Roll for Damnation

Balthazar had been preparing the ritual all day. He had gathered the reagents. Blood of a hen: fresh. Candles crafted from the fat of a dead man. Graveyard earth: dry. Copper coins: assorted. The diagrams he had memorized and sketched out from the musty old tome. The candles gave off a soft amber glow, forcing odd shadows to dance across the stone floor of the decrepit mausoleum. His hand was sticky from painting the floor with the hen’s blood, the complex design of overlapping geometric shapes nestled into a larger circle. He stood, wiping the sweat from his brow, surveying his handiwork.

“Not bad for a kid that failed geometry sophomore year.” He muttered to himself.

He bent down to neatly position the copper coins, one in each of the seven rune marked smaller circles the design contained. He looked behind him to the three cloaked figures gathered around the stone sarcophagus on the other side of the room. Three cloaked heads nodded in unison.

He wiped his sticky hand on a pant leg and picked up his notebook. He thumbed through it until he found the page he was looking for, taking in the scrawl of his own chicken scratch penmanship. He took a deep breath to clear his mind and began chanting the words for the ritual. For several moments nothing happened, but then his voice began to reverberate throughout the room. The candles guttered as an impossible wind began to whip up. The runes began to glow a dull red, he pulled the handful of dry graveyard earth from his pocket and scattered it into the circle. The glow flashed and shifted to a sickly green hue. As the chant reached its crescendo, he struck a match and tossed it into the circle. Emerald flames burst forth, scorching the ceiling and driving Balthazar back, blinding him for a moment.

When his vision returned, he could only stare at the demon that stood within the circle.

It stood perhaps four feet tall, not counting the four horns that curled from the top of its head. The arms that jutted out from its shoulders were long and thin, spindly really, and ended in long fingered hands that reminded Balthazar of spiders. It’s second set of arms, the ones that originated in its sternum were shorter, chubbier, and capped off with thick three fingered hands. The most surprising thing about it was how it’s bearing brought to mind an accountant more than a creature from the bowels of Hell. The small, round rimmed spectacles it was settling on its long, thin witch’s nose only served to reinforce that impression.

The demon stared at Balthazar for a moment, the way one might look at an animal that had just used the floor as a toilet. It looked past him at the shadowed figures behind him. It rolled its eyes and then turned its attention back to Balthazar. It gestured vaguely with the inner set of hands and spoke.

“Why have you summoned me here, mortal?” Its voice held the unmistakable air of condescension.

“I…Uh…We, we need a m…master.” Balthazar stammered.

“That’s not the type of request I normally get, but I suppose I can accommodate…” The demon said as a riding crop and leather mask appears in its hands.

“What?! Ew! No.” Balthazar waved his hands frantically. “No, we need a dungeon master.”

The crop and mask vanished in a puff of smoke.

“I see…” The demon said, stroking the small goatee hanging from what passed for its chin. “This is for one of your roleplaying games? The type we took the blame for in the eighties?”

“Uh, yes.” Balthazar moved closer to the circle. “None of us wanted to run the campaign and this is literally all the friends I have so, this was the option that made the most sense.”

One of the cloaked figures moved out of the shadows. She drew her hood down, revealing a young woman with an obvious affection for eyeliner. “Hi, uh…we brought your…fee?” She pointed to the goat at the end of the rope she held in her hand.

The demon regarded the goat calmly for a moment, then turned back to Balthazar. “As I understand it these games can last for quite a while, even a number of years.”

“That’s right, we figured we could bring you a goat each time?”

The demon chuckled mirthlessly. “Do not presume to name a price for my time and not inconsiderable skills, boy.”

It thought for a moment, pacing within the inner circle that contained it. After several minutes of consideration, it stopped pacing and turned to face Balthazar again. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought it was smiling at him. “I will do this for you, but at the cost of two souls…I don’t care whose.”

Balthazar started to speak, but then held up a finger and walked back to his friends. The demon watched with amusement as the mortals discussed his offer amongst themselves. Based on their posture and the vehement gestures they were making it was obvious to him that they were having trouble reaching an agreement. After a few moments Balthazar turned and walked back towards the circle.

“We have a counteroffer.”

“By all means, proceed to amuse me, human.”

“We offer one year off our lives for each year the campaign runs.” Balthazar held up a finger. “These years are to come off the end of our lifespan, no demonic trickery of taking our best years or any such nonsense.”

The demon considered the offer for a moment. It was intriguing for an offer made by humans. Worded fairly well, though not so airtight as to rob him of the potential for fun. The demon cleared its throat dramatically.

“Throw in the goat and we have a deal.”

Balthazar smirked. “Yeah, of course. The goat is yours.”

The demon canted its head to the side and stared at Balthazar for a moment. “I cannot cross the circle until it is broken.”

“Oh, right…” Balthazar mumbled as he stepped closer to the circle. He pulled the pocketknife out of his pocket, unfolding the blade, it still had some of the hen’s blood clinging to it. He drew a shaky breath; this would be one of the more dangerous parts of the evening. If he hadn’t bound the demon properly it might decide to just devour him and his friends before slinking back to the depths of hell. He bent down and scraped the outer line of the circle with the blade. The second the line was broken the circle ceased glowing. The demon took an imperious step forward, smirking as it crossed the outer border of the circle. Balthazar took several hurried steps backwards.

The demon surveyed the area within the mausoleum and then pointed to the sarcophagus. “That should suffice.” It murmured. There was a flash and then the surface of the stone coffin was covered with a large, gridded mat and surrounded by five chairs.

The teenagers began to take their seats and the demon seated itself at the head of the makeshift table. With a wave of its hand a DM screen appeared before it, separating its area from the players. The teens began pulling their game paraphernalia out of back packs. Dice were spilled onto the table, pencils, and pens. As they pulled out their players handbooks and character sheets, the demon looked up and cleared its throat.

“Oh, you won’t be needing those.” It cooed.

They looked at each other confused. “How will we play without character sheets?” The young eyeliner enthusiast asked.

“They are for Dungeons and Dragons, correct?” The teens nodded their answers as one. “There you have it. Wrong game.”

Balthazar leaned forward. “But we summoned you to run a D and D game for us.”

“Ah, correction, you bargained for me to run a roleplaying game for you, no brand was specified in our arrangement.”

Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “Alright, then what did you have in mind? Genesys? Gurps?”

“Oh, no dear boy. You see…in the Pit…” It paused for dramatic effect.

“We only play Pathfinder.”

It laughed maniacally as the teens groaned, hanging their heads in frustration.