Diabolus Errare

[Miroku]

This story is actually the culmination of work I did almost a year ago, before my illness progressed to the point where I didn't have the energy to stay up at long hours writing.... and I didn't just write for an hour and then start up later. This was full-out writing jags that would last untill I fell asleep at the computer chair. The only thing which woke me up at that point was A) my head hitting the computer desk, B) me faling out of the chair, or C) when anyone else came into the room to check on me and would gently shake me.

I used to play a game called RetroMUD... some of you might have heard of it . I had a character there who I enjoyed roleplaying, so I eventually did the first three chapters of her backstory (Yes, I played a female character... wanna argue about it? ). Anyway, I thought about putting it up here for you guys .

By the way, for those of you not familiar with the title, 'Diabolus Errare' loosely translates into 'Where Devils Lose Their way' from Latin. It's the tale of how this character came to be what she is in the present (Now I really will have to finish the story *grumble grumble*).

Enjoy! ^_^

For the umpteenth time, Threnody thought, 'I HATE perimeter
duty!'. The day hadn't begun very well. Being woken from her
short reverie before the crack of the thrice-damned dawn after
an exhaustive search for most of the night would do it. Not to
mention that the Prince was in a foul mood lately. And ****
always went downhill, didn't it? If there were any certainties
in the Pit it was orders and misery. if you didn't pay enough
attention to the former, then you'd sure as hell get a bellyful
of the latter.

Sighing, she pulled on her hauberk over her head, and
tied it tight with her demonskin belt. Moving to the mirror,
she checked herself. 'Great', she thought, 'Pillow head'.
Grabbing handfuls of her coal black hair, Threnody tied it all
back into a ponytail with a length of leather cord. No time
for a bun.

Making sure not to break any of the art 'decor' in the way,
Threnody made her way to the office of His Most Fey Majesty's
Grand Seneschal... a fancy name for the hole in the wall it was.
Some other members of her talon joined up along the way.
Threnody smirked upon seeing the condition of the talon's
resident larvae tender, Meezer. Bloodshot eyes and sallow skin
told of a debauch only reccently ended. Heh.

Raising her voice loudly, she asked, "You gonna be able to
hack it, or am I gonna have to put you up on the roster?"

Meezer turned and hissed, "Not so loud... I can hear you
just fine!"

She chuckled, knowing full well that Meezer would try to
bluff his way around going on sick call. Nor did she blame him.
The talon's healer's cures killed as often as they helped.
One thing you could say about this group: no one shirked their
duties by pretending to be ill, for even so much as a hangnail.

Laughing softly, Garm said, "Meazles, you really are a sad
sack".

The quite hungover soulrancher snorted painfully, "And
who asked for your opinion?"

Ardath, the only other female in the talon shook her head
in wry amusement. "Why don't you face facts? You can't hold
your liquor. An atomy could drink you under the table."

Garm grinned broadly. "One did. A caraffe of Fey Wine
later and he was pledging eternal brotherhood to the puck."
Laughter and catcalls errupted from amongst the group.

"Rot in Tarterus, the lot of you!", Meezer ground out.

Pursing her lips, Threnody muttered darkly, "Ok, enough
talk... let's see what His Nibs has to say."

Entering the cluttered office of Lord Cairpre, they gave
the same fruity salute that Lord Auberon's men-at-arms had
taught them upon arriving at the castle. The loquacious
little martinet was holding forth behind his desk. He
looked up as everyone crowded around.

"Who is it? I'm busy right n.... Oh... it's you.
That's good. Stand right there. No touching anything!
Ok now....."


If anything, the little squib was to the point.


"... Last night's less-than-productive search leaves me no
choice but to tap another agent in the field who's taking care of
other affairs for the Royal Court.... and NO, it's none of your
buisness what that is..." he pointed a finger at Garm. Garm
gave Cairpre a single digit salute. The elf didn't bat an eye.
He knew what the infernal grunts were like. And so long as they
did their jobs to specs, really didn't give a horned rat's ass
what they thought or did unless a breach of the Covenant happened.


The flayed corpses of Infernal generals have hung from the
cliffs of the Malbowges for lesser offenses.


Lord Cairpre fixed his beady gaze on Threnody. "The agent's
name is Deciduous.... not his True Name, of course." The Sidhe
Court used the names of trees or types of forest terrain to
denote their agents and their importance in the beuracratic
machinery. "He will meet up with your party at the boundary
between the Sea of Grass and the Ymirs' Teeth Mountain Range.
You'll have untill about 10 o' clock to prepare and leave. This
is dangerous territory. The Winter Queen's spies are everywhere."

"How are we supposed to find this Deciduous?", Threnody asked.

"He will find you", Cairpre nodded meaningfully.



After the briefing, the group split up.

"Has anyone said when our replacements are getting in?", Garm
whispered to Threnody. The hallway was empty except for the two
of them. But then again, the Fae didn't need to be there to hear
you.

"Not sure. At least, I haven't gotten any messages from
Lord Grimtharke to that end". Lord Grimtharke, leader of the
Blood Moon Fist and lieutenant in Infernal rank had been silent
for the last month. Which could mean any number of things.
Garm frowned. He didn't say anything else. She didn't need
to guess his thoughts. She'd entertained them herself.

"Not for us to worry about. We just keep on keeping here".

Garm punched a thought into her. 'Don't these twinks put your
teeth on edge too?'

Without warning, Threnody backhanded Garm knocking him into a
stone bust of Lord Auberon. It fell to the floor, shattering
into a skillion pieces.

She snarled, "I've warned you before about that. Sharing a
bedroll does NOT give you that priviledge!"

Garm pushed away from the wall he'd struck but didn't approach
her. He grimaced. "Sorry."

She considered for a moment how to respond to his quick answer.
Tail lashing about, she flashed him her best smile. "Forgiven".
The smile did not reach her eyes. But any male devil would know
what wasn't said. In the Pit, what was a smile but simply
just another show of teeth?

"Make sure that everyone else gets the word. I'm off to speak
to Lady Titania", Threnody muttered darkly, walking away from him.

Garm watched as she strolled off. Half his mind undressed her
slowly, the other half devising slow intricate tortures for her.
Turning about, he noticed the mess. It was hard not to giggle.
It was an imposible wish to see the real Auberon in such a
position... head crushed like an egg. Smiling and snapping
his fingers, Garm started on his way to the grunt barracks.

'Hmmm.... why not?' He cackled like a madman, racing down the
hallway. Busts, vases, and statuary went flying and crashing in
a symphony of destruction. Let the twinkletoed snots chew on
that.


TBC

[Miroku]

There was an unseasonable chill in the early morning air, raising
goosebumps on Threnody's exposed skin. She noticed the increase of
the guards on watch as she strolled the catwalk to the Royal Quarters.
Something was up. Sometimes it sucked just being one of the members
of the Infernal Garrison. It left you out of the loop on what was
going on. The old adage 'The first to go, and the last to know'
came to mind.

She turned her head and let out an almost stifled squeak. There
was an armored cohort of Geryon camped outside the castle about a
hundred yards out. The regiment's colors and the flag of the City
of Dis fluttered in the cold wind that blew down from the mountains.
'Oh ****, no', Threnody thought. Not good.... NOT good. Trying
to appear as nonchalant as possible, she quickened her step.

Butterflies the size of gremlins did their widdershins dance of
death on her stomach bottom. What the presence of Hell's brutal
constables meant wasn't clear, but never boded well for anyone. They
kept the peace and enforced the tenets of the Abyssal Covenant, and
were ruthless in how they accomplished those duties. She quickly
flashed back on a memory of her days as a raw conscript. The days
spent in basic training had been tiring, the instructors relentless..




Sweat beaded on her brow, dripping down to her eyes or hitting
the ground with minute hisses. Up, down, up, down, kiss the ground,
and rise back up.

"Count off in order the parts of the Covenant as defined by
the Great Council!", barked her Instructor. He had the heavy
musculature and dilligence for which the Minotaurs are well known.

Up, down. "One! The souls of the Damned must be
maintained - the Divine's Will, sir!"

Up, down. "Two! Sinners shall be divided. Each realm shall
be specific and each realm shall serve sentence on the Damned, sir!"

Up, down, up, down. The day had barely begun and already the
air over the Abominable Sands started to scorch the breath from the
lungs. Just as it had since the Pit was made by the Creator.

She could see her fellows out of the corner of her left eye
standing at attention while her punishment was meted out. They
didn't make one sound. Any of them could be singled out for
'special treatment' for so much as a single guffaw.

Up, down. "Three!.... To that end, there shall be no war on
any Circle of the Abyss, sir!"

A toothy grin showed briefly (then died of loneliness) on the
Instructor's face. "That's right, my little worms.... no war on
ANY Circle of Hell. That includes this little corner of it!" He
walked a short distance from her, letting his scornful gaze pass
over each cadet. The bloodvine whip in his right hand was coiled,
but everyone knew that at an instant it could lash out. The
lacerations from it wouldn't heal quickly, and the poison in the
barbs kept the blood flowing long after the last strike.

"I don't know which of you little spunk-sucking nematodes
thought you could actually start a barrack brawl without me
finding out about it, but Worm Snowball here...', gesturing at
the prostrate and sweating devil, '... will be paying the price
for it. The next one of you caught in the same situation will
look on her with ENVY!"

The name Snowball was given to her because, as one of the Drill
Instructors had said at the begining of this group's arrival she
had 'a snowball's chance in Hell' of making it. The term worm?
All new conscripts are called that. One step up from damned souls
but one step down from full members of the Hordes.

Whirling suddenly, his whip made an audible >crack!<. Threnody
bit down on her lips untill blood flowed. Claws of fire raked
across her shoulderblades as the Instructor pulled back the whip,
leaving ragged torn flesh. Blood oozed thickly and fell off her
lower back where the bone dry ground soaked it up. Better to not
show any sign of weakness. To do so would provoke derision and
more 'motivation'.

"I didn't say STOP, Worm Snowball.... continue!", the Instructor
bellowed.

One... two... up... down...

"Four! ... All feuds between one Lord and another shall occur
only in the Hollows... sir!"

He nodded once "That MEANS, my little Wormlings, that there's a
time... and most certainly a place to settle your issues. But...
not... HERE! Continue!"

The poison was already getting to her. Though her people were
immune to almost all types of toxins, the poison of the bloodvine
plant seemed to bypass a devil's constitution, making it a potent
barrier as well as a weapon. Threnody's head spun a bit as she
tried to remember what had been taught her by rote.

Up, down "Five! An Order of fiends shall be created to protect
this Code. They shall be known as the Geryon, sir!"

A look of pride crossed the Instructor's face. "I have the honor
of being part of that elite cadre." Red light from the rising form
of Erasmus, The Red Flame of Passion, glinted off a badge worn over
the left breast of the Instructor's jerkin. "None of you would
make the cut... you can barely make **** from food", he sneered.
"Next!"

Up, down "Six! All creatures from any Circle are free to leave
their Master's service in exchange...."

>Crack!<

"Wrong answer, Worm Snowball!, the Instructor bellowed. "What
creatures can leave their master's service? Caedar Hounds?
Mugwumps? Harpies? All those things are cunning, yes, but they
lack free will. They live by instinct. Start over!"

It took a herculean effort to stay on her hands. An overwhelming
sense of unfairness and building anger welled up from inside. She
hadn't been the one who started the fight. That's good, another
part of her mind said, use that anger to focus.

Threnody growled out, "Six! All warriors from any Circle are
free to leave their Master's service in exchange for pledging
allegiance to the Geryon, sir!"

"Good! Continue".

"Seven! The Sixth Circle shall be named after the true Dark Lord
who lies embedded in eternal ice at the bottom of the Pit! It shall
have no rulers, and be protected by the Geryon, sir!"

>Crack!<

"The Sixth Circle is more than named after Lord Dis, Worm. It is
the gathering point and meeting place of all Hell's Lords. Continue!"


By this time the hot winds from off the salt flats had picked up.
The minute particles of sand and salt grit added to the raging
wildfire that had consumed her back and shoulders. It was more than
equaled by the dark fury that nestled in Threnody's heart. Her
Instructor was only doing his job, but that didn't stop her from
imagining catching him at a disadvantage and ripping his throat
out and filling her mouth full of his hot salty blood. Or strangling
him with his own whip, watching his face purple and his eyes swell
and pop out of the sockets. Any of those would be just fine.


"Eight! None shall oppose the Divine Will, sir!"


"None shall oppose the Divine Will", the Instructor mimicked.
"Yet". Another sneer. "Finish it up, Worm. Chow's waitin'!"


"Nine! If the Code is broken, then the offender shall suffer
retribution from the Council, Sir!"


"Outstanding, Worm Snowball! Fall in with the rest of the
trollbait!"


On the strength of sheer rage Threnody picked herself up from
the ground and dusted herself off. She walked stiffly back to
her place in the talon's rank and file. From the corner of her eye
she could just make out the look of pity Garm gave her. It was very
brief. Expressions or other activities of that nature could get you
one-on-one attention from the DIs. Indignation colored her thoghts.
Son of a ***** probably instigated the fight last night by saying
the wrong thing. She'd only gone into the room to break it up.





That still pissed her off. 'Still', Threnody thought idly,
'all things considered, Garm has'nt changed much since those
early days'. He still gets himself into trouble. And who bails
his sorry ass out of it every time? You guessed it. The day was
rapidly approaching when he'd have no one to help him.

She noticed that she'd walked into the Royal Quarter without
taking in her surroundings, and cursed inwardly. Real smart.
No one stopped her though. Odd. One thing the Fae are sticklers
for is protocol. They were so rigidly formal you wondered if
their servants used too much starch in the wash on laundry day.
Some of them carried handkerchiefs and would hold them to their
noses as any of the grunts passed by them. Probably nosebleeds
from hoisting their noses into such high altitudes. Heh.

A passing thought came to Threnody. If the Geryon were here
on Council buisness, then the missing souls were big news to
Someone High Up. That possibility chilled her to the marrow
more surely than did the frigid air outside.



<TBC>

[Miroku]

'The missing souls', Threnody thought, mind working furiously.
That had to be the key to tying up much of the loose threads here.
A handful wouldn't have raised many eyebrows, but dozens.... quite
possibly hundreds... had just vanished.

Life in the Pit wasn't all cake and pie, even here at its most
pastoral and pleasing. Some of the Damned would go wandering into
a Wendigo or trolls' path, and henceforth into its' stomach. Even
then, among those in the know, it was generally understood (tacitly)
that the interference in Infernal politics by the Divine Host was
unacceptable. Having wrathful angels intent on running you through
with flaming swords while you debated the finer points of trade
between the Circles of Hades and Malbowges tends to be a downer,
and in almost all cases a dealbreaker. So, everyone made sure to be
aboveboard on their treatment of the lowest of the low, here in the
Lowest of Places in Creation.

She turned the corner into the last stretch of hallway leading
to Lady Titania's suite of rooms and groaned. There were a couple
of guards waiting outside. Now while guards on Her Fey Majesty
weren't unusual, one of the guards bore a shield with the arms of
Cuchulainn. She strode purposefully toward the retainers. Both
were relaxed but watchful, meaning they hadn't been there long.
Just ****ing great.

"Halt and be recognized", Cuchulainn's shieldbearer said in a
bored voice.

The High Sidhe dialect of the Seelie rolled off the tongue
like fine aged cognac, sweet and intoxicating. Cloyingly sweet
for palettes used to stout. Drinks you need a toothpick for
afterwards.

"One Threnody, First Sergeant of the Blood Moon Fist, and
Sergeant of Infernal Rank. I am here to speak to Her Majesty on
a matter of grave and pressing concern". If you didn't add
'grave', 'pressing', or even 'urgent' in, then it could be hours
or days before anyone would get back to you.

Lady Titania's guard, a tall slender elf of fair looks (was
there any other kind?) gave Threnody an almost pitying look.
"Her Majesty is holding private court with her War Champion".

He turned to his companion and remarked, "They've only been
at it for a half hour, right?" The other guard laconically
grunted, "Yup".

The guard smiled apologetically. "Her Majesty is.... having
one of her moments. Lord CuChulainn is here comforting her".

'I'll just bet he is', Threnody thought irately. Comforting
her on the bed, in the hallway, on the divan, on the floor in
every room, et cetera.

"If you like, we can send a page to find you as soon as their
private discussion is over with", he offered.

Shaking her head, more out of pique than refusal, Threnody
sighed. "No. I'll wait here. This shouldn't take more than
another half hour, right?"

The two guards eyed one another knowingly. Titania's guard
raised a slender eyebrow. The mostly silent one shrugged.
"These sessions are hard to gauge. Some go a half an hour while
others go four".

Feeling suddenly very tired (which after the short rest
break she still was), Threnody leaned back against the stone
wall.

The talkative guard spoke up again. "If you care to, there's
a table and a few chairs we could move in here so you'd be more
comfortable". He seemed hesitant for some reason. Exasperated
with Sidhe circularity and politeness, Threnody snapped, "If you
have something to say, spit it out!"

"Sorry, but.... perchance..... do you play fidchell?"

The only answer was the sound of Threnody's head banging
against the wall. 'I wonder if they still need Packmasters in
the Woods of Sharp Teeth?', she wondered despondantly.





The lazy clatter of tree branches in the wind. A meadowlark's
lonesome call in the distance. The morning light dappling the
grass sward through the shapes of the surrounding trees, and
turning the surface of the stream into molten gold. All this the
lone figure took note of on its' solitary walk along the waters'
edge.

At the base of a nearby willow tree was a beaker with what
appeared to be a bone stopper. Eyes narrowing to platinum slits,
the male figure ambled over. A band of silver was bent around
the beakers' neck...... hmm...

He picked up the bottle and pulled the stopper from it.
A brief wafting of the gaseous contents were enough to tell him
three things clearly: the scent of arsenic meant that somebody
was wanted dead; the odor of sulfur meant that the target was
an infernal. He could also smell eyebright in the bottle,
meaning that the target would be marked somehow. The stopper
was another matter entirely, and held his attention. It was
troll bone, and not easilly obtained.

There was a troll who laired in this area, and he highly
doubted that the bone was from this one. The troll..... to be
used as an unwitting assassin? That would explain using the
bone as a stopper. The troll would contain the infernal as
effortlessly as would the stopper the contents of this bottle.

Sighing softly, the diminuative man put the bottle in his
belt pouch. He'd have to fly to make it to the rendezvous point
on time. Spreading his arms, he gave a quick trilling chirp.

A flurry of beating wings and the clearing was soon quiet
once more.

And that is as far as I got with it.