Crom and the Demon

Crom and the Demon

The cold night wind gently rose to a light gust, and the rustling of Autumn leaves filled Crom’s ears. With steady steps he walked among the trees in the ancient marble court yard, its walls now cracked with age and over grown with vines. The sun was dwindling in the dusky sky, and the sounds of the few late birds screeched across the open sky.

He paused, his keen eyes catching the glint of steel in the dim shadows of this accursed place. Slowly, he reached for his Dagger, though he had no intention of drawing it just yet. He eyed the shadows suspiciously and then took a step backyards, his shoulders hunched and his chin held high. He had no idea why he even bothered to come to this place. He drew his dagger.

A few days ago, when he lay in the gutter of some back alley he had sworn never to hunt after treasure ever again, it was too dangerous to be a Dungeon Crawler on his own, and in the dusty streets of the Eastern cities, friends were hard to come by. But the promise of a reward for the return of a sacred gem had soon shattered that lie. His contact, Captain Izakiar was acting on behalf of the Sultan, known for his many riches... a man would kill to work for him.

He re-sheathed his dagger and tightened his Leathers about his waist, pulling the scabbard to his side from his back. It felt safer there. He had wondered to the opening of the great underground Halls of some long lost Prince, who’s name was no longer known and who’s legacy none cared for. Casually he took a few paces forward to peer into the darkness of the stairwell leading down.

Seemed innocent enough, despites its menacing darkness and stench of rotten leaves and peat. He toyed with the idea of going back to the city to get a bigger sword and perhaps some more armour, but then dismissed the idea when he realised that he did, in actual fact, have no more money. Looked like this was more of a necessity rather than a jaunt.


He had been walking for hours now. The finely cut marble and polished Granite walls had been left behind him, and now he walked through great halls filled with masterly cut arches and gold veined black marble walls. All about him lay piles of bones long ago forgotten but some how remained in perfect form.

Dust covered everything in this ancient place, and it pulled the strings of his heart to be the first in hundreds of years to set foot in this place. He had found a torch some miles behind him and lit it with a simple few sparks from two strangely cut rocks, and its light wasn’t even starting to dwindle. He waved it from left to right, taking care not to look at the bright flames, and instead looking beyond into the dimness.

His first thought was that some years ago a great battle had taken place here, but he later found this to not be so. Among the corpses he had found smaller forms, mere children some of which seemed to be no older than babes, and others of women and men. What ragged clothes survived seemed to be simple garments, the garb of peasants and common folk no doubt.

It was obvious that some great massacre had come to fulfilment here, for what reason he could not say. With great care he stepped lightly through the littered remains and headed deeper into the complex, always, he noted, sloping downwards.

After much fuss to make sure he did not upset the eternal rest of these people, he came to a set of great double doors, or at least, what was left of them. Shards of splintered wood and bars of twisted metal lay scattered about the dusty floor, and here and there lay the remains of a few armoured figures. He guessed them to be of some Elite fighting force going by their garb and equipment, for they possessed not one blade but three. A dagger strapped to the waist of all but one, and two evenly lengthened swords of some keenness. They appeared to have been taken by surprise for their weapons were still sheathed in the rotted scabbards, and all but the last figure who’s Dagger still remained drawn seemed to have died where they stood, great chunks ripped from their plated armour. He examined the final corpse with more than a little interest.

How come this one had not been taken by surprise, and why was it only his Dagger drawn ? He moved his torch closer to examine the detail of the Dagger closely. To his surprise it still cut despite its age, and he cursed to himself for being so clumsy. Tentatively he prized it from the long dead warriors hand and placed it under the folds of his girdle. He offered a prayer of thanks to the fallen Warrior, and stepped silently through the doors which seemed to be blown from the outside... as if something wished to have escaped.

The next hall seemed more like a battlefield. It was a huge cavern carved from the rough hewn rock, and its floor was littered with smashed stone slabs and hundreds of badly mauled corpses, a few he noted, with missing limbs. There appeared to be no form of healing or bandage, which told him that this battle had been swift.

Looking closer at some of them he found that they too had had their armour rendered and torn to shreds by some powerful beasts claws, and even though being a man of the wild, he had never seen such claw marks. He prayed for them briefly and stalked down to the next door skulking some where in the darkness.


He walked slowly through the stone slab doors with the stealth of a cat, for this place held about it a foreboding aura, and slowly he drew his own blade. The lanterns here were lit, their great fires burning some twenty foot up the walls, leaving ancient scorch marks trailing up into the darkness.

This hall was smaller than the last, and made from some sort of sandstone. Many great pillars had been erected to hold up the ceiling some where in the darkness of this place, and he noted the strange blue and gold ribbons etched into the stone of these pillars. In the distance he could hear the cold and slow chanting of some long forgotten devils, though the sound seemed to emanate from the very walls instead of from a mans throat.

Some fifty yards ahead of him was sat an Alter made from solid gold, and placed upon the top of this alter in the jaws of a silver carved Demon rested a great multifaceted Gem the size of his fist. It would pay for all he dreamed of, 'forget the Sultan' he thought, 'this is mine.' His eyes widened for a moment at the size of the thing, but they narrowed again quickly as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Something was near by.

Promptly he pulled his leathers tighter around his waist and silently stalked his way to the left side of the great hall. He had taken no more than a few steps forwards when he noticed a shift in the dust on the floor. He crouched to examine it, embedding the torch deeply in the florr between two sandstone slabs, he gently dragged a finger through the thick dust.

Not many people would have noticed the slight difference in the dust, it arced out in the shape of a quarter of a circle suggesting a door was hidden somehow in the wall. He traced a finger from the floor to the wall, and cursed himself for not noticing the door earlier. Glancing around one last time, he sheathed his blade and placed both hands on the wall where the door was meant to be. With one great heave of his powerful arms the door moved back and inch. He applied more pressure only to find the door not giving way anymore. He paused to think for a moment, his brow furrowed with ponder then quickly altered his hand grip to slide the door one way. Sure enough the door began to slide to the left and he peered in curiously.

This room was smaller than the rest by far, its walls decorated by once colourful and attractive wall hangings of fine silks and feral furs, now all rotted to thick husks and spiders webbing. In one corner sat a corpse long dead and slumped against the wall, and clutched in the hands of this crumbling skeleton rested a curled up scroll, clutched as if the very life of this person depended upon it. To his surprise, and suspicion, a candle still burned at the foot of the corpse, as if it were lit only a few moments ago. Crom never feared the dead, claiming that the Dead only rise when the invader has no respect for the deceased, and so walked to the fallen man with care.

Gently he prized the parchment from the clutches of the husk and examined it before unravelling it. He was a man of the wild, that much was true, but his ventures into dark and ancient places had forced him to take up literacy with Scholars and Priests. With some difficulty he began to read the ancient text.


“We, those who forged the world with our wills and slaughtered the invaders from fields afar, have come to our end, as do all great civilisations of this world. We have brought life to the deserts and wreaked havoc with the lush plains of the North, and given life to great cities long forgotten to us... but now we have brought a great evil upon the world, one we cannot battle.
We have brought into existence a thing from the deep abyss’ of the Hells for the good of the folk we claimed, though our calling had not intended to Summon forth such a Demon.
We have meddled with things we do not understand, and so have paid the ultimate price for our ignorance.
The Demon which came to our calls has no fear of men and their weapons, even are scholars have found it impossible to reason or battle it with magics. This Demon goes by the name of Belgorath and there has been no denizen of the deep more fearful and lusting for destruction.
I, Sultan Pasha, have summoned our ancestral Spirits forth to aid us in containing Belgorath, and in the wise worlds we forged the blade of Luminai, with this he cannot pass on, for pass on is what he does... from one Warrior to another. Should whom ever find this Scroll ever face Belgorath, know that your end has come, for only the Blade of Luminai may ward off his assault.”


Crom cursed quietly to himself and rolled the parchment up once again. Gingerly he placed it back into the skeletal hand of the long dead Pasha, and walked solemnly out of the room. Things never worked out as easily as people thought. He stalked out into the main hall and stood in paralysed awe at the sight which held him in terror.


There stood a shiny Demon with two great ivory horns, in the middle of the Hall, its great bat like wings flexing and its Dog like muzzle twitching as he caught the smell of mortal flesh, wickedly its lips curled into a havoc wreaking smile, and it spoke to him in fearsome tones. He did not understand its words.

It stood some fifteen foot from hoof to horn, and its eyes were large and bulbous like that of some giant fish. Its arms were outstretched and held a great whip curved and wicked, sheathed in flames that bit and crackled in the air. For legs, the beast of the Deep possessed great Hooves like a Ram and the fir was thick and course, scorched black by the fires of Hell. Its bare torso was well muscled and a deep reddish black, strange tattoos and scars covered it from head to hoof.

Crom's fear was quickly overcome as he pulled his Dagger up to defend himself, knowing full well that the man-forged weapon would be of no use in defeating this figure of awesome power. Maintaining his stance for a few moments, Crom eyed the Demon over a few times in a feeble attempt to find a weak point. Then he did something the Great Belgorath was not expecting. He turned and fled.

It was like some maddening nightmare as he bolted for the door knowing that the Demon was hot on his heels. Crom’s trunk like legs were stretched to the limit and the burn he felt in his muscles was crippling. Suddenly he darted to his right, placing a pillar between him and the thundering of hooves. He did not stop to look around but could hear the crack of the whip and felt the sting of its searing bite upon his back. Still he ran on with almost blind fear.

He risked a glance over his shoulder and resisted the urge to soil his britches. The Demon was still on him, its head lowered to show two great horns lowering and ready to gore him ! Again he darted, this time to the right and was promptly showered by falling masonry and rocks turned to dust, no doubt the Demon had gored the Pillar instead.

Reaching the Alter where sat the great Gem. He turned suddenly to face the Demon and his boldness stopped the great Beast in its tracks. He brandished his Dagger menacingly, a sickening glare on his face, and lunatic smile upon his lips. The face off lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was all he needed as he again bolted, this time straight for the Demon.

It was another move the great Belgorath was not expecting and it looked on in confusion as the bulk of Crom flew forward and dived between its legs. Rolling a few times and coming to a stop in a crouch, Crom wasted no time in leaping forward and back into the next Hall.

He did not stop to look back to see what the Demon was trying to do, he just ran like the wind, as if he was on some frantic wild hunt. Soon he found himself lost. Slowly he walked now, his eyes unable to see, his hands and primal sense of survival the only thing keeping him alive... the gem beneath his leathers, cunningly stolen from the Alter. He smiled, Now to get out.

He crawled through the dark passage ways, totally lost, his mind a buzz of confusion and angered despair. His soul, so used to being free, was trapped down here, in this dark and soul threatening place. All manner of stupid mouse traps awaited his fingers and toes, he had no doubt. But there were other things too, as he slowly took each step, his eyes adjusted to the lightless chambers, and all about lay the long rotted remains of a mighty struggle.

Soldiers still gripped weapons rusted with time, Women still clung to their skeletal children, and Lovers still entwined in fear and despair. Something stirred in the darkness, something not natural, and Crom raised his Dagger slowly. He stopped breathing, and listened intently.

It stirred again, like a giant snake that was uncoiling. His fear bred the image of a giant serpent raising its head to strike at him from the dark, he envisioned its dripping fangs, its silky eyes, its fetid breath. But nothing came to strike him down, instead, terrible and soul shaking screams of pain echoed hauntingly down the long corridor to his left. He froze in fear, for but a short time. then regained his composure, and headed through the darkness to the source of the evil.

He walked for perhaps ten minutes, his eyes adjusting to the darkness with a feral gleam in portals to his soul. Ahead there were lights, a warm and an inviting light from many torches, and too his ears came a singing, a singing of many people, a chorus from a sermon, filled with dread and loathing.

His eyes caught the blood stained wall, caught the blood that dripped thickly from stone slab to stone slab, caught the tatters of flesh that clung to the wall, slipping with the thick warm blood. Without thought, he stepped into the room, and was paralysed with terror.

He felt as if he was falling, the dim light not quite enough to guide his eyes. His weightlessness was brief, and though he felt his feet cold on the solid stone, he could not help but feel as if he was falling to his death. A fear that he had never felt before washed over him, and he swooned with the nausea, fighting to keep down his breakfast. With a few heavy steps from limbs that wished not to work, he made it across the room, and turned left, into the great temples archway.

It was ruined, as was everything else in this hell whole. But the blood was fresh, and it dripped from the top of the walls in an unending fountain. It oozed and dripped its way onto the floor, where it gathered into pools. Bodies, what was left of them, dotted the floor, some sprawled over the alter, some slumped against the pews... some even twisted into one another. But then he lost thought, as the walls began to move. Twisted, horrible faces leered out at him, literally coming out of the walls, moaning in their pain and anguish, reaching out for him with their blood eyeless faces. Their moans became screams of pain, as they were once again absorbed back into the wall. A disturbing sight for any one, but Crom was made of more, and shrugged his great shoulders. They were ghosts, twisted and warped in their pain and despair, nothing more. He told himself he was not scared, though every fibre of his being screamed out to run away and hide.

The blood still oozed from the walls, and bodies lay still, the wall remained intact and as strong as ever. Evil forces were at work here, and he wanted to know what. The quest for the Sultan was no more, this was getting personal by the minute. He held his dagger closer to his body, and approached the desecrated alter slowly, his feet light padding the floor, barely making a noise. Something small was eating, he could hear it now, and every now and again, a shred of flesh was thrown into the air before being gulped down heartily.

Easing his way up the few marble steps, he paused, and clasped his dagger between his teeth, reaching out to clamber silently onto the alter. He grabbed the small creature by the back of the neck, and one leg.

With one powerful twist of his limbs, the creature was in the air, found itself being flung into the air, colliding finally with a sick splat onto the bloody wall. for a moment it made no sound as Crom approached the sickening thing, then, as it came to consciousness, it began a terrible wail, not, Crom noted through pain, but through despair.

It spoke with an eastern accent, though its throat was wrinkled with age and blotched with sores and boils. Its eyes, though sparkling in the dim light, were as white as the snow, and its cheeks were pallid and gaunt like a cadaver. A small sprouting of hair, thick with grease and dust, was tired up like a tropical tribes-mans, the rest of its head was bald and flaking with dead skin. Its limbs, though long, were frail and seemed nothing more than bones and skin. A pitiful sight if ever he saw one.

“Ohhhhhhhhh ! Ohhhhhhh, my body feels pain, but it is Nothing !! Nothing to the pain my soul wails with ! WHY ?” Why Meeee !?” It wailed, and Crom had to cover his ears for a moment, as it wailed some more.

Abruptly the wailing stopped, finished as the small creature shifted to one side, and passed wind noisily. Spotting a small chunk of near rotted meat, it eagerly grabbed the morsel, and stuffed in into a fang filled maw. Eagerly it chewed down on the chunk, half swallowed, and stuffed it in with a clawed finger, eyes crossing to focus on its spindly digit. It belched appreciatively, and thumped its chest twice. Crom grunted in disgust to prompt the creature, it seemed not to notice him.
“Mmmm, nice morsels here, yes ? Ohhh, look, a calf ? I think a calf, yesssss. Would you like some Calf, yes ?” It muttered to itself, and reached for another piece of rotting meat. Crom slammed a boot over its frail arm, and crunched the bone to dust. the creature didn’t wail at all, instead, it reached with the other arm. When it found it could not reach, it turned to look at Crom’s shin, and licked its lips, glancing up at Crom once or twice to gauge his response. Another boot connected with its mouth, and it flew back into the wall again.
“Speak Ghoul, or I will end your days of scuttling among the dead for good.”

The Ghoul looked up at him with baleful eyes, its twisted mouth no longer smiling, a thick line of black blood dripped from its split lip. Gingerly, it wiped it off on the back of its clawed hand, and stood closer, stopping in a hunch over another body. It sniffed the air with its flattened nose, turning its head slightly as it did so. Without turning back, it glanced at Crom with its glazed eyes and spoke in a whisper.
“Warrior, whispered the wind. Brave, breathed the fire. Solid, moaned the earth. Among other things they did speak to me, the earth singing its groaning wail to me all days and all nights of time... but never did it tell me of who it spoke of.” The Ghoul licked the thick black blood from its hand, and it seemed to sooth its blackened heart.

“That which you seek you now have, so, why does the Brave and Solid Warrior speak to me, hmm ? You have what you want, but never should you give it away, never, you hear ?” Crom nodded, horribly fascinated by the Ghouls words.
“Speak more craven abomination, tell me what you know of the Demon.” He lowered his Dagger at the creature,
“I demand it.” He added. The creature moaned to itself, and shook its head slowly, a drop of saliva falling silently about its spotted chin.
“Noooo, true, true it is. I cannot deny the Brave, Solid Warrior, true... have done it once before... I chuckle to myself. See what they faeries in the sky did to me last time I didn’t agree, see ?” The Ghoul waved a hand over itself.
“I will tell all, but I crave a boon from one such as yourself, Hmm, yes ?”
“Speak your mind before it spills out over the floor Ghoul, I have no time for such tricks and treachery. You seem familiar to me, tell me why this is so ?” He placed a boot on the creatures leg this time, and slowly began to apply pressure. It did not move.
“Ahh yes, it is true, we have met once before... but not as I am now, do you remember ? Nay, did not think so did I. But listen of the Mighty Belgorath, and hear me speaks to you of his nature.”

The Ghoul leapt up onto a pew, and gestured Crom to do likewise. He did so, dagger still in hand, pointed at the creature. He gestured to go on, and Ghoul scratched at the ancient wood half heartedly.

“Many, many moons ago, I cannot say, for even the earth and fires and winds find it hard to remember back to those days. Very pew that you sits on was once bathed in the light of the great candle, from the Hell ball. Whole city was under the sun, so it was... not always like this that you see now. Earth grew tired of blood shed upon its hide it did, and so covered city from roof to sewer it did. People waged war, good war on outsiders, conquered great many places from here to there, where the sun rose and fell. Spanning mighty long miles they did. War on minds, they marched further and further into sunset, till one day they reached Hell ball, and found it too much to carry on. Only Hell born can take on Sun people, and so this peoples raised the Great Belgorath from Pit, nasty pit... nasty pit of doom !!”

“Me was born when great nasty was lifted from Hell pit, and me lived under its rule... teaches me all he knows about War and battle, about magics cruel and foul. Me and others learned well... but then great Sage say time to say good bye to Belgorath, for he bad and evil, so must be sent back home to hell pit. Belgorath thought different did he, and so went loose, killing all he did. But not with own hands, nay nay, with hands of others did he kill all. Soldiers turned on Families, that why so many died too quickly... but they still speak to me, tells me that I am bad, wicked and foolishly evil. I chuckle, me helps mighty Belgorath, as his true son, he teaches me not to treason with others of my ilk, and shows me great prize if me helps him. Yes, mighty Warrior, me helps Belgorath. But worry not, for me sees Belgoraths weakness, and me sees failure of soul of mine. Great Winged one sets me here for eternity to help any to get away from this place. Some never made it...” With his clawed finger, he pointed at a fresher corpse. Crom was growing uneasy.

“Why did they fail ?” He asked, and the creature smiled.

“Theesa speaks to me.”

Something grabbed Crom in a mighty grip, and lifted him skyward.


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Thank you very much for your time.

Ferris