A lot of thought went to the construction of the Scourge’s Jeremy’s dining room. He personally set every stone on the floor, creating an intricate pattern that very few would recognize. The patterns on the floor serve as a summoning and containment circle — although unlike most examples of the two, this one had plenty of room to move around.

Jeremy was no prison warden — but he wasn’t into breaking people out of jail either. He was more like a friendly nephew who brought food to a jailed uncle — especially if that uncle is known to be a tad homicidal and extremely unpredictable.

Of course, he chose this particular uncle well.

Most demons were rather obstinate. They would threaten, command, or tout empty promises — hoping to bend his will through his fears, desires, or natural tendency to please people. If he had a different upbringing, demonic peer pressure might have done him in a long time ago.

The more devious demons would bargain. They would offer something tangible — sometimes even for free — just to be on his good terms.

A few offered knowledge or the locations of items that would no doubt warp his mind and body — but they were the dumbest of the lot. They could probably hook a few peasants or nobles but wizards were beyond their caliber.

Smart demons were patient. They were willing to wait decades for the seeds of their efforts to bear fruit. Demons of Chaos were worse. They could mutter a few words and change the entire course of someone’s life — or at least that was what he knew.

No. Jeremy would not be tempting fate this early in the game. Sure, he had little to lose — but he was in a position to gain a lot. He just needed a bit of help.

Elmindine.

Ancient as the stars and wiser than every sage in the world, she is undoubtedly one of the most dangerous demons to host — but she was the safest bet.

For even demons had their vices — and Elmendine was bored.

Sebas was a bit hesitant to serve her — at dinner, that is. She was a demon of gluttony after all — and Belsebas was meant to host their lord. He told him the ritual failed spectacularly. It didn’t even connect to the right plane of existence.

Jeremy stares at the table, noting that Sebas truly overdid himself. His butler’s talent for making exquisite food once prompted him to start a tavern or restaurant to take advantage of it — but Sebas declined, saying he could only cook for a small number of people. He said he didn’t have the skills to cook for a room full of hungry diners every day — and even if he could, doing so would diminish the experience.

His butler had a point — but it was such a shame.

Most of the weeping when he left his home was partly because Sebas was coming with him. Gone were their days of exquisite lunches and dinners — as well as the snacks for afternoon tea.

Their loss — his gain.

Sebas could put most cooks to shame — even ones working for royalty. He has this supernatural knowledge of ingredients and how they blend — combining things that didn’t seem to fit but did.

A few nobles even send their attendants for pastries during weekends. That was one consensus that Sebas gave him. They needed the coin and it was a sweet deal.

The food Sebas prepared was fit for a king or queen — maybe even a Lady of Hell. They would soon find out.

Jeremy calls forth the Demoness Elmindine — using both her infernal and divine names. He was confident she would heed his invitation — it would certainly provide a break in her routine.

She appears bathed in light and brimming with power.

“I did not expect that, mortal.” Elmendine examines her hand, noting the unhindered flow of power. “You didn’t even attempt to suppress my power or cut me off from my connection to my realm. I could crush you like a bug.”

Her matter-of-fact threat was music to Jeremy’s ears. She wasn’t angry or arrogant, merely surprised. He watches her stare at the bare table, slowly moving to sit down at the head.

“Sebas!” he signals as he moves to the opposite side of the table. It was short enough for conversation — but it was sufficiently long for avoiding sudden blows.

The butler enters to serve the first course — venison with some kind of white sauce and glasses of dark-colored wine.

Elmindine notes the similarity in their servings — and smiles.

It was a calculated move. The two discussed what to serve the demoness as well as the portions. They later agreed on normal human portions — or slightly smaller ones. Elmindine wasn’t a glutton of food — at least not in the obvious sense. She was a glutton of experience — a connoisseur of food and drink.

“Dinner will be a course of 32 meals, 6 of which would be desserts.” Sebas bows before leaving the room to give them privacy, and to remove himself from the attention of their guest.

“You are tempting me, mortal. I find it amusing.” the demoness takes a sip of wine, letting the flavors linger in her mouth.

“A taste of things to come,” Jeremy hesitates.

“Elin,” the demoness offers. Humans were easy enough to read, and the one before her was not even attempting the slightest of subterfuge.

“Mistress El...” Jeremy stops at the sharp glare the demoness gives him. “Elin.”

“I’ve known you since you were an infant — Elin is fine.”

The two finish the rest of their meals without speaking, letting the tension run its course.

The next dish was duck and vegetables — served in small slices and topped with a sweet sauce.

“It’s not coin you’re after, or you would have called your patron,” she starts. “His network of followers could have given you a kingdom if he wishes it.”

“Mammon isn’t my patron,” Jeremy explains. “We share the same interests, if you can even call it that. However, I prefer to keep my soul… and sanity.”

Mammon’s followers tended to be a bit sketchy. Too consumed by greed and never content with what they had. The demon’s blessings contained an insatiable thirst — one that made his followers devoid of real happiness.

“No starters?” the demoness points out, eagerly sampling the dish.

“I prefer to go straight to the meat of things,” Jeremy explains. “Like now.”

Elmindine stops, slowly turning to the wizard as if a snake poised to strike.

“Speak,” she draws her words, making it seem as if she was both allowing him to speak and commanding him to do so.

“I need information regarding undead,” Jeremy starts. “In return, conversation and twelve more dinners like this one.”

“Why would I want another dinner like this one?” she asks. “Once we’re done with it, a second instance would just diminish the experience.”

“Then conversation, and twelve more dinners of the same magnitude — all dishes unique, and all at par or better than the previous ones.”

“I should have taken that butler long ago,” Elin hisses, half in jest.

“But then where would he get his ingredients?” Jeremy smiles.

The demoness pauses, biding her thoughts — but eager for the distraction. What was giving a mortal a little knowledge? She would turn him soon enough.

“I would like to provide input,” she insists. “I can grow bored of mundane fare, sometimes I will wish for something more exquisite.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, as long as we have enough time to prepare.”

“You so readily accept, wizard? She sneers. “What if I was to ask for the blood of children to accompany my meals?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the wizard shrugs. “You’ll never guess how many kids would be willing to shed a cup of blood or two for coin or amusement. Sebas could even have them waiting outside, so you can get the blood fresh and warm. It might ruin the food though, and the conversation.”

“Then I would keep my requests reasonable.”

Diner ends well with both parties satisfied. The wizard learned something surprising about the undead. And the demoness earned twelve more diverting trips away from hell.

Jeremy accepts her request for music and entertainment — especially after realizing Elmindine wouldn’t only want another dinner after another year or so.

They say their farewells, with Jeremy making sure that every stone is in place and that his wards are secure.

For all he knew, he could have been part of the lady’s meal. She seemed friendly and reasonable, but she was still a demon — one who bides her time.

***

“Gehenna?!?”

“That was what we got from the scrying, Enlightened One.” The acolyte keeps his eyes on the ground, knowing what happened to one of them when he spoke out of turn.

“Impossible,” Malice sneers. “Tell our contacts at the estate that I need to see the gate.”

The acolyte doesn’t respond. A hint of shivering escapes his cloaked and hooded form.

“What?” Malice roars. Fear was expected of acolytes — even desired. What this acolyte was displaying was just plain cowardice.

“The g-gate is gone, sire,” the acolyte explains. “Our contacts said it was fading a day after the gathering — that was the last missive we received from them.

Did they get a cleric to sweep the house? No — only a messenger would sense that portal. Was the Lilac house hiding one in their midst?

Doubts begin to bloom in Malice’s being. Their lot wouldn’t be able to withstand the might of a messenger — nor would they be able to hide in the shadows. How was the city sustaining such an entity?

“There was a note on a previous report that didn’t get included in the final assessments.” the acolyte offered. He found it strange that the Scourge would visit the manor a few days before the big gathering. Openly associating with him was risking exclusion — why would the mistress of the house even invite him in?

“It was the Scourge, sire.”

The Scourge?

Malice had heard the name before, but he never put that much thought into the person. He was a mere pretender — a charlatan who uses props and spells to frighten people.

What kind of wizard would wear a circlet of shorn...

“Horns!” he screams. “This Scourge, does he have horns on his head? It doesn’t matter if they’re obviously ornamental.”

“Indeed, Enlightened One,” the acolyte answers. It seems like he would not be sharing the fate of his former brethren. “The Scourge is always seen with horns on his head — seemingly shorn to appear more human.”

“He’s human.”

Malice remembers another wizard who wore horns on his head — the Blackstaff. The horns on his head were trophies. Marks of his battles and triumphs against demons.

Was the Scourge someone similar? Did he cultivate this image of evil to draw his enemies — or maybe get accepted within their ranks?

“Send a team to investigate the Scourge,” Malice orders. “If our spies see an opportunity to get rid of him — do so. That person could be dangerous. He might have ties to the church — or even the messenger within the city.”