The Internal Affairs

[Slayer of Love]

The Narzugon are not savage beasts, running in herd to converge at a single point which their instincts dictate for them. They are an expertly trained unit. They anticipate the next moves, adapt to the situation and work together like an intricate machine. Focused primarily on melee fight and mobility, they do not use auras or advanced divinations to keep track track their battlefield - instead they rely on superior tactics.

Even before Rhistel disappears behind the wall, each rider is already assuming an important tactical position. One heads at the front, one each flank, one watches the backs. One moves onto the highest ground position near. Another is already cutting off the access to docks and portal to Sigil. The last one invokes a spell of magical flight.

By the time Rhistel blinks again they have already spotted his position and adjusted with horrifying synchronicity. Two happen to be quite near, they go for the frontal charge now. The one hovering above, the spotter, shoots the place with a wand of dimensional locking.

Rhistel's eye catches the sight of an incoming hellfire lance, in a split second he has a very close look over the dread spikes and the colors the infamous magical ember give off. But it's behind him. Far, far behind. It disappears with everything above, beneath and around. By a hair's breadth, the teleportation takes Rhistel out just before the spell from above would land.

The riders do not fall in confusion, immediately they reorganise on a search pattern. But Rhistel's out of their immediate reach. Not for long, for sure. They are infernally swift he finds and not just in terms of raw speed. By the time he opens the portal he can already hear the gallop of the fiendish hooves enclosing from three different directions.

[Serena]

Oh, of course he was quite annoyed by the extreme efficiency of the squad, but he ought to expect at least as much from higher rank devils instead of underestimating them... Served him well.
Took him just a moment, after that, to realize his plan wasn't going to pull off as it was right now - no, his final destination was going to be found out almost immediately if he wasn't careful.
And so the portal opened under his feet, extreme heat engulfing him as he fell down into it and through scorching air that would have probably eaten through his flesh hadn't it been for his wards, and then, just as previously, another portal, right in the trajectory of his fall and between him and the approaching sea of lava.
The stench of the vitriolic swamps welcomed him as he tumbled quite ungracefully on the alien ground, the portal closing behind in a blink of an eye and leaving only the green sky of Minauros over him as he laid there a moment to catch his breath.

[Slayer of Love]

Minauros. Sharp, distinct aromatic notes of an infinite of rotting decay cannot be mistaken for anything. Only Rhistel doesn't quite see the cloudy sky. He must have been thrown off the desired location, somehow...

He lands in a tunnel. Rocky cave has some sparing local vegetation, roots from trees above and mosses, peaty water of the swamps dripping from the ceiling. Creaking, mouldy wooden planks in ground form a path along the tunnel.

He finds himself tumbling under the feet of a large crowd of diverse devils. Small biters such as the imp or the spinagon, brutes like the abishai or the cornugon, humanoidal like the erinyes or the amnizu, or monstrosities like the advespa or the kochracon. Even a small number of non-devils: petitioners, some undead, incorporeals or inner planars. The landing causes an outrage.


"Hey, buddy!"
"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL"
"There's a queue here"
"I was here first!"
"Excuse me Sir, in this plane we queue."
"We were too! We were too!"
"GET IN THE BLOODY QUEUE!"
"Hey, no shortcuts! We're all in rush!"
"What in Baalzebuls RUSTING GOLDEN JEWELS is with you, get in line!"
"YaAAAaaAGGgaAhhH"
"Mortals these days have absolutely no regards for order."
"How rude!"
"Barbaric."

They are all in one line, waiting in the queue. Some are baffled, some enraged, some offended, some simply disgusted. Some relatively friendly.

"Sir, please get back in the queue. Please familiarise yourself with the instructions."

An erinyes helps Rhistel get up and shows him to the end of the queue, and to signs at the walls. The instructions come in a number of languages.

PROCEED THIS WAY TO MINAUROS CHECKOUT

WAIT IN LINE

NO SILVER ALLOWED
NO WEAPONS ALLOWED
NO MAGIC ALLOWED
NO PSIONICS ALLOWED
NO DIVINE INTERVENTIONS ALLOWED
NO EATING, DRINKING OR ABSORBING OTHER QUEUE PARTICIPANTS ALLOWED
NO SELFLESS SACRIFICES OR HEARTFELT FORGIVENESS ALLOWED

GOODS TO DECLARE: RIGHT
NOTHING TO DECLARE: LEFT
FALLEN PALADINS; DICTATORS; PATRICIDE, MATRICIDE, FRATRICIDE, SORORICIDE AND PROLICIDE GUILTY - PROCEED TO FASTTRACK LANE

Welcome to Minauros Customs and Border Protection Agency Checkout!
Please follow directions and advisement of staff.
Have a pleasant eternal damnation!

A disembodied echo of a playing violin repeats a few notes of a supposedly relaxing melody monotonely.

[Serena]

Furious blinking followed, as the half-drow found himself surrounded by the oh-so-diverse set of denizens, his fight or flight response immediately subsiding as he realized -what- he had fallen into, something probably more scary than any army or blood-seeking legion.
Bureocracy.
Luckily, he at least knew how to survive well in that circumstance. He barely opposed resistance as the erinyes came to help him, thanking her and offering to the bystanders his apologies for crashing the queue as he was pulled back to his feet and guided toward the end of the line.
Once there, he blankly stared for several long moment at the sign he was shown, idly brushing away some soot from his face -but probably just smearing it more- his brain still working at the problem he still had at hand: the line was not going to protect him and he probably didn't have much time left either, but what was worse, was that he was out of spells to get out of that situation. He hissed faintly to himself in frustration and slowly made to move to the line on the right, his attention falling on the bag where he was holding the remains of the baatezu.
"A place is as good as another at this point," he mumbled to himself, and with that, he went to discretely open the holding bag to release its misfortunate content...

[Slayer of Love]

The uproar among those in the queue soon calms. When Rhistel walks to the end of the queue, he gets a few contemptful, indirect, silent glances. A very passive-aggressive crowd. Some few odd ones offer their two coppers worth of charm as he passes.

"Aaaaaaabandon all hope"
"I could ..make you ...rrrrich..."
"Mortal sweat. Taaaaasty"
"Your mother wishes she'd stuffed herself with fermented pine cones rather than bear you"
"Hey, you, living one! Want to buy some fresh intenstines? Unsalted! Functioning!"


When Rhistel dumps the remains he notices that they, while still shattered, have already agglomerated into a few distinct large heaps. Likely he reckons they are already reforming, bits of particular devils somehow gluing themselves back together.

What if the process isn't foolproof, Rhistel finds himself wondering. What would happen if bits of you were grown in other devils, and bits of them sewn in you. No, no, it's probably all worked out. They won't come off as some freakish abominations. They're the devils, right? He's doing them a favour. He manages to shake off the thought easily.

Four devils come in after him at some point by chance, joining the queue. One of the horsemen is brought here too, soon after. The narzugon spots Rhistel immediately. The murderous stare of devil rider's eyes does not turn away from Rhistel a moment... and, civilly, the fiend joins the queue.

Right after the first horseman, an unrelated kyton ports in and joins the queue, and maybe a minute after the remaining six riders. They are all dismounted and disarmed, and follow Rhistel intently. Without getting ahead of their place in the queue, of course, they're not some disorderly ruffians.

The queue continueues relentlessly , skipping a step or two every few minutes. Sometimes the pace speeds up into fluid walking, then stops abruptly. It drags on and and on so lethargically Rhistel may even suspect something is off with time in this place. He may start counting to check that thesis, or even just to get his mind busy.

One. Two. Tick, tock. Nothing's happening. Three. Four. They haven't even moved. Five. This is taking an eternity. How long till the end?

Out of boredom Rhistel must have memorised the instructions in all languages by now, just by idly hanging his stare on them so many times. The queue moves slowly. Rhistel feels he really loathes these filthy, disgusting, twisted freaks that surround him. It's palpatable they are all filled with the same loathing for each other. The heavily armed killer squad breathes right down his neck, just a few steps behind in the queue. And worst of all this music, this supposedly relaxing music - Rhistel finds with every other loop he is more sensitive to all odd tones that feature in it, and it is excruciatingly annoying, able to break him out of any concentration. This sick atmosphere brings all sorts of weird thoughts that keep returning, like that with the research crew growing back into a mutated fudgecake from bits of each other.

Six. Wait, what? He was counting. Did all this happen in an instant, or did he just forget to count when his mind departed elsewhere?

Seven.It feels like he's spent days wondering disturbing thoughts or just being socially tense, they all blur into one.

Hundred and seventeen. What? Oh, the counting. Wasn't it just at seven?

Doesn't matter. He can see the gates here. He's not sure how long's it been, but they're near. He's next in line. Some smear soaking nupperibo explains to the guard complicated nuances so as to why he does not have the required documents. He talks laboriously and sluggishly, every syllabe stretched to a long, pathethic moan, making the process only more tormenting. It is exhausting just to listen to it.

At last it is Rhistel's time to pass. When he approaches the gate, the amnizu watchman is busy looking at something on his desk, in a small booth, doesn't even bother to look at Rhistel. Leaning forward a bit the half-drow can see that the watchman is arranging tarrot cards in stacks, playing solitaire.

Eventually the amnizu looks up, giving Rhistel a long, suspicious stare.

"Are you sure you have no good to declare? Hidden benevolence, innate chastity, devoted reverence?

The amnizu pauses, gauging Rhistel... and without waiting for the mortal's answer, he opens the gate.

"False virtues need not be declared. Welcome to Minauros."

Pass the gates, the tunnel's gone, the crowd's gone, the music's stopped. Rainy, windy, gloomy swamp around. Rhistel is swiped back to the originally intended location.

[Serena]

"Done.. done... ugh.. correct... done..." The gracious offers were all dismissed in an absentminded mumble, and soon the waiting was all that was left to him. The waiting, and the planning...
But was there even something to plan for?
He reached inside his bag, picking up his travel grimoire. Something told him that was going to take a lot, and he wasn't willing to let the place get to his head: he had to keep himself distracted and occupied, somehow. Studying. Planning.
He wished he was able to give a better look at those knights... see how many they were, if they had any distinctive symbol on them... He chewed the inside of his cheek and grumbled, his mind unable to focus on the writing as the music kept nagging at him.
Who the Hell would even think about sending an entire squad of hell knights only to... kill him? Fetch him?
Oh, scratch that, of course they wanted to kill him, if the explosives were of any indication...
He grumbled again, mildly frustrated and went to fetch his pencil. If only he could have given them a better lo-

...and then the first Knight made his appearance, followed by the others. It was difficult for him to ignore them, or the fact they had tracked him down so quickly... Or... was it? Quickly? He had no idea.
He stared at them, probably for the entire, excruciatingly long time that took him to finally reach the gates, his plan of studying quickly dismissed once he realized he wouldn't have been able to focus, and replaced with the analysis of his current problems.
Could he kill them? No. He went to the tower foreseeing troubles, that was true, but he definitely did not expect a war, he was not ready for a fight.
Reason with them? HAH. He almost laughed out loud at the thought.

Finally, his turn arrived, and he made a scene to be ready to go on with the entire content of his bag and pockets with the Amnizu, but as he was so easily dismissed without even needing to say a word, he could definitely not complain.
However, he still slid two soul prisms on the desk and toward the watchman, along with a folded and sealed pieces of parchment that looked dangerously like a ripped page of his grimoire.

"An amnizu and an erinyes going by the names written on the paper and matching [this description] are going to come through these gates. The payment is yours if you accept to successfully deliver to at least one of them -and them only- this letter," he offered in the calmest tone possible, taking advantage of the noise to not be overheard.
Should the amnizu accept the deal, he'd leave the prisms and the note to him, otherwise, he'd have pocketed everything again and finally leave.

Past the gates he went, this time not letting the transition take him off guard, and landing on his feet as his final destination was reached, the portal to Sigil to his right, one step away from being activated by the key he had on him.
He walked up to it and passed through.
It was time to find out if their search was worth a diplomatic incident within the Cage.

[Serena]

[Slayer of Love]

Back in the queue Rhistel had a good measure of time to get a close look at the pursuers. They weren't wearing the insignia specific to Blood War legionists one typically sees in planes, instead the inscriptions on their armours identified them as Malagard Palace Guard.

It's difficult to say whether their lost the track or were reluctant to follow into Sigil, but right now in Cage's streets Rhistel seems to have got rid of the menace.



* * *



"Oh, one more thing. Some living mortal left this for you. Man of the world, really knew the local custom."

Of course the border keeping amnizu respects the traditions wholeheartedly. He took Rhistel's bribe without hesitation - it would be in wrong tone not to, what would he think of Hell otherwise? For that price, he fulfills his end of the bargain gladly.



* * *



Motionless, soaked in sigillian rain and staring down the streets like gargoyles, two winged figures sit atop of what remained of Golden Bariaur's burned roof. They were reluctant of meeting here as well as meeting as a whole, but Sigil is a good place to lay low for a while - whoever got them might still be out there. And resting on waste of what used to be a gathering of celestials - the feel of it was just right.

They wait like that for Rhistel to show up.



* * *



The hall's quiet and the eventually the painful grunts cease as torturers halt their work. Her form is ruptured, but her will hardly. The accused is at best humoured with the disciplining received.

"Ugh. That was ...awesome! ... We have to do it again sometime."

Marchioness Enepsigos, the representative of the Glasya's court, takes the floor. Unlike most of the jury members she is not a pit fiend, but rather resembles an evolved erinyes of sorts. Not in the slightest does it mean she's any less ruthless or lacking in political game.

"Miladies and milords, contrary to what the prosecutor would have us believe, this hearing is not about us micromanaging every aspect of our agents' work. Contrary to what the accused would have us believe, it is also not meant as a political bid in some power play."

Careful choice of words, a subtle difference between "is not meant as" and simply "is not".

"We are here to make justice on one rule that is fundamental to our tradition and identity, and that is that failure must be punished."

There's an argument every party gathered agrees on, be it supportive or opposing the case, and even the accused.

[Serena]

Unsurprisingly, the two devils did not have to wait too long there: for once, they had to be on the receiving end of that annoying feeling of being watched, although, in such a lively spot of the city it was difficult to pinpoint where that even came from.
It was not later than half a hour since they arrived that the familiar figure of the half drow made its appearance, following the flow of the many customers of the fruit market only to eventually split from the crowd to go and stand under the ruined building.
Once there, he raised his head to look up at the two, hands in his pockets and an expression the two were probably accustomed to, by now.
It wasn't a "I'm glad you made it" or a "Thank you for coming", but merely an acknowledgement of events taking the expected turn.
However, when he spoke, his tone was strangely friendly for his standards, and they could swear he might have even just smiled at them.

"Hope the queue didn't take too long. Unfortunately, I wasn't left with too many options, and that one was the very best I could come across."

[Slayer of Love]

"He is here"

The amnizu research director notes with usual tranquility, and the erinyes intern Eurydome retorts snarky as always.

"I can see that, Apep. And he damn better be. After ditching ME in mud."

"Lively place"

"Tormentingly so. Who are all those smiling people? Don't they have miserable jobs to go to? Look, even he's doing it!"

"Not safe"

"Safehouse?"

"Safehouse."

The two swoop down gliding and catch Rhistel by the arms, and carry him above, far above the street. They land in a balloon from Nittman's Aerial Tours that hangs in air somewhere above Sigil's wards. Soon as they land inside this vessel the erinyes goes off at Rhistel with hysterical pretense.

"I've had a blasted rough UNKNOWN amount of time of a complete body shattering and I woke up in some commoner processing dump with HALF my guts lying around or grown INTO grumpy! Just to get a letter from YOU?"

"Eurydome, tea."

With a greatly offended pout the erinyes conjures some tea for the Rhistel and Apep.

"We were compromised"

"You think? Bloody astute. Now I know why you're the one in charge."

"Inside job."

"He's got a point now, you know, fluffy? Cut off the portal, stab, swoosh, everyone's done for. Things happened in matter of seconds. Guess the pale tart has some competition."

Apep slaps the back of Eurydome's head, reminding her to mind her tongue. She's angered but she doesn't dare to oppose.

"No. Containment protocol."

"What? I didn't know about any containment protocols."

"Of course you didn't. You were one of the things to be contained."



* * *



"Some members of this jury found the eighty page report and the statement from Accused unclear"

"Inconsistent"

Gomory throws in, but quickly gives up being stared down by the entire hall.

"We ask that you clarify. Was embarking on this mission absolutely crucial?"

"Milady, had I not embarked on it, we'd be here all the same and you'd be asking me why it was that way instead."

Maraphiel realises that Marchioness Enepsigos, being the representative of Malboge, is supporting her side. Malbogians often ally with Canians, as both layers are rivaled by the neighbouring inbetween Maladominians. It is the court of Baalzebul from Maladomini, the seventh circle of Hell, that competes with the canian diplomat for the Sigillian position, and who instigated this entire trial.

The coincidence of interest between courts of Malboge and Cania is on many levels most treacherous an alliance. Here particularly, the dark has it ages past, when Maraphiel was under the sixth court, she had a horrifying price to pay, yet somehow managed to slip out of it. Dark has it Glasya's courtiers want her specifically for themselves and nobody else, to have their looming debt with her settled.

She decides to cooperate cautiously.

"Some question the method of entry."

"Larger force would only risk a larger casualty. Lesser force would not handle the pressure."

"And being taken in was calculated into that risk."

"Milady, you are aware of my ...speciality... ...work profile..."

Spying on planeborne especially such as Tanar'ri has often involved a risk of subjugation. Though the details are kept dark even to most of the devils on the jury, it is known to them that the accused is an agent specifically conditioned for such eventualities.

"And does the final result really motivate the risks?"

"You tell me, milady. The harvesters have an entirely new people to work with."

"Some claim they would have anyway."

"Good luck proving that. ... Milady."

"You are aware this is court marshall. There is no presumption of innocence."

"I am also aware it is the results that are the sole measure that matters. Are the souls flowing?"