Even the evil tieflings throughout Toril deserve to tell their tragic tales
Dungeons & Dragons made me write this!
Yep, more D&D talk!
Look, I’ve got other sample chapters from finished novels that I could share here. But that seems excessive given how many sample chapters I’ve posted in the last few months. So here’s a different form of creative expression that isn’t just a teaser of something more. It’s the heart and soul of the character I get to portray every few weeks!
Quick catchup since my last D&D entry: Our party was quietly navigating the political disparity between the simple, pious folk across the lands of Broughton and the subterranean working class miners (who had seemingly prepared to unionize and make their wishes known to the ruling class on the surface.) On the night of an extravagant gala in the town’s grandest church, we were made privy to the arrangement of several child-marriages and decided to quickly intervene. [It’s up for debate how unanimous that decision was, but I digress.] Against all logic and precaution, we killed the mayor of the town in a very public forum and took a hostage before burning down the church and fleeing back to the mines…In the clutches of a friendly bat and on the back of a druid-turned-direwolf. The union was not pleased with the chaos we created and forced us down into yet another dungeon beneath the mines, promising a way out once they were sure the townspeople wouldn’t find us.
Last week, in the heart of this dungeon was a library. Thousands of tomes containing lost magics from centuries past, all at our fingertips — were it not for the Librarian, a petrifying pyramidal-headed patrol protecting a plethora of power.
Fighting wasn’t an option. Running would likely incur the monster’s wrath. Most of us weren’t dexterous enough to daftly dodge the librarian with ease. But we knew that it was drawn to dark magics and all it cared for was its mountain of esoteric books…At least one of which we would need to move forward.
And so, Corvus Carnale, the half-tiefling/half-human warlock, whose entire set of skills revolve exclusively around charisma, took a risk. One that put both his party’s health and his very soul in jeopardy.
For the first time, Corvus invoked the Form of Dread — a level 3 spell that allows a warlock to connect directly to their patron (an ancient deity of their choice, usually evil. Corvus’ being the Undead — the immortal leaders of the Nine Hells) and imbue the warlock’s being with the very essence of darkness that gives them a greater understanding of their spells. Corvus was able to call upon his ancestor, the almighty archdevil and ruler of the Nine Hells, Asmodeus.
Asmodeus’ form wrapped around Corvus like a cocoon and acted as an avatar, giving the undead Librarian the illusion that the Dark Lord of the Ninth had manifested in the library. Corvus was able to maintain the Form of Dread long enough to not only distract the Librarian while the rest of his party escaped, but even guile the Librarian into admitting much about the magic that binds the dungeon.
Ultimately, it’s a funny bit. It was a great moment for some banter between myself and the DM. The scene for everyone was harrowing, because it had been established that the Librarian could obliterate any of us instantly, and there was no promise that it would react positively to the image of an Undead patron. Once it worked, the scene shifted from terrifying to one of the funniest beats in our campaign…You know, once we were sure we could make it out alive.
Our party is currently resting somewhere in the dungeon, out of reach of the Librarian.
I wish I could write about where we’re headed next and what we should do as a party once we reach the surface of Broughton once again. But the storyteller in me can’t help but obsess over the Form of Dread concept and what it would mean for Corvus to tether himself to his ancestor like that.
What if Corvus didn’t like his patron? What if his ancestor Asmodeus was disappointed in Corvus? What if invoking the Form of Dread caused Corvus true pain — not physical, but emotional. Being directly connected to the Lord of Lies could be a point of great agony for Corvus, not strength. Maybe Corvus never wanted to use this power. Maybe this beat in our campaign could establish a moment of weakness for Corvus, and suggest that the party can never rely on the Form of Dread ever again…Or at least establish that we’ll have to be in a VERY dire situation before Corvus thinks about using it again.
So, I wrote out Corvus’ backstory. Because of fucking course I did.
It’s riddled with cliches and goofy fantasy tropes and I’m just fine with that.
On Torenzael — the furthest plane of Eberron — a woman sought salvation.
Born into bondage as an off-realm servant of the Fetterfist archdiocese, she has never had a family. She has never known love. No understanding of life outside her compound and no sense of companionship. Per scripture, all that she sought would be granted to her in the afterlife, but she could be afforded no comfort while she lived.
On a rare night of Consecration, where several of the moons of Eberron are in alignment with the single moon of Toril, spirits infected the juncture between realms. Specters voyaged from one plane to another, across the chasms of space and time with a freedom that the woman yearned for.
In desperation and loneliness, the woman called to a passing spirit emanating from the void between Torenzael and the Forgotten Realms. Against all odds, the spirit answered. Not only did the spirit relieve the woman of her burden of solitude, but it granted her the blessing of love…If only for that single night.
“Speak the name Asmodeus, and he shall appear.” It said before returning to the juncture between realms.
After a year of longing for the spirit’s return, the woman gave birth. Cut from her belly by her own hand, a half-tiefling/half-human was brought into existence. A direct descendent of the ruler of the Nine Hells. An heir to the Lord of Lies, born itself out of the wandering spirit’s deceit.
Burdened by the pain of her servitude, the regret brought on by her one fateful evening with a duplicitous archdemon, and the exhaustion of protecting a newborn from such a perilous world, the woman made a heinous decision.
Within a decade of the child’s birth, the moons would realign. The spirits would travel once more between the Forgotten Realms and Torenzael.
Desperate for answers, the woman attempted a blood ritual on the next night of Consecration — spells far beyond her reckoning as a mere human. Despite her feeble skills, Asmodeus appeared at the sight of his name written in blood.
The next morning, the woman was gone. Only the child remained.
Left alone in the treacherous realms of Eberron, the child was quickly captured. Taken in as a refugee by the cult known as the Path of Light, the child was traded between wizards and sorcerers — hoping to turn him away from the learnings of the warlock and abandon his tiefling roots for something more pious.
After countless attempts, the leaders of the Path of Light relented and left the child in sterner hands — those of the wicked dragonborn sorcerer, Maladar.
Where others saw a chance at redemption for the child, Maladar only saw opportunity.
Using both the child’s penchant for magic and his royal blood, Maladar attempted to learn the ways of the Nine Hells. Anguish became the only language the child understood as he was repeatedly exploited — as Maladar hoped rituals soaked in the blood of a descendent might grant him an audience with Asmodeus.
On the third night of Consecration, the child gave the sorcerer what he desired most. With the Lord of the Nine Hells’ name written in blood, Asmodeus appeared. Upon witnessing the child’s shackles — his lineage desecrated by the pathetic wills of mortals — the archdevil was riddled with shame. He impaled the dragonborn sorcerer repeatedly, using his own jagged bones to pierce his craven heart from all sides.
With or without Maladar, the final blood ritual commenced, and the child was torn apart, left to die in the arms of his disappointed ancestor.
One amongst the demons of the Nine Hells, the child became known as Corvus Carnale. A decades old, half-blooded tiefling and only one of thousands of descendants of Asmodeus. Reunited with his mother, Corvus attempted to learn the ways of undead magic and gain his ancestor’s favor. However, after nearly a century, Corvus had still failed to impressed Asmodeus with his ways of the warlock — still ages behind his full-blooded step-siblings — condemning both himself and his mother to neglect from the archdemon.
Resentment and frustration continued to build as Corvus struggled to master low-level spells, even under the tutelage of the lieutenants of the Nine Hells for another century thereafter. [Kas the Blood-Handed Tyrant, the Lich-Queen Vlaakith, and the Revenant Soul were assigned as mentors to Corvus on Asmodeus’ behalf — would-be tormentors, claiming that torture would make Corvus a stronger warlock.]
Even once he was finally granted a audience with Asmodeus; the promise of a coronation to become an Adeptus — the first level of true warlock mastery — Corvus’ patience with the afterlife had worn thin.
During the ceremony, Corvus was meant to feel shame. To be castigated for the humanity in his blood, and the mother that led him astray. In a blinding fury, Corvus casted the strongest eldritch blast he could conjure, searing the Lord of the Nine Hells’ face, dismantling the palace of Nessus, and damaging all of the realm’s reputation.
Having studied the astral paths of the moons and the alignment of the realms, Corvus’ mother showed him the way out of the Nine Hells and towards the Forgotten Realms — across the same juncture that Asmodeus used ages ago on the night of Consecration. Alone, Corvus would spend the rest of his life on the run from the Nine Hells, avoiding all contact with full-blooded tieflings. He would never again trust another soul — save for his mother, whose mortality bound her to the fires of the Nine Hells for all eternity.
Now on the simple planes of Toril, Corvus has assumed the name of Geoffrey and walks the land in search of earthly magics within his control. A younger (roughly a few hundred years old) and confused tiefling, Corvus struggles with his expanding abilities and the desire to exert his will over others. The voices of his mother and Asmodeus frequently do battle in his head, vying for autonomy over the other. While he is no match against true blooded tieflings from the Nine Hells, Corvus is a powerful warlock amongst the mortals of the Forgotten Realms. He finds himself excited when presented with the opportunity to demonstrate his power…To spite Asmodeus, to prove the lieutenants of the Nine Hells wrong, to enact his revenge against Maladar unto others, and to assure himself that he may some day be worthy of the love that only his mother had shown him.
And then he receives a letter. An invitation to a tavern; to meet a party of adventurers, promising treasures and powers beyond his imagination…
I guess I could’ve just said ‘DADDY ISSUES’ and gotten the same message across, but hey this is what D&D is for. It’s certainly not a direct allegory for anything in my life, but Corvus’ personality and mine are more similar than they are different. It makes the roleplaying both easy and fun — as it becomes a coded language for how I’m dealing with my own personal shit in an extroverted way.
As mentioned before, I know where I want Corvus to go [eventually, if the DM will be so gracious] and I can only hope to ever make as much sense out of my life as I have out of the life of this pubescent, emotionally damaged, insecure, vindictive little warlock.
