away, in one of the many Primes, as well as in the City of Doors, two girls would be born, one an elf, the other one human, their lives so different but still interwoven in the secrets ways of Fate. Gildranoth wouldn’t have cared even if he had known. Elves or humans, primes or planars; petty mortals, all of them, and coincidences; only a fool would have pondered about it even a split second.
â€There is nothing like coincidence in the multiverse.†- Clandarius the Wize, “Some words of Wisdomâ€, Library of Sigil, inventory number 13666
Sigil, The City of Doors, estate of Francesco and Arabelle Di Marqante
Francesco Di Marqante sat in front of his desk, writing and completely missing his wife’s pain and labor of childbirth. Hopefully this time she would give him a son who lived.
There was no time to waste, though, as a merchant – a successful one, a fact he was proud of – he always had to look after his financial statements. He could have paid a scribe to do the paperwork, but then, a coin saved was a coin gained, besides the fact that he didn’t trust anyone.
The shy knock at the door disturbed the man so much that he forgot the last number and would have to start the whole calculation from the beginning later.
“I hope this is important,†he growled, “I am a hard working man.â€
“Master Di Marqante? Forgive me, but…â€, the servant stuttered, bowing, not daring to look into the merchant’s cold dark brown eyes.
“Quickly, I am busy.†Francesco wrote down the number he just had remembered.
“I was sent to tell you that your wife has born you a daughter.†The servant wasn’t happy at all to deliver this message, but it was his duty to do so.
Scowling, the man dismissed the servant with the usual gesture. This time, the child lived, but it was a daughter, not the son he had wished for. Instead of having a descendant who would take on responsibility of his business after his time would be over, he would have to look for a matching son-in-law, not an easy task. Sighing, he rose. It was only a girl, still he should have a short look at her as it was expected from the Lord of the House.
The man still pondered about numbers, coins and wares while he stepped down the marble staircase and entered the bedroom. Should he import more saffron? Prices had risen, but on the other hand more customers than ever had asked for exotic spices and were willing to pay.
Not really seeing the woman who still was beautiful with her long curly black hair and her almost black eyes and the child, one look was enough for the merchant to convince him that they both had good chances to survive.
“I am here to see my wife and daughter. As you both seem to be in good health, I shall go back to my work.â€
Arabelle barely remembered the time before they had come here twenty years ago, a twenty year-old noble merchant and the sixteen-year-old town beauty from… she didn’t remember the name of their home plane or even the town they had come from.
Francesco never had been overly romantic, but it had gotten worse during the last years.
“Are you really that cold? Once you loved me and cared for me. A bit, at least. You didn’t even look at her.â€
Now she had him. Not that he didn’t care for her at all, it was just… he was too busy. Didn’t she understand that his hard work he did for her, too? Sighing, he looked at the baby. So tiny… She had his black her, Francesco noticed, almost smiling, but other than this… suspicion rising inside the man, his eyes searched his wife’s, an expression of disappointment on his face.
“I am sorry, my husband…,†the merchant, silencing the woman with the same gesture he used to spur his servants, just looked at her, not angry at all, just sad, which was even worse for Arabelle than if he had shouted at her. What had she done? It wasn’t her fault, that it was only a girl.
“She does not look like me. So who’s the father?,†the man asked, the softness of his voice hurting Arabelle even more.
The exhausted woman sighed. How could he even think she had betrayed him? Hadn’t she done everything to please him? She lived like a bird in a cage, even if she had wanted to meet another man, it would have been impossible. Servants followed each of her steps, she was watched every moment of her life.
“She is your daughter, of that you can be sure. Perhaps… once I heard a sage talking at the market, that sometimes children look like their grandparents.â€
Still not convinced, Francesco decided to leave that matter for now, there was no time for useless and senseless discussions anyway.
“Have you chosen a name yet?,†the merchant asked, thinking that he should say something before he went back to his work. Naming and educating his daughter he would leave to his wife and the nurse, he had no time for things like that.
“Alyssia, your mother’s name.â€
Arabelle cursed herself. Francesco might be a cold bastard, but she still loved him, one look into his pale face, at the still black smooth hair and into those cold brown eyes was enough to make her long for just one sign that he loved her, too, made her lose herself in foolish hopes again.
Francesco just nodded and left. He had more important business to look after.
So he thought, not knowing that his daughter would change his life and himself more than just a bit, for a time, at least.
