1st Ash, 122
Stripped of his Title, his Realm, even his Name, he had floated, for a time, in the nameless void between planes. He knew not for how long, for time is not, in that place that is no place.
Still, time had passed, the anger had faded to contempt, and, eventually even that had been overwhelmed by the desire to venge himself on those who had cast him out.
Perhaps he also grew bored, surrounded by nothing for so long, but if that was so, he did not acknowledge it. No, he was out (once he got himself out) for vengeance.
It had taken actual time, once he had struggled and forced his way from the No-Place, to find a suitable vessel. The idea of having to use flesh to carry himself was an offense in itself, but when one must, one does. So, he sought, and when he found, he was not wholly displeased.
The child was just that, a child, calling out through the awful scream of the void space for someone, something, anything, to save him from himself. That wasn't it exactly, not really, but close enough that The Demon (That is what the child had started calling him once it realized he was there.) could claim common cause and begin with a simple pact of mutual aid. His protection in exchange for use of the child's form, now and then. It hadn't been till later that he had realized his pact had been created with only part of the vessel. Some instinctive throwback to the creation of his race. One of his races. The vessel was complicated.
In retrospect, The Demon should have looked into the child more before making their deal, should have realized such a powerful potential vessel would not have been simply left to flounder without some major flaws. But regret was not something he would allow himself. Moving forward, taking and taking back, those were the things to which he would give his energies, such as they now were.
So, he had bounded with the child, and had spent more than a year coming back to himself fully. If he was now fully himself; it was difficult to tell, when one did not remember what it was one had forgotten. It didn't feel as though there were any more major gaps, except those of the things that had been stolen, of course. His thoughts were clear, crisp, precise; they came easily.
The vessel had been freed from his so-called slavery, which had taken a great deal of subtle adjustment to the vessel's thought patterns and then a surprisingly small amount of physical effort. Just before the actual escape The Demon had figured out how to begin insinuating himself in to the consciousness child's second half. The journey to their new place of residence had taken the better part of a season. During which, and since, the child had matured in several ways unexpected. Perhaps he wasn't so much a child any longer, and perhaps that was worth exploring. The body, The Demon had discovered with some experimentation, was... supple.
The thought brought a smile to The Demon's lips, for they were his, when he wore them. Yes, there were certainly things that would be worth exploring while he retained the body. Such activities were distractions, he knew, and they would wait until he was sure he had full control when he was driving the body. The vessel had some weird hangups about things like sex. Having sifted through the memories involved, the issues made sense and The Demon had to admire their workings. Ilex had done considerable reprogramming of several major matrices inside the vessel's subconscious. Getting him over the apprehension with weapons had been the first priority, couldn't have the vessel being killed and lose all the hard work The Demon had put into him.
It hadn't proved too difficult; just a nudge here at his massive sense of self-preservation, a tug at his curiosity, a push into his fear and the vessel had all too willingly reached for a blade. They were The Demon's preference and, happily, they fit the vessel's abilities well. Retraining the muscle structure of a body just to fit the weapons he preferred would have been tedious, if even possible, but the vessel was lithe, quick and quiet. In that, at least, he had chosen well.
In the end, he hadn't even had to suggest the lessons himself. The vessel had made a 'friend'; an elf with minor skill with a larger blade and connections that could get the vessel fine weapons indeed. Practicing with the elf or even his mentor, would help but not nearly enough. The Demon would demand a lot from the body if he needed to defend it and playing sparring games with a half trained boy wasn't going to cut it. Finding a teacher hadn't been difficult either, finding a way to get the knowledge into the vessel's head without him suspecting had been tedious, annoyingly so, but in the end he'd managed to have the boy 'stumble' across the blade master discussing his trade. From there the vessel had taken the necessary steps all on his own while The Demon watched like a proud father, arms held out in case baby's first steps went poorly.
The Demon had found the man by slipping out at night, while the boy slept. It had been surprisingly easy, let the vessel's mind remain unconscious while The Demon, and the body he rode, got to work. The body was young and strong, it could handle a few sleepless nights without taking damage. It wasn't as though The Demon would allow it to become ill, it still had power enough to pour fine threads of fire through veins and burn away any sick that tried to take hold.
It was walking out thus that he learned the city, this new city they had come to; Kalzasi. A part of him thought he had been there before, long ago, when it had been a different city, or perhaps it merely reminded him of another city he had walked, wearing different feet. He used Glamour to hide the vessel's horns and tail, despite finding that he quite liked both. The balance the tail added to the awkwardness of an upright body was a pleasant surprise. But the other races did not trust Lysanrin, or else hated them, or both, and the simple use of Glamour cost The Demon nothing and gained him easy access to most places. During the early months that Rivin had spent hiding, The Demon had mapped out most of the city's streets simply by prowling them. He made a few contacts as well; periphery relationships with proprietors of ill who he now knew by sight and who he had made some small positive gestures towards. Nothing like allies, but they would come.
He would call them allies, out loud and in his head, but they would be slaves when he was done making his deals. Just as the vessel would be. That was the irony, savored and saccharine; that the vessel had made the deal, the aidolon pact, to free himself from slavery.
The smile turned to a grin, sharper than anything that had ever graced the vessel's face; one canine, sharpened by The Demon's Masque to a razor point, glinted in the sliver of moon. Yes, Rivin had been like lush Searing fruit or a lost child; ripe for the taking.
Turning a corner, hands shoved deep into the pockets of the long coat he had procured for his nightly exploration, The Demon reluctantly pulled his thoughts away from the vessel and considered the city instead. It too was ripe; with uncertainty. Desperation had come home to roost in the minds of both rich and poor, while the middling folk simmered between belligerence and terror.
Who was actually in charge? Would they remain so? What was the goal of the war? Was god dead? The Unknown made everything easier.
The Demon could not have hand crafted a better environment for himself to settle and grow his power. Now all he must do was sow his seeds into the hearts and minds of those most susceptible to his charms for, even Nameless, none would call him charmless.
Quiet the fears in one area so he could gain trust, stoke them in another to keep those in power distracted, lay down lines of confusion to misdirect the energies of those who might know him. Until he knew himself, until his Name was returned, it would not do to be known by anyone else. Too great a disadvantage that would cause, even if the one who knew him wanted to aid him. No. There would be time for true allies once he was Himself again. Until then, he would be a spider, weaving his web in quiet and darkness, rendering the city like fat in a pan, to simmer until he chose that it should boil.
