Personae Dramatis

Part Number Three: The Plot Thickens

Vazmodan was ancient, truly so, a being of ancient malice and spite. One of the first children begat from the union of the glorious Queen of Chaos and his beloved father, the true Prince of Demons Miska the Wolf-Spider. Vazmodan had stood by his father's side during the war waged by the forces of blessed Chaos against the slaves of sterile Order. He had led armies of his lesser kindred – the aptly named Spyder-Fiends – and legions of other entities from the abyss and the Maelstrom, as well as allies from across the planes to victory after victory against the hated Wind-Dukes of the Vale of Aaqa.

In time his victories were beyond number – oh to be sure his forces had suffered defeats, the Wind-dukes were mighty opponents after all, but these were few – and at his father's side, along with his peers and the lesser kindred they had pursued the craven vaati to a backwater Prime word called Oerth, and at the Battle of Pesh the moment of decision had arrived. Victory was in their grasp, then the unthinkable happened, a horde of cursed archons and their angelic masters had separated Vazmodan and his brothers from their father. They separated mighty Miska long enough for a force of seven vaati to teleport around him and pierce his flesh with their abyss-damned staff! Vazmodan still wept after all these countless centuries when he remembered his father being drawn into a vortex created by the order-forged weapon, and seeing the staff shatter into seven parts, the parts thrown throughout the multiverse. It was this blow – the loss of their general – which caused the legions of cowardly demons, slaadi and proteans to flee the battle, abandoning the spyder-fiends to wage war on their own against the vaati and their legions of enslaved genies and elementals, along with their angel, archon and devil proxies.

Vazmodan and his siblings fought on, and reaped a terrible harvest of their foes, but without their sire, the outcome was never in doubt. They were forced to quit the field. Their mother, the glorious Queen of Chaos retreated back to her palaces on the Steaming Fens. While many of his siblings searched the Multiverse for the so-called "Rod of Seven Parts", Vazmodan and his sibling Varm, served as advisors to their mother in their father's place.

Still, things were not lost. Miska the Wolf-Spider had finally been found! The foul wind-duke's had not been able to slay him, though their damnable weapon had wounded him gravely and banished him to a plane of howling winds where he languished in a cocoon of Law. A prison that Vazmodan nor any of his fellow Rak-lupi – even together – could overcome. However they did find a "thinness" in its walls. A weakness if you would...this Prime world Vazmodan now trod upon with his eight legs, had suffered a vast demonic incursion. The demon lord Deskari, Lord of the Locust Host, Usher of the Apocalypse and son to the Great Prince Pazuzu – supported by his ally Baphomet, Master of Beasts, Lord of Labyrinths and King of Minotaurs – had invaded in years past, and until recently had maintained a gate to this world. This had caused this world's "borders" to weaken. Vazmodan felt that they may be able to breach the cocoon of law even without the damnable rod and finally free their sire! Provided they did it from this world.

To this end, Vazmodan had made certain preparations. Vazmodan had discovered a cult in this area. A small, hateful group of mortals that thrilled in deviancy and perversion. Mortals that hungered for power over their fellows, and he indulged that hunger by giving them the means to call forth a powerful creature from the abyss – a forgotten warrior demon discovered by Vazmodan. However, when the cult completed their ritual and this demon entered the Prime a wave of abyssal energy entered with it causing havoc on the cultists and introducing them to the glories of Chaos as both their minds and flesh experienced the blessings of mutation as this world's borders weakened further.

Vazmodan laughed as he remembered how he had manipulated the cult leaders, on how they had prostrated themselves when he had appeared before them in his true form. Of course, Vazmodan thought to himself, he did strike a fine figure. All the spyder-fiends resembled their beloved progenitor to varying degrees, and as a rak-lupis, one of the original scions, he more than most. Vazmodan was like a centaur, save for his lower half was nothing as mundane as a horse, but was that of a spider, rounded and covered with a hard, smooth shell that was yellow and black in color. His eight spider legs were banded yellow and black as well. While his upper body was indeed that of a heavily muscled humanoid male, his head was that of a noble wolf, with luxuriant black fur, ivory fangs and yellow eyes and there was a triple row of yellow spines running from his neck, down his back and into his spider body. His muscular chest and arms were covered in abyssal script, invocations and prayers to his mother the glorious Queen of Chaos, magic so powerful that it dazzled any weak-minded fool who stared upon him too intently. He wore a powerful set of intricate bracers cast from a rare metal mined in the heart of the Maelstrom and enchanted with potent protective magics upon his forearms and a variety of potent eldritch rings on numerous fingers. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror-like surface of the crystal walls of his lair he laughed to himself yes, I do strike a fine figure indeed.