Deep in the pits of hell, a Demon roars in anger and frustration.
The Tiefling near its feet trembles and throws itself prostrate.
“What is wrong Master?”
The massive Demon looks down, fury painted like a mask across its broad features.
Snatching up the wretched Tiefling, the Demon raises it to its face.
“THE FEY GODS HAVE STOLEN MY PRIZE!”
“Do you mean the Human: Vogir? Surely he’s not worth this much anger?”
“NOT WORTH? NOT WORTH!”
Forcing himself to calm down, the demon takes a rattling breath.
“NOW THAT I AM TRAPPED HERE AGAIN, VOGIR WAS MY BEST CHANCE OF DEFEATING THE TREACHEROUS THEREANTHOR.”
“But surely Master, his mission hasn’t changed…”
“TRUE, HE WILL STILL SEEK OUT THE DRAGON, BUT HE’LL DO IT OF HIS OWN FREE WILL. I WILL GAIN NO SATISFACTION IF HE’S NOT A TOOL OF MINE!”
With that, the Demon bites the head off his unfortunate underling and tosses the remains aside.