Baelfire, Summoner of Shadows
Baelfire, Summoner of Shadows
By Geoff Bottone
You can earn a preview version of Baelfire for Red Dragon Inn by participating in our SlugCrew demo program! And now, we conjure up a tale to illuminate some of Baelfire’s more conniving qualities!
He had once been a mortal man, long, long ago.
Even in his earliest memories, he had desired power–to create, to destroy, to bend the very world to his command. He had pursued that power to the exclusion of all else, reading forbidden tomes and practicing forbidden arts. He had suffered and sacrificed, trading himself away bit by bit in order to learn the secrets he sought.
He had given away his soul, his humanity, and even his name.
It had almost all been worth it.
He transformed himself into a demon, only to be immediately bound by the chains of destiny. For, while he possessed magical might that rivaled the skill of most mages and obtained strength that outmatched most warriors, so, too did he inherit the myriad limitations common to all demonkind. Chief among them being an inability to enter the mortal world unless summoned.
He consoled himself that, at the very least, he had been reborn too late to be sealed away behind the Obsidian Door. Instead of being consigned to an eternity fighting for dominance in the Expanse, he was trapped in a relatively quiet pocket dimension. He found, through trial and error, that he could shape the place to his liking, continue his research, and build his power without any direct opposition.
And though his imprisonment did wear on him at times, there was always before him the hope of respite. For were there not plenty of sorcerers who walked the paths that he had once followed, who were willing to make pacts with demonkind for access to the awful powers of the Expanse?
High above him, in the spike- and skull-bedecked turrets of his hellish castle, which he had hewn from bone and blood, an ancient, rusted bell sounded a single, mournful note.
He smiled.
Like the one summoning him now, for instance..
The time between when the Summoner’s Bell began to chime and when he was ready to answer the call was perhaps half an hour. Although he knew that the mage that called out to him would be getting impatient, his preparations could not wait.
He chanted the incantations for all his glammers and auras, donned his hellish robes and his pauldrons and pectoral of living bone. With chains did he lash his horned soul catchers to his thighs. He adorned his throat, wrists, and fingers with costly jewelry forged from fire-blacked hellerite.
And then, for good measure, he brushed his hair and polished his horns.
After a final glance at himself in his full-length soul mirror, he smiled, revealing a mouth of glittering, shark-like teeth. The souls trapped behind the silvered glass shrieked their approval at his countenance.
With a final satisfied nod, he snapped his fingers.
There was a rush of movement that made him feel as though he was surging upward and slightly sideways. And then he was through.
He raised his arms, causing his shadow to unfurl to towering heights behind him. Purple lightning arced from his fingertips, crashing like the sounds of timpani against the walls and ceiling of the vaulted chamber. Sparkling smoke poured beneath his robes to envelop the cracked, brick floor, and a chorus of tortured shrieks and ominous chanting filled the air.
While the pyrotechnic cacophony boomed, screamed, and crackled, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. Some kind of crypt or undercroft, damp and disused. He noticed the ruined altar in the corner, its sigils and inscriptions thoroughly defaced, and idly wondered if it belonged to any of the dark gods he knew personally.
Mostly, he was interested in the ritual circle that bound him to the mortal plane and, more importantly, rendered him trapped and powerless. It was not aesthetically pleasing–whoever had chalked it on the floor had the most aggressively unpleasant handwriting he had ever seen–but it was competently made. There were no gaps that he could see, no poorly bound magics that he could exploit. His smoke billowed against the invisible barrier thrown up by the outer limits of the ritual circle, but did not cross it.
He was a little disappointed. The opportunity to tear his summoner in half and wreak some unstructured evil of his own always appealed. However, he was somewhat pleased to know that he would be working for a professional–albeit one with absolutely rancid penmanship.
Said professional stood on the outside of the ritual circle, a respectful distance away. They clutched a tattered scroll–made from human flesh, very nice–in one hand, and a rune-bedecked ritual knife in the other. He could not make out much else about his summoner, as they were wrapped in a midnight black hooded cloak of particularly occlusive design.
His initial entrance spells were fading out, so he channeled his sudden spike of annoyance into announcing himself.
“Presumptuous worm! You dare summon Baelfire?!”
The summoner shuddered at his words, but did not shrink away. After a moment, they lifted the ritual knife to trace a glyph in the air. Baelfire felt his flesh tingle as the binding spell took hold.
“Demon,” came the quavering voice, “by spells and art, by power and craft, by your True Name, I summon you from beyond and bind you to my service. Let us…”
There was an awkward pause as the summoner quickly consulted their flesh scroll.
“…um…”
“Treat with one another…”
“…oh, there it is…treat with one another…and thus enter into a pact, that you might serve me faithfully and depart with mortal treasures to delight you.”
“What plaything do you offer to me, mortal?”
“My…immortal soul, oh prince of demons.”
Baelfire blinked. He had acquired secrets, jewels, magical artifacts, and many other trifles, but never a human soul before.
“What makes you think your soul is of such worth that it will tempt me?”
“Uh…” said the summoner, having clearly not considered this line of questioning before. “It’s pretty young still. Hasn’t gotten up to much in the way of evil. I don’t even know all that much forbidden magic, truth be told. I think it’s…fairly innocent, is what I’m saying. I’d heard that innocent…well, innocent-adjacent souls are worth rather a lot.”
“That is…So,”
Baelfire intoned, trying not to let the confusion creep into his voice. It had been a strong start, but this summoning was quickly veering into unusual territory.
“And what if I were to take this trifle, sorcerer…”
“Dennis.”
“What?”
“You can call me Dennis, if you want.” The sorcerer–Dennis–scratched the top of his hood with the tip of his ritual knife. “I figured since I know your True Name, you ought to know–”
“Enough of your prattling…DENNIS!”
Baelfire quickly magiced up an infernal glow that bathed his body in crimson light, enhanced his physique with about two feet in height and sixty pounds of muscle. His voice thundered around the ritual chamber.
“Tell me what you have summoned me for and be quick, else I depart this mortal plane with alacrity.”
Dennis drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t very much, gesturing with both scroll and dagger. “It is said in the forbidden texts that you can summon armies from the Stygian Expanse, and that they obey your every command. In exchange for my…immortal soul, I ask that you and your armies help me lay waste to my enemies.”
Baelfire smiled. This was more like it.
“Name your foe, sorcerer, and ere the sun has set this day, I and my unholy legions will have wiped all memory of them from the face of the world.”
“Greyport!” Dennis shouted. “I want you to attack Greyport.”
Shocked by the name of his intended target, Baelfire lost control of his invoked spells. Unable to exist without his concentration, his auras, his enhancements, even his little theatrical flourishes surged out of control, crashed against the invisible barrier created by the ritual circle, and flickered out.
A now much smaller, much more plain Baelfire raised his hands in terror.
“Greyport?!” he cried. “Are you insane?”
He had summoned forth a chalkboard–a small one, of course, as its maximum dimensions were limited by the diameter of the circle–and for the next hour used it to write down various notes and diagrams for Dennis’ edification.
“But they can’t even use magic,” protested Dennis. “How could they stop you?”
Baelfire rapped the crude stick figure representing a Greyport city guard with his chalk. “Because they are supported by priests of the four gods and the mages of the Collegium, who can. And you’re also forgetting about what we demons like to call the ‘X Factor,’ which are the city’s adventurers.”
“How many adventurers can a city possibly have?” scoffed Dennis. “Like four?”
“Try fifty,” said Baelfire, with a sigh. “At least fifty, anyway. Truth be told, I’ve lost count.”
“That seems unlikely.”
Irritated, Baelfire wheeled on his heel, sending sparks off the floor as he hurled the chalk at Dennis. It hit the invisible barrier conjured by the magic circle and exploded, as he knew it would, but the effect it had on Dennis was still satisfying.
“Granted,”
said Baelfire, once again employing The Voice,
“Not all of them are technically adventurers. Some are stablehands and cooks and doctors. But I assure you, all of them have pluck and what we demons like to call ‘main character energy.’ They are not to be trifled with lightly.”
By this point, Dennis had retrieved his ritual knife, its blade bent by its recent contact with the floor. Baelfire noticed, with some relief, that Dennis’ head drooped almost as much as the tip of his blade. It seemed he was finally getting through to…
“What about one target in the city?” Dennis wheedled. “A small target. A non-critical target. Something that’s not well-defended that they wouldn’t miss. A target whose destruction would send a message.”
Baelfire pondered. A lightning strike to a soft target in the city might work. It would give him the chance to try out some new summoning spells he had been developing. It would also be nice to stretch his legs. Breathe the fresh air. Smell the metaphorical flowers.
“That is…more acceptable. What target do you propose?”
“Enchantment Park?” said Dennis, a hopeful note in his voice.
Ah, smell the literal flowers!
“That is…”
Baelfire intoned,
“Acceptable.”
Bound by the contract and released from the circle, Baelfire dutifully followed Dennis to Greyport’s western gates. Dennis still wore his hooded cloak, the cowl pulled low to hide his face. This might have been suspicious attire and behavior anywhere else, but in a city where the most prominent advocates of social programs were both members of the Thieves’ Guild and constantly wearing black, Dennis attracted no notice whatsoever.
Nor did Baelfire, who had used some basic glamours to disguise himself as a kindly, benevolent-looking old man in a white cloak. He smiled blandly at the guards and gave them a suitably smarmy story about “visiting the grandkiddies,” and was let into the city without even a perfunctory once over.
As he stepped through the gatehouse and into the city proper, Baelfire once again congratulated himself on his canny decision to study summoning magic. Carrying his armies in his pocket, as it were, meant no long supply lines, logistical issues, or, most critically, showing up at the gates of a settlement with a suspiciously large retinue of heavily armed associates.
Greyport looked significantly different since the last time he had visited, so he was forced to follow Dennis’ lead as they traveled across the city to Enchantment Park.
The park was even more beautiful than Baelfire remembered it. Advances in horticulture and magic made it truly a wonder to behold. He admired the rarified color of the shapeshifting foliage and cocked an ear to listen to the ethereal music playing just on the edge of hearing. Other than a few apprentices from the Collegium and some bored-looking city guards, the only other people in the park were pedestrians and nature lovers.
A little elven girl, who was being carried by her mom, waved at him.
He waved back. He was a demon, certainly, but he wasn’t a monster.
“Baelfire?” said Dennis, sounding irritated.
“I do these things in my own time, mortal, in my own way. Question my methods at your peril.”
Dennis shrank into his cloak, appropriately cowed. Baelfire let out a quiet sigh of relief that, despite his inattention, he had not lost his demonic mystique.
He flexed his fingers as he surveyed the park, waiting for the elven mother to carry her child out of sight.
He counted to three.
Then, at the same time as he triggered his readied spells, he seized the edge of his white cloak and cast it aside. Hellfire ignited along its hems, consuming it before it hit the ground.
Sparkling smoke erupted from around Baelfire’s feet, coiling up around his body to form hideous, shifting shapes in the air around him. Lightning flashed across the clear, blue sky as, high above, the sun began to dim. As Baelfire cackled and resumed his true form, an icy wind ripped through the park, tearing delicate flowers from their stems and buffeting the terrified visitors.
In the distance, someone screamed. Music to Baelfire’s ears.
The guards, snapped out of their restiveness, reached for their weapons as the sparkling smoke coalesced into the shapes of hideous beasts and terrifying extraplanar entities. Balefire let out another perfectly pitched cackle as he was suddenly surrounded by slavering, wolf-like beasts, serpentine nightmares, skeletal warriors in rusting armor, and ghostly apparitions that howled mournfully.
“Enchantment Park!”
Baelfire roared.
“This is your reckoning!”
He snapped his fingers, and a large and unruly rhododendron burst into shrieking green fire.
The apprentice mages loosed tiny magical darts from their outstretched hands. They struck Baelfire’s dark aura and disintegrated.
“DEMON!” someone cried. “DEMON IN THE PARK!”
Baelfire cast about for the doomcrier, intent on silencing them.
“GET THE MAGES! GET THE PRIESTS! HURRY!”
Baelfire looked down to see Dennis standing with his hands cupped to his mouth, his voice amplified by a simple sonic spell.
“What. Are. You. DOING?!”
“HELP! IT’S BAELFIRE!” shouted Dennis, before looking up sheepishly. “I’M JUST…er…I’m just selling the attack, you know? Striking fear into the hearts of our enemies?”
“The point was to stage a hit and run attack,” said Baelfire, “not challenge the city to a stand-up fight. We talked about this.”
Dennis pointed to the far entrance to the park, where members of the city guard were already starting to muster.
“Well, you’d better hurry, then.”
Grunting in irritation, Baelfire quickly fired off some spells of earth rending and plant withering. Some nearby trellises blew themselves apart. A gazebo on a distant hill grew limbs and a mouth and ate a very surprised guard.
It was a sloppy job, without any artistry or presentation, but he had technically laid waste to Enchantment Park.
“Come on, you,” he muttered to Dennis.
Then he loosed his shadow creatures on the guards before retreating.
“Release me, mortal. I have fulfilled the contract.”
Dennis, who was fleeing beside him, his black cloak flapping, shook his head.
“What do you mean, ‘no?’ I have. Fulfilled. The contract!”
“No,” Dennis gasped. “The contract said you had to serve me until you destroyed Enchantment Park and got me safely out of the city. We’re still in the city.”
Baelfire’s ire burned hot inside of him. He wanted to vent it on Dennis, but their pact made that impossible. He channeled the extra energy into running, instead.
“If you release me, you will be just another human in this city. You could remove that blasted cloak and be completely safe.”
Dennis’ panting was, for a while, the only reply. Perhaps the summoner was considering the wisdom of his words. Perhaps he would release him after…
“No,” said Dennis. “It’s outside the city or nothing.”
“Fine! But you must help me help you.”
“How?”
Balefire gestured at the buildings lining the street they were running down.
“It has been many years since I was last in Greyport, and I don’t recognize any of this. So make yourself useful and tell me the best way to get to the city gates!”
Dennis nodded. “Fine. Go left here.”
They zig-zagged down side streets and alleys, with Dennis sounding increasingly confident the farther away they got from Enchantment Park. Baelfire couldn’t help but feel hopeful as well. The second he was outside of the city, the contract was officially finished. With Dennis no longer binding him, he would be able to go home, leaving this whole farce behind him.
With a dirge in his heart, Baelfire rounded the next corner, only to be greeted by the grand and gleaming edifice of Greyport’s Great Temple. Arrayed on the temple steps, holding borrowed weapons, holy symbols, and mystical charms, were the acolytes and priests of the city’s four faiths.
“Your sense of direction sucks.”
“Sorry,” Dennis said quietly.
But Baelfire noticed that Dennis didn’t seem particularly apologetic. In fact, there was something that looked not unlike an evil gleam in his eye.
He didn’t like that gleam, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to think about what it meant. The clergy charged, and Baelfire had to devote his attention to summoning enough creatures to meet that charge.
Many of the acolytes lay wounded, and part of the Great Temple’s lovely facade was now on fire. This was cold comfort for Baelfire, who was still smoking from the multiple Bless and Lesser Demonic Excoriation spells that had been levied against him. In the end, he had been able to briefly overwhelm Greyport’s clergy with a mass of summoned creatures, giving him just enough time to get away.
He wondered what he was going to do, how he was going to survive this, how he was going to be able to get back home. He supposed he could hide somewhere and wait until Dennis left the city of his own accord.
But that seemed very unlikely. He was fairly certain that Dennis staying in the city was Dennis’ entire plan. If the contract remained in effect, and Baelfire couldn’t leave, that meant that he would have to remain in Greyport, too, fighting in fully justifiable self-defense every time he ran across the city’s defenders.
Which, if you tilted your head and squinted, meant that Baelfire was following the spirit of Dennis’ original request. “Attack Greyport.”
It was as impressive as it was infuriating. Baelfire had to admit, however begrudgingly, that Dennis had some skill.
Of course, that didn’t help him leave the city. Baelfire couldn’t harm Dennis, not even indirectly via his summoned creatures. It was also clear that Dennis had no plans to release him voluntarily, so the only way for Baelfire to be able to leave was to do whatever Dennis said, and that was just going to get them both killed.
And then, as Baelfire limped along the alley, he smiled. Because there was one other way to get out of the contract. And using that particular method meant only one of them would have to die.
And it wasn’t going to be Baelfire…
“Um,” said Dennis, from a short distance up ahead. “I’m lost again, but I think the western gates are this way.”
Dennis pointed east, down a side street. Baelfire hadn’t been in Greyport in a very long time, but he doubted that the city’s inhabitants had reversed the meanings of the cardinal directions on him.
Baelfire glowered. Time to stop being a patsy. Time to end this. He needed this upstart summoner dealt with. He needed another fight, against opponents that possessed not only awesome power and skill, but a reputation for causing friendly fire incidents and massive collateral damage as a matter of course.
Without another word, he pushed past Dennis, away, his steps trending up hill, to the Mages’ Collegium.
He was a little disturbed when Dennis let out a whoop of excitement and chased after him.
The wizards were ready for him.
Dozens of apprentices and junior mages, dressed in colorful robes, had arrayed themselves before the Collegium, gripping wands and glowing crystals in their hands. Standing behind the apprentices, possibly to grade their battle performance, possibly for their own protection, stood the Collegium faculty, clad in their own, much fancier robes.
But the wizards were not alone. Surveying the battlefield, Baelfire saw other, more uniquely dressed individuals. There was a girl in armor whose red hair seemed to have been styled by a blind barber. A halfling with unfortunate dentition who was casually tossing an envenomed dagger from hand to hand. An elven woman in blue robes who was so pious that it hurt Baelfire to look at her. An old man who, judging by the velvet robes and silver skullcap, was definitely a powerful wizard. Worse, the old man was accompanied by some kind of…thing…that had decided to take on the form of a fluffy rabbit.
Baelfire swore. Adventurers.
Dennis, oblivious to the obvious danger, pointed his bent ritual knife at the old man in the velvet robes. Once again, his magically amplified voice echoed across Greyport.
“Professor Zot,” Dennis cried. “Remember me?!”
The old man raised a dubious, bushy eyebrow.
“Dennis? Dennis Malebranche?!”
“That’s right!” Dennis shouted, as he spread his arms wide. “This attack has been my doing, Professor Zot! Maybe now you’ll reconsider giving me that failing grade!”
Zot rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, Mr. Malebranche. I failed you for Elementary Enchantments and, in retaliation, you somehow learn demonic magic in less than three weeks and attack Greyport? Color me very skeptical.”
“But I didn’t,” cried Dennis. “I learned summoning magic, and I summoned him to attack Greyport with demonic magic.”
All eyes turned to Baelfire as Dennis jabbed a finger at him. Despite his unfathomable power and his ageless and undying form, Baelfire felt himself shrink away from the scrutiny.
“Did you summon him by rote, or by scroll?” asked Zot, as he crossed his arms.
Dennis scoffed. “I mean…scroll…but I still did it!”
“And that is all, you did, Mr. Malebranche. Your demonic lackey is the one responsible for all the damage done today, not you. That’s C minus work, at best.”
“Give me an A,” shouted Dennis, “Or I’ll have him level the Collegium.”
“Grow up, Mr. Malebranche. You already had your mother come talk to me, and I found her far more repugnant than any demon.”
“Fine,” sneered Dennis. “Get him, Baelfire!”
Before Baelfire could react, everyone rushed him. He howled in agony as the rabbit tore into his calf, as sword and dagger blows rattled off of his chest, as holy light and magical fire burned dancing splotches into the backs of his eyes.
Shaking off the rabbit, Baelfire reached out with his magic and tore open portals in reality. Through them poured hideous beasts and fiends of every description. He ordered them not to attack the Collegium, but instead to form a defensive perimeter around him. He was a little pleased to see Dennis cowering beside him as the adventurers and their allies pressed the attack.
He watched his summoned creatures fall one by one, wincing as the rabbit tore out the throat of an armored wyrm. He knew that they didn’t stand much of a chance unless he summoned more creatures or started wielding his destructive magics.
And the problem with doing any of that was that it would make the adventurers see him as even more of a threat.
Instead, Baelfire fought defensively, using his magic to buff his minions and counter the worst of Zot’s and the elven priestess’ spells. He redirected a lightning bolt into a statue honoring some long dead Chancellor or other, grabbed one of his summoned zombies by the scruff of the neck, using it as an undead shield to absorb a volley of magic missiles.
Zot furrowed his brow, as if confused, and strode up to Baelfire, passing conveniently through the gap in the perimeter that the zombie had left behind.
Baelfire intoned the feeblest malediction he knew. It curdled the air around Zot, but did not even touch the elderly wizard’s overlapping protective spells.
“Is that the best you have?” said Zot, arching an eyebrow.
“You do not want to see my best, wizard.” To prove the point, Baelfire unleashed the full power of his unholy armor. Several of the paving stones of the courtyard screamed, turned into small, fleshy creatures, and scurried away.
Zot squinted into the hellish glare, completely baffled. Baelfire set another minor malediction rebounding off of Zot’s face, inflicting no harm.
Come on, old man, thought Baelfire. You’re a professor. Perform some basic arithmetic.
“You’ll forgive me for saying so,” said Zot, as his rabbit familiar leaped onto his shoulder only to hurl himself at the face of another summoned creature, “but I thought that you would be a lot more formidable. It’s almost as if you aren’t even try…”
A wave of hope and relief flooded through Baelfire. As a demon, he was not used to either emotion, and did not know how to hide them. Fortunately, Dennis was still cowering in the back and could not see Baelfire’s face.
Also fortunately, Zot could see his face. Baelfire saw sudden understanding flicker in Zot’s eyes as the elderly wizard’s face took on both a sympathetic and calculating expression.
“You dare mock my magical might in front of my dark master?“
Baelfire roared, pointing an especially accusatory finger at Dennis.
Zot drew himself up to his full height and gave a barely noticeable flick of his wand. His velvet robes billowed most impressively, as if caught by an unseen breeze.
“Yes, I dare! You are not strong enough to take the Collegium, no matter how powerful you think you are. Surrender now, or suffer the consequences!”
“I must do as my master commands, hedge wizard!”
Baelfire bellowed, sparkling smoke surging up behind him to take the form of great, spectral wings. “I will not rest until you are dead and yonder building lies in smoking ruin.”
“You are bold indeed, oh creature of the benighted abyss, but your bravado and power will not avail you here!” cried Zot, brandishing his wand and raising his hand in a warding gesture. With long fingers, he traced a symbol in the air.
“What’s going on, Zot?” asked the heavily armed warrior woman, “you’re talking even funnier than usual.”
“Stand back, Fiona. For I must unleash the full power of my arcane might to send the demon back from whence it came.”
“Do your worst, sorcerer!”
Behind him, Dennis squealed in apprehension. “Get him, Baelfire!”
A convincing magical light show flared around Zot’s upraised hand.
“You are not welcome in this world, Baelfire! I abjure and rebuke you! I break the chains of your bindings! I banish you hence to the worlds beyond the world, where you must languish in solitude, imprisoned until you are called forth again!”
The Banishment spell struck Baelfire straight in the chest. It had just enough oomph behind it to make it flashy, but not nearly enough to penetrate Baelfire’s innate resistance to magic.
Unless, of course, he consciously suppressed that resistance to magic.
Baelfire threw his head back and raised his arms to the sky as he let the Banishment spell take hold. He sank dramatically to his knees.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
“It’s working!” cheered the elven priestess.
“What is even happening right now?” shouted Fiona.
“Curse you, wizard! You have bested me in this contest of magical might! But you have not seen the last…of…BAELFIRE!”
Dennis lunged at Baelfire, seizing him around the wrist with both hands. He tugged with all his might, as if mere physical strength would be enough to keep Baelfire in the world.
“You have to fight it, Baelfire!” he wheedled. “It can’t end this way.”
“Sorry, kid,” said Baelfire, clutching at his chest with his free hand. “He got me. You’re on your own now.”
The last thing Baelfire saw, before he was forcibly ejected back to his prison dimension, was Dennis looking around frantically, his mouth frozen in an O of terror.
