S01E04 - Daedalelea the Demon Queen

* * * * *

Mirsch dropped the papers in his hands and clutched his robes as a bitter draft crept down his back. Cursing the cold, he drained the rest of the wine from his cup. “Goblin,” he murmured, voice smooth as a blade across a whetstone. “Your master desires more coal for his fire and wine for his cup.”

A goblin female dressed in rags kneeling by the door raised her head slightly. “At once, Master.” she croaked, rising to her feet and fled through the door.

Turning his attention back to the papers on the table, he frowned at the salvage report. Raiding forays into the southern foothills were not recovering as much food as expected and would need supplementation from the farms at Joranghel. Unrolling a map, he tapped a clawed finger on a series of caverns, thinking of the dwarven enclaves further to the west. It may have been a better strategy to assault them first, rather than push for the easily accessible nexuses in human lands. The dwarves would put up fierce resistance, but their vast underground farms would have eliminated any worries about feeding the troops. Assuming the dwarves didn’t just poison or flood the entire area making recovery costs expensive.

Three sharp raps on the heavy wooden door of his study interrupted his thoughts.

“Enter.” Mirsch said.

The door opened and admitted an orc dressed in oiled brigandine. Walking swiftly across the room, he dropped to a knee on the cold stone floor and placed a fist over his heart.

“Lord Mirsch,” he growled. “Rider Kallam reports to you. I bring news from the front.”

“What is your report?”

“War-Leader Groich commanded me to deliver you this scroll,” he said, offering a ragged tube of vellum. “The battle at Dryus river went badly, but we were victorious. He requests more troops to strengthen his position. The cauldron-born were utterly fearless against the humans and were a terror to behold.”

Mirsch cracked open the tube and read the contents. The rider was correct in his summary, nearly 80% of the force was lost taking the area and it would not be defensible unless resupplied.

“Return to your unit and tell Groich that he will have his troops within a fortnight.”

“At once, Lord Mirsch.” The orc said, rising to his feet and exiting through the door.

Mirsch dropped the report on the table and snatched up a cloak to ward off the chill. Securing it around his shoulders, he left his study and walked towards the lair of Daedalelea.

* * * * *

The lair of Demon Queen Daedalelea was set deep in the gut of the mountain. Hewn from an existing natural cavern, the stone floors had been polished smooth by goblin slaves and carved with runes to focus the power of the nexus below onto the royal lounge. Orc guards stood in alcoves carved into the walls like menacing statues, coal braziers on each side painting their features with a bloody light. Silk pillows and cushions of all size and shape were scattered haphazardly around the lounge, as if cast there in an explosion of passion.

Mirsch clattered into the room, his cloven hooves announcing his presence to the inky figure on the lounge. He watched for a few minutes while she toyed with a human captive. The remains of a man moaned underneath her lustrous black scales in delirious agony while she raked her claws along his bloody flesh. Lapping at the blood, Daedalelea raised an eyebrow at Mirsch. “What is it, wingless one?” she demanded.

Mirsch gave a slight bow and placed his fingertips between his eyes. “I have news from War-Leader Groich,” he said, straightening. “The battle was a success, but they suffered heavy losses and require resupply to keep the position.”

Daedalelea folded her wings and dug a claw into the man’s chest, hooking it under a rib. She teased and tugged, producing a song of screams and moans. “What would you have me do?” she asked, her voice delicate as a cat’s paws.

“We need more black ichor for the cauldrons. Widen the nexus and increase the flow.” Mirsch said.

“If the flow is increased too rapidly, I risk shattering the nexus and will be unable to continue tainting the ley lines.” She said. “Is this risk worth the anger of our master?”

“It is, my queen.” Mirsch said. “If we are forced to retreat from our position at Dryas river, we’ll lose the ability to carry troops swiftly to the south. We must be ready when the taint spreads to the next nexus.”

Daedalelea sank her fangs into the man’s throat, ripping and sucking as he flailed under her. When he went limp, she rose and presented Mirsch with a bloody smile. “Would you like the rest?” she offered.

“I’ll have it sent to my chamber.” He replied, motioning to one of the guards along the wall.

They walked in silence to a black iron door on the far side of the room. A large crystal was affixed in its centre. Placing a bloody hand on it, Daedalelea channeled the Abyss into the crystal, causing crimson runes to swirl into existence and swiftly fade. The door rumbled open and they descended narrow, twisting stairs carved into the living rock of the mountain.

The stairs exited a dozen metres below the queen’s lair, opening into a domed room 10 metres across. Runes were carved into the basalt floor, inlaid with gold and silver and bound by circles of mithril and orichalcum which lit the room in a sickly green. Precious stones were affixed to key dieresis and aligned with the flow of the six converging ley lines. An alter of bone, stained dark with blood was situated off centre of the nexus. Black ichor flowed from the base of the alter and ran in thin rivulets to a dark hole where it fell into the birthing cauldrons far below.

They carefully navigated the powered runes until they reached the vortex of abyssal power. Daedalelea reclined on the alter, her enormous ebony wings draping over its sides and spilling onto the dais below.

“With your permission, my queen?” Mirsch asked.

She nodded.

Cupping her face in his taloned hands, Mirsch gently turned her head and sank his teeth into her neck. Daedalelea arched wildly as blood and power flowed from her and through the living conduit of Mirsch. The nexus groaned under the release, causing the entire room to vibrate with the increase of Abyssal energies. Mirsch trembled in ecstasy as the power of a winged demon ran through him. His mind sang with a terrible joy as the pattern woven by the goddess Avelan was violated, streched and torn with every throb of his heart.

“Enough,” Daedalelea whispered, grabbing his horns and pulling. “Enough. We risk no more.”

Mirsch disengaged with reluctance, loathe to relinquish the intimacy of channeling the dark power of his queen. Licking her wound with his tongue, he sealed the skin and savoured the taste of her blood.

Black ichor streamed from beneath the alter and ran towards the dark hole that sucked it down in greedy gulps.

Daedalelea grabbed Mirsch and yanked him onto the alter, biting at his lips with a hunger that would not be denied.

* * * * *

In the enormous birthing chamber the black ichor dripped in thin oily rivulets from a hole in the wall and ran along a channel to flow into a series of huge stone vats set in the floor like gigantic bowls. Cages of battered captives lined the far wall, huddled together for warmth. Humans made up the majority, men, women, and children chained together in collective misery. Dwarves, gnomes, and a few elves were in other cages. A selection of muzzled and bound beasts filled others.

Mirsch stepped into the chamber, hooves echoing off the walls and eliciting groans of fear for the coming slaughter. An albino elf appeared from behind one of the vats and fell in step with him as he walked towards the cages.

“Preparations have been made, lord Mirsch. The vats await your selection of reagents.” The albino said. “Will you be conducting the birthing yourself?”

Mirsch nodded. “I have a few special creations in mind to strengthen our forces at Dryas,” he said. “Bring me a gallon each of wolf and boar blood, Proctus Absalan.”

“As you command, lord” Absalan said, touching two fingers to his forehead.

When Absalan returned with the blood, Mirsch poured it into a large iron bucket. A talon pricked his palm and allowed one drop of his blood to fall into the mixture causing it to curdle like spoilt milk. Stepping next to the nearest vat, he tossed in the bucket of reagent.

Screeching and wailing erupted from the black ichor, filling the cavern with a deafening cacophony. Seething and bubbling, the mixture clumped and grew legs and snouts, beady red eyes and fearsome tusks. The wailing turned into angry grunting and squeals as the newly birthed wargs trampled and pushed against one another, struggling to break free and ascend the ramp carved into the inner surface of the vat.

One by one they exited and milled around in a confused herd until a hundred hairy bodies filled the cavern. Under the mental command of Mirsch they began to settle and then dropped to the floor to wait, their eyes filled with murderous intent.

With the wargs subdued, Mirsch turned to Absalan. “Fetch me a dwarf and a male goblin to sacrifice,” He said. “Gimili shall ride these beasts.”

*****

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