Branch 2: Jorgun
Among the desolate mountain peaks of western Drasritor stands a lonely keep. A brutal construction of granite edges and spikes. High within its tallest tower lies a room lined with the darkest richest marble. Furnished with more plundered arts and treasures than many kingdoms can claim.
This late at night, the chamber is illuminated only by a massive fireplace recessed into one of its walls.
Beside a six poster canopy bed large enough to accommodate giants. A lavishly cushioned and upholstered high back chair sits.
“How did it come to this?” This seat's dignified occupant worriedly broods. “Did we fail?”
The questioner is a demon. No tail or wings, but well trimmed and decorated horns rise behind its ears in tight spirals.
His apparel is tidy and neat. Consisting of a black suit that would not look out of place in the most expensive Parisian store. Its refined elegance, at odds with the wearer’s inner fretting.
“What will become of us?”
Agonizing as he again looks at the room's only other occupant. Who lies on the bed upon blood stained sheets. Wrapped in medicinal leaves from head to toe. The Ruin of Calador, Lady Khirsa Zuzzoros.
The elderly demonkin recalls the panic that ensued when his Lady suddenly appeared in the grand hall. Missing an arm, leg, tail, wing and a lot of flesh. Collapsing in a pool of her own blood with organs spilling across the floor.
He again feels pride over how quickly the staff responded. Immediately applying high level healing magic to keep her alive while she was examined.
The diagnosis was bleak. There was not a drop of mana left in her and the injuries were caused by ancient magic pushed far beyond its caster's limits. Healing magic would not be near enough. Transplants were the only way to save her.
Carefully moved to the laboratory, treatment began.
A hundred slaves would be sacrificed and she still died several times. Each revival a desperate affair. Now? All he can do is wait.
Of course his Lady does not disappoint.
“Jorgun.” Spoken weakly but firmly.
“Yes, my lady.” He is out of the chair and by her side in an instant.
Her voice is raw. It's a new throat after all.
“How many?”
He knows what she means.
“One hundred and one.” Jorgun would never deceive his Lady.
“Tsk.” Khirsa’s tongue clicks and teeth grind. “I was a fool. An arrogant fool.”
“Please, my Lady Zuzzoros, you need rest.”
Sharp, but gentle purple eyes focus on her faithful manservant. Fortunately neither had to be replaced this time.
“How long?”
“It has been four eight-hours since you arrived in the great hall.”
“Too long.” Teeth again grind in frustration as she mutters to herself. “The ancient scroll said that defiling the ritual would weaken the hero. So why was a monster summoned instead?” Slowly lifts her new hand to look at it. “Was that Sorcerer King's grimoire wrong? Was it a trap?” The mistress of the keep laughs, then groans from the pain. “What a fiasco.”
Her chamberlain asks hesitantly.
“So, Tourin now has a hero and Lord Ignith is dead?” He becomes confused as her laughter sharpens.
“Oh, Urnithun is dead. His wonderfully thick skull bashed into a pulp. But Tourin did not gain a hero.” The lady sighs as she remembers. “They received a father. A very, very, angry father.” Her voice turns almost wistful. “He tortured that royal half-breed for hours. And hated every moment of it. Such frightening willpower. Certainly not a hero.”
Jorgun is even more confused.
“What does this mean, my Lady?”
The demoness closes her eyes.
“This means I need rest. Events will become chaotic soon. Notify the army immediately. Use the relay towers. Withdraw at once.” Shakes her head. “If they encounter that monster before we can prepare? Our losses will be ruinous.”
The official trembles a little. His Lady, almost, never exaggerates.
“Then I shall dispatch assassins?”
“No. He is no puppet like the Aquecian heroes.” Her hand reaches upward as if trying to grasp something. “Tourin may be holding a viper to its chest. I know something of the world he comes from. And the more he learns of this one? The more disgusted he may become.” She is laughing again. “Do not send assassins. Send… assistance. He may prove a far better Demon Lord than Urnithun ever was.” Another sigh. “Now go. I must rest, and plan.”
As the demon walks away to carry out Zuzzoros' orders, he recalls what his Lady said.
“Stronger than Lord Ignith?”
While it is true that you don't have to have demon blood to be a Demon Lord? Almost all do. In Drasritor, it doesn't matter how clever you are. It doesn't matter how pure your bloodline is. All that matters is strength. Whether physical or magical. Even his brilliant Lady has always required a strong partner to keep her throne.
Once Urnithun's death becomes known, the leaders of her army will turn on each other. And with the strongest contenders all dead in Sanriel Cathedral? The infighting over succession will be even bloodier than usual.
At best, a suitable candidate will quickly appear for the Lady to groom and control. At worst, the neighboring demon lords will sense weakness and attack. Resulting in a two, three, or even four, way battle for the territory.
This might give Tourin years to recover and rebuild but there is no helping it. The Demon King's war of vendetta against Aquecia has stalled due to their new heroes.
Invading Tourin was his Lady's gamble and it had paid off handsomely. Plunder from the wealthy human lands filled vaults and fresh slaves filled farms and mines. But now it may come back to bite them as neighbors greedily eye her new riches.
“Maybe she can manipulate them into attacking Tourin instead.” Mumbles the old demonkin as he hurries down the hall.
Irzezath, Jorgun (male, demon, drasritorn)
Zuzzoros, Khirsa (female, demon, drasritorn)