The Dark Lord of Crafting

Beneath the soaring arches of his grand hall, the Dark Lord sat upon an obsidian throne, exuding an air of regal authority. Or that was the impression I was going for at least. Demon Prince Orobas, AKA Bojack, loomed at my right hand, while my vizier waited at the base of the steps leading up to the throne, ready to greet our visitors.

The towering doors of the hall groaned as the guards dragged them open, revealing a trio of imposing demi-humans wreathed in an eerie mist. Demons weren’t banished by the sun, so one of them had to be doing the mist thing purely for dramatic effect. I could appreciate that.

Bojack and Zareth had prepped me on their arrival, so I at least knew which monster was which. The first demon had the head of a tiger, his orange and black fur as glossy and full as if he had used an entire bottle of conditioner. He surveyed the room with an intense gaze, his eyes eerily similar to my own, sizing up the guards with an arrogant sniff. The trio took their time walking down the long, empty hall to approach the throne. The doors shut as the Dargothians sealed themselves outside.

Zareth, a man on a schedule, took a step forward and addressed the visitors

.

"Who comes before the Dark Lord?" the Vizier called.

He knew who, obviously, but that was the formula.

"I am Duke Berith, master of dark waters and hunter of hidden terrors," the tiger declared in a booming voice that made Zareth’s seem shrill and small in comparison.

As the echoes of Berith's introduction faded, the second visitor moved forward gracefully, putting himself a step ahead of Berith. He was smaller than the tiger, but his long neck added a full foot of height. A cobra, his brown-gold hood unfurled. The knives on his belt, hanging without sheathes, shimmered with latent magic. Zareth's pen was already at work, taking notes on the new arrivals.

"I am Asmodeus, the King," he announced. "Master of the metals dwelling within the dark regions of the earth.”

While the hood lent him a regal air, their titles were all nonsense. Status among demonkind was decided by their rank as harbingers. Aside from that, they called themselves whatever they wanted. Bojack referred to himself as a prince. He hadn’t explained the reason, and it didn’t make any difference to me.

The horse-man shifted beside me, restraining a snort. I couldn’t help but notice that both the newcomers had used the word “dark” in their self-descriptions, not that I could point fingers in that department. The third emerged from behind the other two, speed walking to get around and ahead of them, the mist coming with him to carpet the blocks of the floor. With the lively gait of the baboon he resembled, he pranced directly in front of Berith.

"President Gaap," he said with a wide, toothy grin. "Air is my dark domain. Keeper of hidden truths, whisperer of dark designs, and curator of mysteries."

Three for three, Gaap had managed to work “dark” into his intro twice. No one had elected Gaap president, and no one had died to make Asmodeus king. Maybe they thought the appellations were humorous.

Horn tooting aside, they were formidable entities. All three of them had come into the world earlier than Bojack, but late enough to be dissatisfied with the pecking order under Kevin and Bael.

"What business brings you before the Throne of Shadows?" Zareth inquired, though he knew they were only here because Bojack had invited them.

"We come seeking an audience with the Dark Lord, offering our counsel and wisdom to aid in his reign," Berith spoke first, grabbing Gaap by one shoulder and pulling him out of his way. The ape yelped in surprise and tripped back behind the tiger.

"Indeed,” Asmodeus added, forked tongue flickering, “when properly valued, we are most excellent servants."

The ape coughed loudly.

“Let the record reflect that I, President Gaap, thirty-third harbinger of the One Who Knocks, come bearing the most knowledge and wisdom and power to lay at the feet of the Dark Lord. More than anybody”

Berith growled, flashing his teeth at the other demon. "Dark Lord, we have come to offer our allegiance and aid. However, in return for our acknowledgment of your authority, we seek concessions."

Zareth was the only other human allowed to remain in the hall for this meeting. He already knew that I wasn’t the original Dark Lord, but as far as the rest of Mount Doom was concerned, Kevin had just gotten a new suit of armor. The demons, on the other hand, all needed to make fresh

bonds with me before they could even be remotely trusted, as this trio seemed game to do. Bojack had sorted through his contacts and picked the names he believed would be most open to his proposal. Four harbingers were only a fraction of the total, but apart from one major stronghold in the north, they tended to work alone or in pairs. Four, and one Survivor, would be enough to hold our own for now.

The demons came to the base of the steps, ignoring Zareth. Asmodeus raised his serpent’s gaze to me.

"Our cooperation will prove invaluable, but we cannot be bought with trifles.”

Gaap didn’t say anything, but his grin faltered as he touched the edge of the light of the Everburning Torches that now lined the dais. The Shadowbane enchantment wasn’t strong enough to stop a demon in its tracks, but it would make them uncomfortable.

Bojack was hiding the effect the light had on him, but he had confirmed that it taxed him mentally and physically to be as close to the enchanted torches as he was.

I leaned forward in my seat. "I understand your position. We are willing to offer you the sixth, seventh, and eighth seats, respectively.”

The demonic power structure loosely translated to the feudal system of a king handing out territory to dukes and counts and so on. The first ten slots were the equivalent of duchies, and therefore the most prized. Up to now, every demon had been assigned a seat on a first come first serve basis. Bael had been the original harbinger, or at least the only original that lasted this long. He’d made the deal with Kevin and kept himself on top of the hierarchy ever since.

That was Bojack’s place now, and if these guys agreed to what we were offering, it meant they were all jumping the line by at least twenty spots from where they had been in the original ranking.

“It’s not enough,” Berith declared. “I demand the second seat.”

“I should be second,” Asmodeus hissed, “my powers exceed his.”

Gaap glanced between the other two, Bojack, and myself. I could almost see the gears turning behind his wide, wild eyes. “I accept your offer, the sixth seat will be mine.”

“Ridiculous,” Berith growled at the ape again. “We have accepted nothing.”

“Welcome to the fold,” I told Gaap. “You will be given one of the towers in this fortress to make your own, as well as the rights to a supply of lesser entities suited to your new station. Zareth will be able to show you your new territory when we retire to the war room, though it may have to be taken from one of the other demons before you can claim it officially.”

The ape demon bounced on the balls of his feet, his grin returning. He was wearing iron armor scratched with seals, as well as a long cape, which he swept around him in a dramatic bow after my announcement.

“Thank you for your generosity.”

“Unacceptable!” Berith took a step toward the throne, then hesitated as he felt the sting of Shadowbane against his skin. He dressed like a barbarian, wearing leathers and furs, with a broad-headed ax strapped to his back. Instead of more weapons, there was a set of water skins and gourds at his hips, which struck me as an odd accouterment for a demon. “I came before Gaap, there can be no question.”

“The seventh and eighth seats are still available,” I said, keeping my tone level.

“What of the second seat? The third? Who have you given them to? I see no other demons.”

“You came here in good faith,” I said, ignoring his question, “ so if you choose to refuse my offer, you will be allowed to leave. But consider it carefully, because this is the best deal you’re going to get. Mount Doom is mine, and others have already agreed to support me.”

That wasn’t true, but Bojack had insisted we keep the best seats open to tempt the bigger players, and it was the right move. The demons who already ruled cities wouldn’t give up their privileges just because there was a new sheriff in town. We wanted the less influential demons to rush to swear allegiance because they knew they could better their positions, but the choicest appointments and territories had to be held back for when we needed a bigger bargaining chip.

On one level, none of this mattered to me. The end goal was executing every one of these monsters and ridding the world of Bedlam’s taint. But as long as we were here playing Bojack’s game, we had to play it right.

Though Berith didn’t like what he was hearing, he wasn’t stupid. Advancement was advancement, and this was the first shot he’d ever had of being at the big table. He bowed his head.

“Very well, though you will soon see that I am worth far more…”

“I will take the seventh,” Asmodeus interjected, “should it please my lord.”

He was a snake in more ways than one. Berith rounded on him, ready to draw his ax then and there. “How dare you? It is mine.”

While I did want to reward a willingness to cooperate, it did seem like a dick move to let the snake win when Berith had been in the middle of an acquiescence speech.

“I don’t care which of you is seventh and which is eighth.” There wasn’t much difference in the allotment, and the territories the positions would eventually entail were of a similar size. This was just a status squabble between two demons. “I will accept both your oaths, and you will accept equal allotments for the time being. Your seats will be assigned according to which of you proves the better servant in the coming days.”

“Very well,” Asmodeus hissed, and Berith tensed. He had to be smart enough to understand that if he complained, I would just give the seventh seat to his rival for being more cooperative. There was murderous intent in his glare when he answered, but it was directed at Asmodeus, not at me, which was perfectly fine.

“You will come to see my worth,” the tiger said, “one way or another.” A little ominous for my tastes, but it would do.

“Orobas,” I commanded, “present the oathblade.”

I’d made a new one according to the demon’s instructions. It was a sword, rather than a dagger, crafted with meta-materials and set with a diamond the size of an egg at the center of its crossguard. They could have made bargains with him instead of with me, but Bojack seemed to want me to have as many direct ties with other demons as possible, which aligned with his broader aim of bringing me willingly into the dark side.

I still had to follow his orders, so it didn’t make a difference to him if the other harbingers were technically under my command.

The sword had been enchanted with Unbreaking using Kevin’s massive table in the forge, and it was as strong as I could make it. The formula had been simple, following the arrangement of a sword of any material on a crafting grid, with the addition of a diamond in one corner and cerulium in the other.

Bojack descended the steps and presented the blade to Gaap, who pressed his palm into the tip until it drew blood.

“I, President Gaap, hereby swear upon the oathblade to offer my allegiance in exchange for the privileges and rights of the sixth seat. I shall lend my counsel and strength to uphold the empire's dominion over Dargoth and beyond. My loyalty is steadfast, my powers at your command."

The diamond pulsed, beating like a heart as he spoke, flashing brighter for a moment when he finished. The other two followed up in the same fashion, though the phrasing was a little different to accommodate the fact that they hadn’t been promised a specific position yet. Zareth took notes while they talked.

My side of the oath was simple. I promised to grant them the resources and privileges afforded by their new ranks as long as they served me faithfully. Nothing about bringing on the end of the world. They assumed I was already on board for that, or maybe they didn’t care. Plana had been in a stalemate for centuries, and the demons had to be almost as derelict in their duties as Kevin had been.

We moved the meeting to the war room after that, and Zareth went over details with them, pointing out the areas on the main map that they were ostensibly going to rule. There was a lot more to Dargoth than there had seemed to be on the march in. Mount Doom and Nargul were located in its most desolate territories. At some point, I would assign a demon to have dominion over the Wastes, as that region had been freed up with the death of Beleth, but it wasn’t prime real estate.

They wanted cities and fortresses to call their own, and we were going to have to oust the current rulers to give them what they wanted. By handing out these seats, I was effectively declaring war on the demons that had held those positions under Kevin, but I’d already thought about that.

If everything went the way I wanted, Dargoth was going to expand to the north. The orkhans had to be dealt with, and that meant there were going to be new territories to dole out in exchange for cooperation in the war effort. I hadn’t memorized the names of the demons we were going to be negotiating with, that’s what viziers were for, but if they were clever, they would see what way the winds were blowing and get on board while favorable offers were still on the table.

From what Bojack had told me, we were unlikely to face much of a united front. The most powerful demons usually had two or three of lower rank working for them for scraps, and the rest were all out for themselves, so I didn’t need a true majority to be the strongest party.

It was hard to pay attention to the conversation now that my part had been played. It had been almost two days since we sent a messenger to Nargul, and so far, there had been no reply. I’d spent the time making finishing touches to the cube and touring the fortress. When the response came, I needed to be here, but if it took much longer, I was grabbing Noivern and flying to my spawn point anyway.

The trip had already been delayed longer than it should have been. If Bojack was lying about Esmelda and my son, I didn’t know what I’d do. A part of me was afraid of learning the truth. After all this time, knowing the compromises I had made, would she even still want to see me?

Zareth had been unable to explain Kevin’s fascination with the lillits, and my predecessor had refused to talk to me since being confined. They were operating and maintaining his Eternal Engine, which, from how it had been described to me, was just a train that never stopped moving based out of Nargul. Why he had needed the lillits specifically to do this wasn’t clear, but I would find out soon enough.

If I could trust someone other than Bojack to watch Kevin, things would have been easier, but I wasn’t ready to pass that duty onto any of my new vassals.

So far, it didn’t seem like there had been any suicide attempts, so he at least believed he was stuck, but there was no way for me to be one hundred percent sure a respawn wouldn’t drop him outside of his cell. Maybe he thought the demons would rescue him. Maybe they would.

I hadn’t made any progress with the Storage Ring either. Holding it over a fire hadn’t caused any new words or clues to appear in glowing letters on its surface. Dripping blood onto it hadn’t had any effect other than making it slippery. I guessed that there was a ritual or diagram of some kind involved in the attunement process, but I hadn’t stumbled across any instructions while raiding Kevin’s supplies.

The conversation paused when there was a knock at the door to the war room. I opened it myself and was met with a nervous-looking scribe bowing and making apologies for the interruption. Behind him was the messenger.