Belphegor the Devourer
Offer thine tribute
To the locust god
And if he findest thine tribute sufficient
Thou shalt receive his blessing
After reading the words, Vlishgnath and Thunderclese looked at each other for a moment, then peered over the edge into the middle of the circle. No dazzling points of light were to be seen; in fact, no light at all escaped the seemingly bottomless, gaping hole in the center of the circular walkway. Vlishgnath stared into the darkness for several seconds, then reached over and lifted one of the torches from its sconce, tossing it in an upward arc so it would drop into the hole. The moment it fell past the walkway, the light suddenly went out as the whole thing disappeared completely. The two men took a startled step away from the edge of the walkway, pausing for only a moment to beat a hasty retreat back to the portal landing where Maximus awaited them.
When Thunderclese spoke, he sounded somewhat shaken. “Let’s not go back out there.”
Vlishgnath shook his head. “I’m guessing they didn’t jump in there, so there’s only one other way they could have gone.”
“Then let’s get to it. We’ve already fallen behind.”
With a nod, Vlishgnath led them through the yellow portal.
When they emerged this time, their feet were met with the familiar yield of sand, and they found themselves staring at a crimson ocean, contrasted by a faintly orange and royal purple sky appearing to be in its twilight hour despite its lack of a sun. Bizarre crustacean creatures the size of house cats clattered along the shoreline and settled in a cross–legged fashion just out of reach of the flooding tides.
What appeared to be a man, wearing a plain traveler’s cloak with the hood drawn up, sat nearby, and out at his side was a simple monk’s staff stuck in the sand. As the three paladins took in their surroundings, the man stood, turning to face them, and pulled back his hood. His skin was a dark blue, his eyes a cardinal red set with wide black pupils. A crown of small horns adorned his bald scalp, a few of which looked as if they’d been snapped off painfully. His ears were pointed, and at the tip of his right ear something appeared to have taken a small bite out of the lobe, the wound having long healed over. His clothes were dark colored, simple, and loose fitting, his fists wrapped in tightly coiled thin rope to form gloves that extended up to his mid-forearm.
Looking upon the paladins, he tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What brings three paladins of Mithos so far from the watchful guidance of their god?” His voice had a surprisingly smooth, pleasant quality to it, his words almost as perfectly enunciated as Vlishgnath’s. As he spoke, he revealed fang-like teeth and a dark purple tongue to match the inside of his mouth.
Upon being recognized, Vlishgnath held his right hand up with his elbow bent at a ninety degree angle, his palm flat with his fingertips pointing upward in the church’s recognized sign of peaceful intent.
When the man returned the greeting, Vlishgnath reached up, took his helmet off, and tucked it in its usual spot under his shield-bearing left arm.
“To be honest, we know not where we are, presently,” said Vlishgnath. “We are in pursuit of three men whom we believe have come this way. Perhaps you’ve seen them? A man between middle-aged and elderly with his two sons, one a muscular blonde and the other a black haired young man dressed in mage’s robes.”
The blue man pondered this for a moment, then nodded. “I have seen them here from time to time. Belphegor worshipers, if I’m not mistaken.”
Vlishgnath nodded in return before speaking again. “My apologies friend, it seems I’ve forgotten my manners. I am Sir Vlishgnath the Cleansing Light, this is Sir Thunderclese the Divine Might of Mithos, and that is Sir Maximus the Bane of Necros.”
The blue-skinned man bowed reverently, to which all three of the paladins responded in turn, before the stranger spoke. “I am Asmodeus, though many know me as the son of the fallen one.”
Vlishgnath’s eyes widened.
Thunderclese glanced over at Maximus before shouting out, “He’s a half-demon!”
Asmodeus smiled gently at Thunderclese. “Is it not within the code of conduct you hold so dearly to judge a man not by his appearance, but by his actions?”
Thunderclese stammered, “Yeah, but—”
“Very good. I’d hate for any unpleasantness to arise. Besides, I long ago forsook my heritage and began to tread the path of enlightenment. Now, I believe I can answer a few of your questions that I’m sure you have.”
Vlishgnath turned and grinned at Thunderclese, shrugging his shoulders in mock helplessness before turning back to Asmodeus. “Can you tell us where we are?”
Asmodeus smiled back. “Indeed I can. You are on the Timeless Shore. To illustrate the implications of such, consider this: if time were a river, never ceasing in its constant flow, you are on the bank of that river as time passes you by.”
Vlishgnath quirked a brow. “You mean to tell me...”
Asmodeus nodded. “Right now, in this place, you, your companions, and I have ceased to age entirely. You’ll find the ‘daylight’ here never quite ends despite what you perceive to be the passage of time.”
Vlishgnath pondered this for several moments, then turned to Thunderclese. “This must be Belphegor’s reward that Jonathan was talking about. A timeless place where he could conceivably live for an eternity.” That said, Vlishgnath turned back to Asmodeus once again. “Tell me something, friend. How exactly did you come to be here?”
Asmodeus’s grin widened, and he drew a deep cleansing breath as if about to tell a rather long story. “Tell me, church knight...what do you know of the elder gods?”
Episode 11
The three paladins sat around the fire that Asmodeus had constructed, Vlishgnath and Thunderclese wedging their shields to stand upright in the sand as Maximus had done with Judgment. Several of the abnormal crustaceous creatures were skewered and spinning on a spit over the fire, Asmodeus having had to reassure them several times that the creatures were perfectly safe to eat.
“How exactly does a former minion of Necros come to reside in a place like this?” Vlishgnath asked, his left knee drawn up with his left arm resting on it, as he leaned back and used his right hand to prop himself up.
Asmodeus smiled faintly, continuing to turn the spit as he spoke. “A long and complicated story, that one is. Perhaps someday there will be an opportunity for me to share it with you. For now, though, I shall do my best to enlighten you on the subject of the elder gods until my friend arrives, who can help us locate the men you seek.”
Thunderclese tilted his head, his voice sounding puzzled. “You keep saying ‘elder gods’’ as the creatures in the LeFay mansion did. Mithos himself is and always has been. I fail to see how anything could have the gall to compare itself to him and claim the title ‘elder’.”
Asmodeus chuckled silently, shaking his head. “That is where I am afraid your religious texts are wrong, church knight. You see, upon the creation of the world of men, elves, dwarves, and all other walks of life, so too were born the younger gods, forged from the raw essence of the ideals and flaws instilled in each living being. There are seven elder gods, three good, three evil, and one neutral. The elder gods of good and the elder god of neutrality saw that the reign of the younger gods must be allowed to commence, but the evil gods refused to step down. And so, in the great cataclysm that split the land of the world in two, the evil elder gods were cast into exile, forever bound to this space between the planes and the void.”
“Wait, how did you come to know all of this? How can we be certain you aren’t making all of this up?” Thunderclese interjected.