Appearance

Deep, buried beneath an impossible gulf of chthonic darkness lies the true form of The Black Tyrant.  Few have ever claimed to have seen his demonic majesty in his entirety, and fewer still can truthfully make that claim.  What is known to those mad scholars and wytches who have ferreted out the most furtive snippets of demonic lore, is that his true form is broadly similar to the avatar-equse form he projects from his light-blinded throne, but writ large.  Colossal in scope, his crimson bulk strains against the basalt cliffs of his principality-prison, his form swelling even further with each and every contracted spirit he lays claim to.  Only a vast crown of thorns emerges from the shadows that cloak the true horror of his body, their twisted and jagged peaks resembling a mountain range torn from the mind of a raving lunatic.

For countless centuries, Adramalech existed in such a state. Swollen with size and power, buried beneath the metaphysical weight of an entire nation’s worth of damned mortal spirits and the contracts they were bound to. One so arrogant as he could not simply accept this limitation, these chains placed upon his freedom, and as such Adramalech to set his mind to uncovering a method by which he might overcome this weakness.  His fellow demons held no answers, nor did the meddlesome lords of the Fae, no matter what manner of cruelties he inflicted upon them.  Instead, the answer he sought came to him eons later by way of one of his kind’s most ancient foes, the angels.  One of his more clever tempters had managed to ensnare a particularly knowledgeable Angel of Salam, dragging him down in the pit while bound in smoking obsidian chains. Bereft of all hope and knowing full well that attempting to resist Adramalech’s will would be futile, the Angel taught this Demon Prince a form of magic completely unknown to demonkind.  The spells used by the Gods to create their Avatars, less potent yet still frighteningly powerful extensions of their spirit, able to project their power virtually anywhere and without any real risk to their actual form.

While the fine particulars of his avatars often change with each new creation, he most often appears a regally-dressed, seven-foot tall horned fiend.  Were it not for his unmistakable air of cruelty and malevolence, one might even consider him to be handsome by most mortal standards. High angular cheekbones augment his symmetrical features, and his form bears no foul lesions or signs of injury. Thirteen curved, wavy horns rise skyward from the taunt skin of his scalp, twisting together in such a fashion that they form a sort of wicked crown.  Pale white in colour and kept polished to the brightest sheen, foul glowing demonic runes are also inscribed deep into their surface, and they pulse with vile spellwork in all the native colors of the Hellstack. While they are certainly the focus of his vanity, the rest of his form betrays a love of the finer things and proves that he rejects the spartan standards he places upon his legions.  Fine adornments encrusted with cursed gemstones pulled from the Hellstack’s greatest mines hang from his ears, are embedded into his forehead, and rest as rings upon his every finger. No less wondrous are the exquisite robes he drapes over his corded muscles, their quality alone marking him as a King amongst Kings, and offering only the barest glimpses of his crimson skin. Written upon his fire-kissed flesh is the profane script of his most prominent contracts, each line a tether to a being of great influence and terrible might.  Only the most preeminent spirits in all of creation earn a section of his hide when they strike a deal with Adramalech, and it is whispered that the names of even the Gods themselves can be found inscribed in their own divine blood upon his skin. In these cases, there is no separate contract, for he himself is the contract.  If they would truly set themselves free and reclaim what remains of their autonomy, they would have quite literally to flay his crimson skin, and render it into ash.

No matter how he chooses to construct his avatar, the Pit Lord always wears an unmistakably vile metal chain around his neck. So drenched in Sin is this artifact, that even so little as simply being in its presence fills a servant of the Light with equal measures of revulsion, pain, and despair.  For each individual link is forged from a spirit of a God or Firstborn that was both foolish enough to strike a deal with Adramlaech, and foolish enough to try and break it. If one looks closely enough, one can see the tattered ephemeral remnants of countless tormented spirits straining against the metal’s surface.

Methods and Motivations

Adramalech was shaped by the Hell King from the Axiom of Tyranny, and as such he is the cruel, would-be despot-king of all that exists.  He is the wicked ruler that refuses to give an accounting of himself or his rule to anyone else, and the one who rules over all others in a manner that suits his own interest, and his alone. Any upon Arthos who rule over others in a manner that is cruel, exploitative, or self-indulgent are ultimately channeling the primeval example set by The Black Tyrant. The same can be said for those who prey upon the weak and vulnerable in their most desperate hour, offering them the sort of tainted aid that only damns them further.

Unlike many of his princely brethren, Adramalech has not been idle ever since the disappearance of the Hell King, nor he has not been content with the meager slice of the Hellstack forced upon him by his absent father.  He has remained active and scheming for centuries, as he desires nothing less than to expand his unjust dominion over all that is. The world he shall build is a world without light, love, or hope, a world wherein the cruelty and oppression he forces upon his subjects is the point, and not simply a means to an end. It shall be a land of cold gray skies and barren earth, where the teeming mortal masses are herded into drab stone hovels that are somehow even more dismal than the blasted landscape found outside. Surrounded by the decaying corpses of both God and Firstborn, these wretched masses will have no choice but to swear their spirits to him, their pledges of eternal servitude written in blood upon flayed mortal skin. And serve in his dark order they will, until time itself ceases to be.

But alas he is not the King of All yet, for a King requires a Crown, and the world he has foreseen is yet but a faint gleam in his mind’s eye. As any scholar of matters demonic would tell you, there is but one crown that will suffice to mark the Pit Lord as creation’s rightful sovereign. One crown that would force all the other Princes to bow. The sorcerous, rune-inscribed edifice of blood and bone placed within the center of the Spirit Tempest by the Hell King eons ago. Set aside when he abdicated his throne, left dangling for all his demonic children to see and lust after. Given the raw demonic power held within and the authority it would bestow upon its bearer, it would be fair to say that Adramalech has thought about little else save laying claim to it. And yet, despite his boundless power, uncounted legions, and hordes of contractually-ensnared spirits, Adramalech has yet to secure the one thing he desires most in all of existence. For he is bound within his principality, a prisoner of his own power and ambition. His reach stunted, his attention diverted, Adramalech is as of yet unable to truly devote himself fully to his highest ambition.  The fact that he must rely upon lesser beings to gather the power he lusts for angers him to no end, and has been a large part of what has shaped his desire to one day escape his domain.

He knows that the only means by which he might finally make his egress from the Gulf of Perdition will involve seizing control of Arthos and the flow of mortal spirits and sin that currently has him all but entombed. Thus, Adramalech has since come to the conclusion that mortalkind itself must be torn from the embrace of the Gods, and then bound to him in turn. His plan to sway Arthos to his side is twofold, elegant in its simplicity. First, he and his demonic subjects lead mortals away from the Gods by tempting these weak-willed fools into signing contracts for power, wealth, and knowledge, secure in the fact that such deals will inevitably taint their spirit with the crushing weight of unforgivable sins. These sins inevitably speed these fallen mortal spirits down the Black Tide and past the reach of those Trawlermen spirits sworn to the Gods, drawing them into the Spirit Tempest for collection by the denizens of the Hellstack Plane. Here they are collected and used to empower his demonic legions with blasphemous magics, while a precious few are transfigured and granted the opportunity to serve him again in death.  Spirits that have been twisted by contract magic are in and of themselves a different breed, possessing a certain kind of raw, innate foulness that makes them particularly more potent than ordinary spirits when used for demonic purposes.  It is said that The Black Tyrant’s spirits are even stronger than those bound to the other nobles of the Hellstack, and the quality and quantity of his spiritual hoard has led many of the other Princes to enter into their own bargains with him.

The power granted to Adramalech and his legions by these corrupt spirits is but the first part of his grand-plan, and ages ago he came to the decision that direct action was also necessary.  For while the tide of damned spirits flooding into his domain offers nigh-unlimited power, it does not surpass the ocean of faith that the Gods of Arthos draw upon.  Furthermore, the Gods also uplift, empower, and inspire mortals to be better than they are, a far cry from the docile hopeless masses he seeks to create upon Arthos. Adramalech has thus decreed that each and every last single Celestial being must be slaughtered, along with several of the Firstborn for good measure. To that end he wages war eternal upon the Celestial realms of Roland and Baaagh in particular, as they both block the way further into the heavenly realms of their respective pantheons. Although they are well-trained, near-limitless in number and further empowered from the magics extracted from the Pit Lord’s damned spirits, they have as of yet have never fully breached either realm. However, given that they grow stronger with each damned mortal that submits to Adramalech, most believe that is only a matter of time. Their victory is assured, even if it takes centuries.  And for that, The Black Tyrant is content to wait.

Powers and Abilities

The earliest mentions of Adramalech in long-forgotten histories speak of him as being the weakest of his brethren, small, malformed, and frail. He was so pitiful his fellow Demon Princes paid him no mind as they enacted their own schemes, waged their own wars, and claimed their own dominions in the Hellstack. This unfortunately was as they would discover later, a grave mistake. When they looked upon this feeble wretch that dared to call itself a Demon Prince like themselves and felt only disgust, they failed to consider why he still held the right to call himself their brother. For you see, while the Pit Lord was weak both physically and spiritually, his raw intelligence elevated him above all his fellow princes. As they conquered, raged, and schemed, he made himself the Hell King’s shadow and studied at his feet. While he learned many hidden things, the most valuable insight he gleaned during this time was his insights into the demonic contracts the Hell King was forging. He saw how the Hell King’s power grew with each claimed spirit, and felt that this magic was meant to be his. By its power, his own frail body might begin to surpass the limits set upon it by the Hell King at the moment of his creation, and grow into its full potential. His early experiments with contract magic had the desired effect, and this newfound spiritual might emboldened him.  He made demands of the Hell King in exchange for his new insights into contract magic, not realizing that his dark father had both anticipated his impudence, and the threat that he might one day pose.  Yet, still seeking to make use of his demonic childe, the Hell King seemingly agreed to his son’s demands. He knew that Adramalech would not truly be able to handle all that he had asked for, and the sheer effort required to even try would eliminate him as a threat, while also keeping him around should he be needed.  It took years for Adramalech to realize that he was trapped beneath the colossal weight of his own power; by that point it was already too late.  He had bitten off more than he could chew, taken on more work that even one such as he could hope to possibly complete.  And still, his power grew by leaps and bounds, limited as his focus and ability was.  Even now he is titanic in scope, and still has not yet realized the complete measure of his power. Mortal spirits, brought low by temptation, ambition, and sin flow into his realm by the hundreds each day.

After centuries or perhaps even millennia of working with contract magic, he understands its arcane underpinnings better than nearly anyone. He has mastered its forms to such a degree that there is almost nothing he cannot do or grant through them. Indeed, while most demons cannot offer power that they do not possess themselves, the contracts created and backed by the Pit Lord suffer no such weakness. Nearly anything a mortal can wish for, up to and even including godhood itself, is said to be possible under his purview. No other demon can alter reality so thoroughly through contract magic, and even Ixiad herself does not fully understand how the Prince of Tyranny does so. Furthermore, while most demonic contracts can only be signed between two willing parties, it is rumored that some of Adramalech’s most fiendish deals can damn entire bloodlines, be they willing signatories or not, so long as one mortal patriarch is foolish enough to make their mark upon the page.

His brilliant acumen does not begin or end with his magical knowledge however, and it can be said that Adramalech is likely one of the most preeminent scholars in all of existence. Were he not a Prince of the Hellstack, Adramalech would be feted at universities and houses of learning all across Arthos, with brilliant scholars hanging upon his every word. His expansive knowledge of history, civics, and law is particularly noteworthy, but it cannot be stressed enough that there are very few mundane subjects that he does not possess a working understanding of. At any given time several of his Avatars are reading or watching the various planes via scrying pools, staying abreast of current developments and advances in scholarly knowledge. Furthermore, beyond his expansive knowledge lies a raw intelligence that is without equal. Not only is he able to predict future events and the behavior of others with stunning accuracy without any magical aid, his reasoning and wit is the envy of many a higher power.

Most Demon Princes share a certain handicap, they are bound to their principalities and cannot leave the Hellstack. This forces them to work through their demonic servants and mortal cultists when they need to project their power past their borders, which is an imperfect solution at best.  Adramalech ironically suffers from this hindrance more keenly than most, and yet has also thus far been the only Demon Prince that has found a way to surmount it.  While under the tutelage of a broken and bound angel, the Pit Lord was able to cobble together a selection of spells that allow him to create and project his consciousness into a rough approximation of a godly avatar. This magic gives him a degree of freedom and utility simply unmatched by his demonic brethren, and as such it is a skill that he guards zealously.  While he can manifest this Avatar in the Hellstack or the realms Celestial without issue, this magic is still imperfect and its spells cannot manifest the fullest extent of his power on the inner planes.  Even the very act of doing so in a limited fashion requires an extraordinary expenditure of spiritual power, and a ritual so blasphemous even the Wytches that serve the Black Tyrant have been known to balk when presented with its requirements.  Its specifics are closely guarded, but it is said that it requires the simultaneous sacrifice of a powerful demon sworn to his service while they are both in the Hellstack, and that of a completely innocent being tightly bound to the plane in question, and that this being must also be currently be under contract at the time of their death.  Scholars of the infernal believe that this sacrifice creates a temporary link so steeped with darkness and raw demonic power that it can even support the spirit and mind of a being like Adramalech, if only for a short while.  Even in this diminished form, he is still rightfully feared and capable of horrific acts of violence and mayhem.

Weaknesses

Curiously, The Black Tyrant’s greatest strength is also his greatest weakness. When he was granted his principality deep within the Bowels of the Hellstack Plane, Adramalech at first thought little of it. If anything he saw being granted a dominion that drew to itself the very worst of mortal sinners to be something of a compliment. It was only after taking up residence within this bottomless pit that the true nature of the Hell King’s tainted gift was made manifest. The Prince of Tyranny was good, too good in fact, at leading mortals to damnation by playing upon their flawed, weak wills. As the contracts of those lost to temptation and greed began to pour into the Gulf of Perdition, the sheer metaphysical weight of all those countless sins began to bear down upon the Pit Lord. And while his power swelled with each contract signed, each demonic bargain struck pressed down upon him further as he failed to keep up with their ever-increasing numbers. In the current age his power has swollen his form to such a degree that the very principality he rules has also become his prison. He cannot rise though the grim cloud of sin above, nor can his ponderous bulk easily move while pressed up against the cliffside walls of his domain. His power is vast beyond measure, but his ability to project said power beyond the confines of his principality is limited. The use of his avataric form does mitigate this somewhat, but it in turn comes with its own limitations. The spells he uses to create these projected forms are imperfect when compared to those used by the Gods, and he cannot access the full measure of his power while projecting it in such a fashion.  Furthermore, his Avatar still maintains a strong link to his true form, violent destruction of it does damage his real body, whereas the Gods are mostly unharmed when this occurs. It has also been theorized by various scholars that this link could be exploited in other ways, if one had the raw power and rare opportunity to do so.

When the Pit Lord signs a contract, he is bound to follow its terms exactly as they are written down. While this can mean that his conduct may be restrained in some fashion by the terms of the agreement, Adramalech has been at this for countless centuries.  Few can exploit a loophole better than he can, but on a select few rare occasions those he has dealt with have gotten the better of him. He cannot alter a contract once signed, for that is beyond the full scope of his power and knowledge. For the precious, precious few who manage to escape a contract with the Black Tyrant, it is said that he usually declines to seek vengeance upon those rare individuals.  Adramalech respects almost nothing besides himself, but for those who manage to best him in his own arena, they earn the closest thing to respect that he can offer.

Domain

Principality

The Gulf of Perdition is a massive, chthonic pit of unfathomable depths and dimensions. The whirlwind of damned mortals that is the Spirit Tempest serves as the realm’s sickly sun, illuminating its environs with its foul glow as it bores downwards into the infinite shadow that lies at the depths. In most demonic principalities this is not the case, but here the Spirit Tempest rages especially fast and bright, as the Pit Lord receives a greater share of mortal spirits than all the other Princes combined. Only Adramalech himself lives with the infinite pit, buried beneath the cloud of darkness and sin that he is solely responsible for, with most of his demonic host having buried into the sides of the cliff walls. Due to non-euclidean geometries that not even the Gods themselves understand, this Principality is the one hellish realm that still borders the remaining celestial heavens. The aforementioned cliffs can be scaled quite easily, thanks to numerous paths and other aids left behind by literal armies of demons that have made the trek countless times before.  Countless way stations, fortresses, and cities are carved into the sides of these ebony crags, and each new assault upon the Celestial Realms can expect to collect a significant amount of warriors and war material as they make their way up. Scale one side long enough, and the golden walls of Roland’s fortress-heaven become visible. Scale the other, and you will soon find yourself in the blood and mud coated wasteland that is Baaagh’s realm. Each God has had to endure innumerable attacks across the eons, and while it has not happened yet, a victory for the Pit Lord would leave his armies free to spread across the other Celestial Heavens.

The walls that form either side of the pit are formed largely of granite so black, it drinks in what little light is present. While most of Adramalech’s demons have adapted to their environment and see quite well, those unfortunate enough to be visiting are oft-forced to rely upon torches lit with pale-green hellfire. Carved into these walls of stone is a vast labyrinthine network of tunnels and caverns, with all available space devoted to the logistics of waging Adramalech’s wars. The structures themselves are brutal and base in both their simplicity and the style of their construction, with most being spartan and ugly slabs of concrete bereft of any sort of adornment or artistry. They are made as simply and as efficiently as possible, made to serve a purpose, and nothing more. Thousands upon thousands of mines manned by mewling and brutalized slaves pull demonically-tainted metals from the cold and unfeeling rocks, where they are taken to smithies so hot they may as well be called furnaces.  There, they are turned into the wicked weapons placed in the hands of countless demonic warriors, and forged into the black iron that turns aside the swords of angels.. If they are not actively engaged in meeting the logistical needs of the Pit Lord’s legions, then his warriors are either launching an assault, or preparing for the next one by ripping each other apart upon any one of a number of practice battlefields. Curiously, while the domain itself loudly proclaims its purpose as a military encampment, there are no defenses to be found. Not once has a God or Firstborn been foolish enough to attack the Prince of Tyranny in his own home, nor would he ever give them the chance to do so.

Only the quarters given to the Bale Scriveners approach anything approximating luxury or beauty.  They are granted a leave of absence from the Legions, so long as they continue to tempt mortals into signing away their spirits, and as a reward are allowed to experience something that approximates a hedonistic lifestyle.  For the purposes of avoiding the antagonizing of their lessers, these places are kept hidden, accessible only by spells known to their occupants. Few have ever claimed to have seen one, but from what little lore has escaped their halls, they are said to be places where any lust or desire can be slaked, no matter how wicked or depraved.

At something a small-minded mortal might call the lowest known point of Adramalech’s domain lies his grand fortress of Grishnákh-Malghur. Suspended across the infinite darkness below, the fortress rests on a series of platforms secured by a vast network of dark iron chains that dig into the basalt cliffside. Countless demons and other slaves work constantly to slowly raise it up towards the top of the pit, but are in turn constantly brought back down by the sheer weight of the wicked spirits in his realm.  The massive gouges in the stone left behind are often hollowed out further, and turned into the passages that lead in the holy realms above.

Upon the platforms themselves, tremendously tall towers of wickedly sharp obsidian stretch into the dark sky above, each curved and twisted to reflect the crown of horns that rests upon Adramalech’s furrowed brow. Its dungeons and torture chambers play host to both his favourite mortal playthings and the angelic beings he has captured, and there they remain until they finally break and swear loyalty to him. Here the most elite of his warriors are taught techniques and spells available nowhere else, and forged into warriors capable of bringing even a mighty Archangel to heel. And finally, it is here that Adramalech himself holds court. Seated upon a throne of calcified spirits, his avatar pronounces judgments, analyzes reports from his scouts, and plans the next assault upon Roland or Baaagh’s realms.

Demonic Hosts

Adramalech’s host is quite easily the largest demonic host in all the Hellstack. Countless centuries of brutal training combined with even more centuries of bitter warfare have further shaped these demonic warriors into something unique amongst the denizens of the Hellstack. Disciplined, well-trained veteran soldiers.  Whereas most Demons are at best a disorganized barbaric mass held together by whatever nearby Demon that has the might and presence to do so, The Black Tyrant’s warriors are proof that even their chaotic natures can be cowed by The Black Tyrant’s iron will. And while it is true that they are well-trained by the standards of the Hellstack, their true might lies within the tremendous magic that infuses every fiber of their being.  The very best spirits are burnt to fuel the kind of transformative spells most demons can only dream of witnessing, let alone experiencing.  In many cases they are stronger, faster, and more adept with sword and spell than any of their fellows found in the other demonic principalities.  However, this in and of itself is also a weakness.  For if that contract is nullified, the power it provided vanishes as well.  Despite this unfortunate fact, there are no shortage of demons able to serve in Adramalech’s legions, be they willing or not.  Indeed, there is not one single kind of demon that cannot be found amongst his forces, so skilled is he in trapping the minions of the other Princes into his service.   Be they Imp or Fiend, Ember Spider or Succubus, each and every different species serves in one of the most vast and deadly armies in all creation. Wherever they march a veritable tide of Imp fodder surges forth, tiring the foe so that legions of well-trained and equipped Fiends of all shapes and sizes may wet their blades upon a weakened foe.

Those few Demons not placed in active combat roles still serve the Legions in other ways.  Succubi twist the minds of enemy commanders and gather intelligence, while the sorcerous Jinn craft and enchant weapons of fearsome power to be placed in the hands of Adramalech’s greatest champions. And one cannot forget the ever-present Dretch, for without them it is certain that no fortification within his realm would ever have been built.

Only the Bale Scriveners stand outside this military hierarchy, for they have a different role to play.  These demons are a sort of specialized horned fiend, those somewhat few in number and less experienced in matters of violence than their fellows, they are extremely charismatic and beguiling beings that are also experts in contractual law.  Those that find themselves on the mortal plane tend to make the crossroads their home, and it is at these locations where they can quite often be summoned all too easily. There are many paths to power, but signing a contract with one of these demons is a quicker, easier, and far more seductive method than most. After all, there is almost nothing that they cannot grant, and the history of Arthos is replete with mortals whose greed or ambition led them to barter their spirits for power, and it is these very same spirits that empower the Pit Lord above and beyond his brethren. For their vital service to their lord, there is nothing these demons want for. The very best amongst their ranks live in such luxury that no mortal could even begin to imagine the comforts, pleasures, and diversions that are made readily available to them.

Cults

Mortal Cultists

The Wytch Hunters of the Citadel have entire libraries devoted to Adramalech and the mortals that serve him, and it is believed that the cults sworn to him are the most influential demonic cults on Arthos today. Their power, be it temporal, spiritual, or magical, is vast, and almost eclipses the faithful of some Gods. Thus, due to the danger they represent to the goodly folk of Maud’Madir, they have been extensively studied beyond what is typical.  These scholars have noticed trends amongst the Pit Lord’s servants, and tend to sort them into one of three groups.

The most common cultist serving Adramalech is the type of person that commonly comes to the minds of most people when they are asked “what kind of person makes a deal with a demon?”  Quite simply, they are the kind of person willing to sign away their afterlife for a portion of power in their mortal life. They are the type of person willing to serve a demon prince in exchange for powers that only they can grant. And they are the kind of person either ignorant of, willfully or not, to the full measure of exactly what they are agreeing to. A few might actually understand what the demon gets out of their deal once they pass on, but even these mortals are so blinded by ambition or greed that it is doubtful that they truly accept what awaits them in the Hellstack.  Fewer still might believe that if they serve well enough, and that if they lead others to damnation, that they might escape their dark fate. A few demons even claim to have been mortals in a previous life, but whether this is actually true or just a clever lie meant to give a sort of grim false hope, none can truly say.

Additionally, there are those who genuinely believe in the ethos espoused by Adramalech, and they call themselves the Tyrant’s Men in hushed tones. They despise the chaos, the freedom, and the disunity of mortal existence. They lust for a strong, centralized patriarchal figure to rule them, to control them. They acknowledge the Pit Lord as the only being worthy of such power, and that he is the rightful master of all that exists. Fortunately, such true believers in his cause are quite rare, as few mortals are willing to debase themselves before a Demon Prince so utterly. Unfortunately, these cultists are some of his most competent and driven servants, and also the servants who are rewarded the most.  These particular cultists are so layered with demonic gifts that their power and influence dwarfs what they likely could have achieved while relying solely upon their own merits.  For while most of The Black Tyrant’s servants are motivated to serve out of self-interest, these mortals do so out of faith. A dark, twisted faith to be sure, but a faith as devout and unbreakable as any. They can be counted upon to undertake any task, take any risk, or surrender anything so long as it serves Adramalech’s goals.  There are no records of any of these beings ever turning against their master, not a one.

And finally, a few poor, unlucky bastards are born into this metaphorical hell. Such is the power of the Pit Lord that so long as one patriarch or matriarch is willing to sign upon the dotted line, they can promise their entire future bloodline to his service. The Citadel’s records are replete with records of children being informed that their spirit was long ago sworn to another’s service, while the records of those same children escaping their spiritual chains are much fewer in number.  Many of these poor wretches don’t even discover the sins of their forebears until it is far too late, and their spirit awakens to find itself in the Hellstack.

Preferred Sacrifices

Adramalech cares not for sacrifices of blood, flesh, or any worldly good. Indeed the one thing he desires is to see more and more mortal spirits bound to his will by way of the contract. The singular focus of his cults, and all he really asks of them, is this one thing. Be it by hook or crook, how they might come to sign a demonic contract or their reasons for doing so matters not, only that they do. The very best of his cultists have led entire towns to damnation, and have reaped bountiful rewards from their demonic patron as a result.

Summoning and Rites

These are but two of the more commonly known demonic rites practiced by those that serve the Pit Lord. 

The Rite of the Crossroads

While most demons can cross over the veil on their own, actually making contact with a demonic being still in the Hellstack and forcing them to travel to the mortal plane usually requires foul and arcane rites. This is typically a difficult process, requiring brutal sacrifices, great acts of evil, or powerful wtychcraft ritual magic. This is not the case with a certain sub-sect of demon that serves the Pit Lord. In fact, it is painfully simple and easy to call one of his Bale Scriveners to the mortal plane. Greedy and foolish mortals signing away their spirits for temporary gifts or power is the very foundation of his powerbase, and as such Adramalech has taken great pains over the centuries to make this process as easy as possible. In fact, it was likely some of his earliest wytches that seeded the methodology into  this mortal folklore that is quite well known today.

To summon a Scribe Fiend, all one needs to is dig a shallow hole nearby where two or more roads intersect, and then bury something they have an emotional attachment to in said hole. Catalysts are commonly used for this, but they are not the only object that will suffice.  Once the hole has been filled in, the summoner only needs to announce aloud, “I wish to bargain” and a denizen of the Gulf of Perdition may arrive shortly, should the spirit be strong, worthy, or innocent enough to catch their eye.  Those mortals who dare waste their time by doing this rite frivolously or without the intent to agree to a demonic deal often find themselves facing the wrath of an extremely angry demon. Few mortals get a chance to spurn one of these demons and tell the tale, and thus even those who start to reconsider often find themselves pressured into signing a contract.

The Rite of the Breach

Contract magic is generally restricted to demons who possess a certain spiritual potency and level of arcane mastery, but by emulating some of its workings Adramalech’s cultists have devised this foul rite. It was also designed out of necessity, those mortals who serve the demonic are often an untrustworthy and selfish lot, and thus having some method by which these cultists can ensure some level of trust is vital. This rite empowers an otherwise mundane contact and enforces certain penalties upon two or more signatories, should they break the terms of the agreement. And while it cannot kill or utterly dominate the wills of those in breach, it can make their lives such an unliving hell, that even the most treacherous cultist is loath to break its terms.

The first step involves convincing two mortal parents to surrender a child of no more than 1 year of age. They must agree to sign the life of their child over, in writing and be of sound mind when they do so. They must be fully aware of what they are doing and how they are damning their child, or the rite will not take effect. Once the child is procured, it must be left to die of exposure under the open sky. It cannot be offered comfort or sustenance of any kind. Once the child dies, it must be skinned, and its hide left to dry and tan while its blood is collected for later use.  Then, its left femur is to be fashioned into a quill. Once the skin has dried, the terms of the agreement, and what manner of misfortune will befall any who breach the terms, must be written upon the skin, using the child’s blood and the quill fashioned from its femur. Then, all that is left to do is for both parties to sign the contract. The manner of the penalties for a breach often vary quite widely, but have included such matters as be afflicted with terrible diseases, horrid luck in business dealings, or great tragedies befalling the breacher’s loved ones.

History

Taken from the pages of “A Complete History of the Hellstack, Vol. 3”

Written by Archmagus Yohan Brightfire in the year 2082.  Shortly before his discovery of being a Wytch, and subsequent summary execution.

“Adramalech was perhaps one of the most interesting Demon Princes crafted by the Hell King in the Age of Lucidity, for it is said that he was made from the corrupted Axiom of Tyranny. And yet, what resulted was not a fearsome dictator clad in iron, but a small, twisted thing completely unworthy of the title of rank bestowed upon it. Only his keen mind marked him as different from the lowest-ranked demonic scum, and it is said that his intelligence alone is what saved him from being unmade by the Hell King. He was permitted to remain in the Hell King’s presence, where his wit might perhaps be useful to the Hell King.

Over time, as he witnessed the various demonic children of the Hell King forge demonic pacts and deals with both each other and the nascent mortal peoples, he began to notice weaknesses and inefficiencies in both the contracts and the magics that empowered them. In particular, while these earliest contracts could lead mortals into great sin, they were not capable of enforcing utter damnation upon the mortal signatory. Time and time again, particularly crafty or otherwise favoured mortals were able to escape their hellish fates.  Some of these mortal signatories were lucky enough to locate their physical demonic contract and destroy it, but given the sheer difficulty of locating them in such a hostile and hellish environment, most turned to a far more reliable method.  The final death of the demonic guarantor.  While this approach was often sufficient, it was not completely reliable as demons often traded ownership of their contracts.  A mortal signatory might expend a great deal of effort, only to find out they had slain the wrong demon, and that their obligations to the Hellstack had not been severed.  Still, it was effective enough for these mortal signatories to keep on trying.

These flaws in the contractual process frustrated the royalty of the Hellstack to no end, and not even the Hell King himself was immune to these defects in the magic Ixiad had taught him. The fact that no marked draconic follower had fallen into their grasp only further vexed the lord of Hell, but it was not he who came to a solution. Adramalech possessed a keen and intelligent mind, and while his kin were distracted by their various wars and schemes, the Pit Lord had studied carefully at his sire’s feet. He, and he alone, saw the gaps with the knowledge demonkind had been provided, he bore witness to the intentional flaws woven into the very underpinning of the metaphysics at play here.

Thus, on a day now lost to time, it is said the Adramalech came to the Hell King. This weak, misshapen whelp that dared call himself a Prince, offered the Hell King a deal. In return for a small tithe of all contracts inadvertently rendered null and void, he would teach the Hell King his new theories. With these theories in play, he promised the Hell King, the flow of spirits into the Hellstack that had once been but a trickle, would become a torrential river. The Hell King appeared to take a great deal of time to consider his request, but eventually, he did agree to all of Adramalech’s terms.  At the time, the Black Tyrant thought that he had gotten the better of his demonic sire, and could hardly contain his malicious glee. After sharing his knowledge, he took up his throne in the lightless abyss that his lord had granted to him, and waited.

Adramalech watched as the various mortal races bred and stretched across Arthos, and felt his power swell to greater and greater heights as more and more of them signed away their spirits for power, wealth, and knowledge. No longer was he the runt of the demonic litter, and as the ages passed he grew into a mighty and fearsome being. More and more demons swore to him as his spiritual might grew and grew, and soon even some of his princely kin began to look upon the Pit Lord with fear. It is said in hushed tones that this fear even drove two of them to sign their own contracts with Adramalech, this much is known, but the specifics are lost to even the greatest of demonic scholars.

At any rate, It is uncertain exactly when he realized the true depth of the Hell King’s cunning.  For it must be true that the power that flowed ever-onward into his domain was intoxicating, and given the abject stupidity of mortals, it seemed unlikely that the flow would ever stop.  However,  on one particular day, he attempted to rise through the umbral cloud of spiritual sin that represented the countless mortal spirits that were his by right, and found that he could not. He struggled against the walls of his domain, and found that even one such as he could do no more than shake them.

This was not his domain.

It was a prison.

He was trapped, imprisoned by the Hell King under the weight of his own power and ambition, more powerful than all of his kin combined, yet unable to truly use that power. It is said that the very foundations of the Hellstack itself shook under the power of his explosive rage that day, and even the most terrible of his demonic servants shook with fear.

Once his anger had begun to cool, he turned his mind towards finding yet a way he might escape the Hell King’s judgment. It did not take long to realize that no great work would free him from his gaol, nor could he afford to ignore the flood of mortal spirits into his realm. They were the very source of his prodigious power, and if ignored his treacherous kin might yet begin to surpass his might again. That, of course, could not be permitted, so he began to look for alternative solutions.

Eventually, he settled upon total genocide. While conflict against the divine was nothing new to the demonic races, most of the Hellstack seemed to have grudgingly accepted that the Gods themselves were safe in their celestial realms, effectively unable to be slain.  This was not something Adramalech could abide, even the very thought of anyone else taking the spirits that were rightfully his aroused his great and terrible anger.  Thus, despite the myriad of near-insurmountable barriers that such a goal placed along his path, the Pit Lord swore that each and every divine being would die, for the flow of spirits into the celestial realms needed to cease.  The Pit Lord was mighty, but he needed to be mightier still.  Those spirits belonged to him, and their strength was perhaps the only way he might forcibly earn his freedom. In an vile act of hell-magic that consumed an entire small nation’s worth of spirits, he forced his hellish domain to expand and cross the very void between the planes.  And so it did, until it forced a rather cataclysmic entry into the celestial realm.  One can only assume that Roland was shocked when he discovered that his nascent realm now bordered the deadliest Hellstack plane, and was even more shocked when Adramalech’s legions began to crash against his walls.  Baaagh of course, was thrilled by this new course of events, and to this day sees these demonic invasions as little more than a chance to bash some demonic skulls.  Time and time again the Gods have managed to throw the demonic hordes back, and yet the Pit Lord continues ever onward, for he can see no other way by which he might escape his fate.  The Gods must die, and their spirits must be his.”