Once I was a great Demon, with a wingspan that stretched the breadth of the Ark, flames in my eyes, a tail so razored that you could slice a molecule of air in half with it.
Now I am a humble bricklayer.
Perhaps I should tell you my story.
Many years ago, there was a Mage of incredible power who, understandably, recognizing that he was more intelligent and more powerful than anyone else in the World of whom he knew, decided to try to take over said World. He largely succeeded.
Only through a brave alliance of all the Free Peoples of the World was he defeated; and not to die! No, having already extended his life, he learned the secret of Immortality by becoming a Lich.
He then took his coins (which would no longer be accepted by shopkeepers, who do not give good service to floating skulls) and, through agents, converted them into treasure. A wise investment, no?
He moved into a semi-abandoned Dungeon, expanded it with mighty sorcerous earthworks, filled it with traps and tribes of Monsters, summoned a mighty Demon to guard his treasure, and retired to his laboratory to plot his revenge.
He lasted a good two hundred years before the odds ran out, someone got in a lucky arrow in the right place, the battle went downhill from there, and he REALLY died, collapsing into dust, and the dust fading away.
Wounded, tired, their spells exhausted, they went to battle the Guardian Demon (me!) who defeated them handily and with gusto, and took their equipment, using any that was of utility to him.
They all died, and so did every adventuring party for another few decades. Finally, SOMEONE escaped beyond the ability of myself and my wolves to seek him out, and told a breathless but believable tale of a horrible Demon (true!) who guarded a priceless treasure (true, in some senses) behind a solid brick wall (relatively true back then.)
But by then, I’d retired.
I figured it out: every battle, no matter how skilled you are, has a certain element of risk. Even if that element is extremely minimal, it’s NOT zero. If people keep coming after you for decades and decades, someone will eventually succeed.
By that time, I was covered in gear and equipment, and I began scattering some of what I was using throughout the dungeon, using some of it for traps when I could, giving some to the monster tribes, and leaving some of it in treasure chests, to encourage adventuring parties.
And I folded my Wings and began to improve the Wall.
The Treasure Chamber is vast—the size of several stadia. Orcs and Goblins can, if they dress nicely, buy (or even make, once they have the materials) plenty of brick and mortar.
The Wall is now 60 feet deep and growing. Slowly, since there’s not really much need except when I have active tunnellers. But it’s growing even now; it might be seventy feet by the time you read this.
For this Lich summoned me to be the Final Boss guarding his treasure.
He really thought he’d live forever. Fool! No-one lives forever, not even Gods. And especially not flashy ex-Necromancers who were the scourge of nations and whose priceless treasures could random a Kingdom.
Neither did he realize that Art is not necessarily a good investment.
It’s been a thousand years since the paintings faded to grey. The statues are intact, but they are of interest to museums, and in a World which keeps finding other Worlds, ancient civilizations are not as prized by The Museum Of Living Sorcerous Miracles Which Changed The Universe as they would be by, say, New York’s Museum of Natural History, which I often visit on my six-days-off per week.
What Art is there is moldering or without value. Adventurers arrive ready to do battle and find nothing but brick. “It’s two feet of brick, my magic Hammer will do the trick!” they think. Around foot ten or eleven, the Hammer breaks. Ooops.
So they go back for supplies, the entire work crew fearful the whole time lest the legendary Demon appear. I seldom do, unless I’m feeling puckish. IF I do, the entire crew is likely to take flight and the Adventurers must carry everything. Ooops.
The few that finally get through are worn out, out of provisions, exhausted, but excited to be wealthy after all that work.
But even to the most untrained eye, this is junk. Somehow the Modern Art of Cimmeria just isn’t all that exciting when intact. I mean, you have modern art made entirely out of toilet paper; you have to be born within about a century of its creation to have any idea that it has value. Nobody collects Cimmerian stacks-of-slightly-interesting-but-totally-ordinary-rock-arranged-in-patterns-with-deep-symbolic-significance-if-you-have-read-and-believe-all-the-Cimmerian-religious-texts-and-have-a-serious-interest-in-allegory. Nobody.
I usually appear then. Not in my full form. I look out through the eyes of the most foolish thing that Lich bought, a sculpture of a Beholder so poorly-done that it looks, at first, like some sort of upside-down spider. I look out through its eyes, and I hear through its ears (no, Beholders don’t have ears; I DID say it was a terrible sculpture, didn’t I?) and I see and hear their despair.
Oh, it’s candy. It’s pure candy. It’s a sugar rush. It’s a joy.
They then leave dejectedly. Over half (I’ve counted ) get eaten by roving bands of wandering monsters in random encounters within 5-6 miles of leaving the Tomb.
As a bonus, since they have to leave through the gift shop, I get to pick up anything they haven’t opened and re-sell it. By now, I have all the top-quality brimstone I can eat, and I’m seriously considering investing in a fumarole; bricklaying is thirsty work.
Demons are naturally as immortal as you can get without actually being a/the God. And I plan to enjoy my immortality.
We have a certain urge, just as cats have an urge to rub up against your leg, to make Humans suffer. I’ve scratched THAT itch in a way which could last millennia, as long as there are treasure-hungry fools out there, which is to say, as long as there are Humans.
Care for a bite of fresh-baked brimstone?
___________-
You might enjoy Faeries and Goblins — Jeff Mach Writes
or possibly Pickup Lines For Dating The Undead — Jeff Mach Writes
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