Personae Dramatis

Part Number Seven: Preparations...

Vazmodan was worried. Not so much about the six 'humans', but who – or what – was behind them. Any number of multiversal powers could oppose the efforts of he and his brothers. But now they were so close to freeing their father and to fulfilling their destiny.

Vazmodan came to a decision. It was a risk. But again we are so close. I must do this, he said to himself. So Vazmodan retrieved a scroll that he had saved for centuries and brought it along with an ancient tome that actually radiated power and malignancy. He set both items on a sturdy table and readied other items and materials that he may need.

Vazmodan then opened the tome – a large metal-bound book that dealt with a time before even the Great War between hated order and beautiful Chaos. A time when the first creations of the gods – titanic primordial beings of power – rebelled against their creators. This great rebellion failed, and those titans that opposed the gods and warred upon their loyal brother titans were consigned to eternal imprisonment in forbidden regions of the abyss. It further detailed allies of the heretical Formarian titans. Amongst which were three monstrous brothers. Beings that were hated, reviled and feared. The so-called 'hundred-handed ones'. The original three were still lost outside of the multiverse in realms of pure desolation. Yet somehow these beings were able to produce progeny. Horrid 'lesser titans' that stalked the multiverse and destroyed all they touched. Vazmodan had the true name of one such lesser titan, a horror called Briareos.

Vazmodan cast the spell inscribed onto the scroll reaching into a remote demi-plane where Briareos had been imprisoned millennia ago by a cabal of mortal wizards guided by an enigmatic angel as revenge for destroying a once great empire on a distant Prime world. Calling out the titan's true name – a torturous series of words in a pidgin of ancient esoteric languages. A 20' diameter circular rent in reality formed and he could see towering peaks in a black starless sky. A moment later and two massive paw-like hands reached through the gate, and then more large, powerful arms followed suit, huge in their own right, but not as massive as the first pair, these multiple hands grabbed the edges of the gate and began to wrench and tear at its boundaries. Something began to emerge. A behemoth of incredible size and mass, fully 50' high and massively muscled. This leviathan was studded with fifty heads – some bestial and some beautiful. The creature was covered in arms – the first two massive arms and dozens of the 'lesser' arms as well. This was a hekatonkheires or a hundred-handed one, in the flesh. And just by it existing here, in the now, the world was a darker, more insane place.

Vazmodan was a creature of chaos – a demon. The spawn of the Queen of Chaos and her consort Miska the Wolf-Spider. The sights he had seen in his millennia of life were beyond the mortal mind: dark wonders, black miracles and countless centuries of glorious chaos. But even he had never encountered such rage and madness. Vazmodan took an involuntary step back.

The hekatonkheires focused at least 20 of its 50 heads on Vazmodan. And it spoke – not with one voice, but with dozens all forming the same booming words.

"Who are you little spider? And why have you called me hence?" The threat and demand in those "voices" were obvious.

"I am Vazmodan. I am the son of the glorious Queen of Chaos and the true Prince of Demons Miska the Wolf-Spider. And I am a general in the great armies of Chaos." Vazmodan answered with a confidence he did not feel.

"I see. And what do you want of me?" The hekatonkheires replied.

"I seek your aid against my foes as I..." Vazmodan began but the hekatonkheires quickly interrupted him.

"What do you offer me, little spider?" The hekatonkheires demanded.

"Your freedom from your imprisonment." Vazmodan replied.

All fifty of the titan's heads erupted in laughter – each voice was different and the timing of each laugh was slightly off from each other's laughter. A cacophonous whole that was terrifying to hear. "I no longer wish to be free." One single head – that of a handsome golden-haired and blue-eyed man – answered in a beautiful voice.

"What do you wish for then?" Vazmodan asked hesitantly.

All fifty heads stared at Vazmodan and fifty voices spoke as one as Briareos replied: "I know who you are – and what. You are a general of the race of spyder-fiends that waged the failed war against the Wind Dukes of Aaqa, also named the vaati and their god-slave allies. What do I wish for? I wish to see the multiverse BURN! I wish to see war, destruction and doom. You wish to rekindle this ancient war, do you not?"

"Yes...yes we do. In time we will." Vazmodan stated.

"Good. Promise me mayhem. Promise me war. Promise me those things and I will join you. Not just against these current foes. But I will join your army, little spider. For I wish to see all of creation destroyed. Even if it means my own demise...as long as I can see the end, at the end." Briareos pledged.

Suddenly Vazmodan's worries were a lot less...

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The Green Magi sat staring into the crystal sphere. He was apprehensive to say the least. He felt powerful magics unleashed several times from the area that he had sent his unwitting agents. The last was a conjuration of vast power. Very near the vortex that his agents were even now approaching.

The same vortex filled the area with magical interference which made his scrying attempts all but impossible – it was this same interference that had caused Ugezivius's teleport spell to go awry. The Green Magi made a decision he would have to put more pieces on the board. This was too important to trust only Lady Sterling and her comrades as powerful as they may be.

The Green Magi left the room and as customary the simulacrum known as "Number One" awaited him. "Summon Master Prometheus." The Green Magi instructed his minion.

Number One did his customary half-bow and turned to carry out his orders. The Green Magi stood alone with his own thoughts. Memories of pacts and promises made long ago.