Elminster in hell - Ed Greenwood [126]
As ye desire, devil.
[diabolic satisfaction, images flashing up in disarray, then spinning past]
"Life," as the archwizard said, "is like a squirming maggot-isn't it?"
[bewilderment] Is that all there is of that? Who was that? Elminster?
Nay, Nergal, it was another arrogant old mage, not me.
I know that, you fool! I was bidding you answer me!
Ah. Well, I was just sitting quiet, letting ye find thy own way.
[raging growl] I'll break you, puny human!
Ye did that already, and don't seem pleased with the result. With such wavering resolve, Nergal, how are ye ever going to rise to rule Hell?
Don't mock me, elminster-unless you want to spend an eternity in torment.
In many ways, devil, I already have. Think on that, and bluster less.
[snarl, mind lash, bursting mind bolts, raw screams of agony, diabolic satisfaction, images whirling past like bright embers flung from a roaring fire]
"Holy… dancing… hobgoblins," Asper said slowly, her voice unsteady.
And who or what was that? El.-oh, never mind. I will make you pay for this, human. I swear by the- oho! It begins!
***
Horns as tall as men thrust into the blood-red sky. Their cruel tips, curved slightly toward each other, were adorned with rows of charred spinagon skulls. The head beneath those horns might have belonged to a giant goat, and its large, sharp glistening black eyes bespoke fell, alert intelligence. It was a pity Harboring's face was also permanently lined with the pain given him by the Curse of Asmodeus.
It was not a rare distinction in Hell to have earned the displeasure of the Lord Most Deep, but few wore the sign of it as a constant, active torment. The Horned One was the only one of those victims free to move about and pretend to even the tiniest shred of freedom. It was freedom laced with pain, the constant reminder Asmodeus desired it to be.
Worms Harboring could not slay-for they were made of his own living guts-gnawed at him endlessly, burrowing in and out of his bulging belly. Streams of blood and foul fluids dripped ceaselessly from the wounds they made. Harboring's own talons and spells passed like smoke through the curseworms.
Only commanded devils and captured beasts could strike the worms and slow the gnawing that daily weakened Harboring. As it was, only prodigious feeding and frantic seizing of magic by the goat-devil kept him alive. He knew Asmodeus watched him and gloated-wherefore his mood was seldom less than savage.
Harboring was enjoying one of those "seldom" moments right now. He squatted atop a pinnacle slick with his own gore, tearing hungrily at the ribs of a dragon he'd spell-fooled into flying at full speed into the mountainside above. Thrice he'd had to fight off pit fiends seeking to claim its heart or brain-and he'd given up chasing away spinagons and abishai from spattered gobbets of dragon flesh and errant scales.
This was the first large feast he'd had in days, and the Horned One was anticipating a serious interruption soon. The immobility of the dragon's huge carcass kept him in one spot to dine on it… and that meant foes could find him easily. Harhoring had prepared a few magics and was watching warily as he ate. In Hell, mistakes are luxuries one rarely survives.
There! Something coming fast, rushing up without any attempt at stealth or subtlety, hurtling across Avernus like a dark, silent bolt of devil-flesh…
Harhoring had keen eyes, and he used them now. This was an unfamiliar foe, or an old one wearing a guise he'd never seen before. Like a pit fiend, it seemed, but flew with its wings folded and drawn in behind it, as if it was an arrow shot from a bow. There was something strange about its body, too, as if it had many tiny legs, all constantly a-whirl around it____________________
Harhoring favored the arriving foe with a toothy smile liberally adorned with raw, bloody dragon-and unleashed his first spell.
Talons of acid sliced the air. The dripping latticework of death sizzled and spat as the foe struck it. A few scraps