Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Thrax]

---

The plane of fire was much as he remembered it, having dwelled in it for millenia before being given flesh to wear. It was not the first time he had to stand before his god and give account. What worried him was the interval of time he must endure torment before being loosed again, if ever, onto the physical plane. It might be hundreds or thousands of years depending on the nature of the offense.

Looking around him, Thraxanduril, now in his true daemonic form gazed upon the souls of those whom he had sent here, one way or another, who now gazed with muted satisfaction at his appearance. He saw two from the recent past: Mauric Branwyr and Lady Alicia. He noted that Alicia's gaze was not one of malevolence and anger, but of pity and sorrow. He wondered why she had chosen to have herself sacrificed and meant to ask her. There would be plenty of time for it.

Thrax knew that the area in which they were assembled was conjured by Og'Garoth, an illusion designed to suit his tastes. Fifty-foot walls of fire ringed them, serving as the backdrop, and outer darkness concealed anything beyond that. There was no smoke nor odor from the flames. The senses one might have here were bestowed at the whim of the god, as alternately a reward and punishment, something else with which to torment the souls he held captive.

Before him was the immense, ebony, armless throne and him who sat upon it, Og'Garoth, god of strife, malice, chaos and destruction. The god was gigantic, dwarfing them all. His twin, black, ram-like horns swept back behind a head that appeared almost human, except that its face wore either a smile or a scowl depending on his mood. The latter was visible. Thrax approached the throne and knelt on one knee, lowering his head.

"Love, is it?" the god mocked.

Thrax dared to look up at his god. "It is milord."

Oggaroth's laughing, a loud bellow from deep within his chest, made the assembled host take a step back, almost in unison. The god then leaned forward. "So you think you now know what it means to love, my heretofore most trusted lieutenant?"

Thrax, now looking down, nodded.

"You are a fool! Love is an illusion," Oggaroth stated flatly. "Do you think your dear sister or any of those mortals you tried to save love you?!! Do you think for one moment any of them... any... would die and be damned for your sake?! Your imagination betrays you, Thraxanduril, and I must teach you once more not to be taken in by nonsensities such as... love." The last word was spoken with a contempt rare even for Oggaroth.

Risking further pain and torment, Thrax stood up, facing his god. "You have asked the question and it is fair. Permit me to seek an answer, milord. If it is true that there are none who would take my place here, then I will gladly accept my punishment, for I will have been the fool you say I am and deserve it. But if there is one who will, then allow me to return to the physical plane, to continue in thy service."

Silence.

"I consent, but know this... you shall fail! There is no true love among mortals... their emotions ebb and flow like the tide of the sea. But most of all... no mortal can ever love a daemon!"

Thrax hesitated, remembering Nefariana, his consort, who left him many years ago. Undaunted, he continued. "May I appear in my human form to any whom I think will do this?"

"Only in a dream or vision. You must remain here."

"I have but one other request."

"You presume too much. I am not generous with my favors."

"Yea, milord, that I know well. Just one boon I ask. You have nothing to fear from it. Since you are convinced I will fail it will never come to pass."

Oggaroth smiled. "I always admired your cleverness, but I already know what it is you want. I grant your request on one condition... that you do not tell anyone what it is. Do you agree?"

Thrax nodded. "By thy name, milord," he swore; the oath that he knew was unbreakable.

"Seek out your "friends" quickly, and return to me. Thy discipline shall then commence."

The crowd of souls to his left parted as the wall of fire behind them diminished momentarily. Thrax extended his wings and flew into the gaping hole of darkness, seeking a place of solitude beyond where he could communicate with those who might be willing to save him. He did not take a vestige of hope with him, for the words of his god still rang in his ear and he knew they were truth...

"No mortal can ever love a daemon!"