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Description
NOTE: Some of the elements of this story are a bit disturbing. Some harsh language is also involved.

~*~

When the young tiefling opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the face of the grey-haired man looking down at him. The wizard's brows were furrowed, and his mouth was set hard. But after a moment, the old man's face softened, and he smiled.

"There, there, lad. Don't sit up too quickly. Are you alright? You gave me quite a scare!"

The tiefling moved his head about slowly, taking in his surroundings. They were in a large, circular chamber. The walls were made of ancient brown stone, cracking a bit here and there. Large tables were set up, scattered with vials, jars, loose papers, wands, and every other manner of fascinating arcane object. And there were bookshelves. Bookshelves with so many, many books.

He looked back to the old man. This person was a wizard. He was sure of that much. But everything else was a blur in his memory.

"Where am I?"

The wizard sighed. His eyes darkened, but only for a moment, before the smile appeared on his face again. "It's that bad, is it? Are we going to have to start over at the beginning? Ah, well, perhaps we'll be lucky and things will come back to you as the day goes on." he cleared his throat. "My name is Dalfor. You're my Apprentice. This is my tower. We're studying the arcane arts here. Does any of that sound familiar, lad?"

The Apprentice sat up slowly. He looked around again. He scrutinized the black and red velvet cloth that covered the tables. He stared hard at the swirling crystal ball on the bookshelf. He took in the scent of the incense coming from silver bowl on the little stand near the curved doorway.

The young tiefling rubbed his temple and looked back to Dalfor the Wizard. "No. It doesn't."

The wizard was quiet for a long moment, before nodding slowly. "Well then. I suppose I'd better show you around. Pay attention, and be sure to remember everything I tell you."

The wizard took his Apprentice all over the tower. The young tiefling saw ancient tomes and curious objects and artifacts and every manner of alchemical ingredient. Dalfor showed him a portrait of a handsome man in fine clothing. "That's Prince Calieth. Surely you remember that we work for him?"

The Apprentice gazed long at the image of the royal, and something did stir inside him. A thought popped into his mind. "I have to tell him. I have to warn his majesty..."

"What did you say?" The wizard's voice was loud and sharp. "You're no one who's in any place to even think about speaking to a prince! Mind your tongue, boy. Gather your thoughts!"

The tiefling cringed at the sudden rebuke. "I... I'm sorry."

"Just listen to me carefully, lad. It's going to be a burden having to teach you so much all over again. So don't go looking into things that aren't important." Dalfor said in a serious tone. "You just mind your Master."

The wizard showed him a little room where simple meals could be prepared. There was a rather lavish bathroom with a lovely marble tub. There was a room that seemed to be filled with nothing but shelves upon shelves of brightly colored potions in delicate glass bottles. There were two bedrooms, a large opulent one for the the wizard, and a smaller, but comfortable room for the tiefling himself.

"You can go anywhere you like in this tower, lad." the Wizard said, "Except the room with the iron door. There's too many dangerous chemicals in there. Walking into that place is what's given you this horrible amnesia. Let's be safe and make sure things don't get any worse."

An iron door. Something flashed through the tiefling's mind. A table... leather straps... bones... a horrible smell...

He shuddered. "Yes, Master. I won't go in if you say I shouldn't."

"That's a good lad." Dalfor nodded. "Let's sit down together and have something nice to eat. You can ask me questions, and I'll do what I can to fill in these gaps in your memory."

Although so much was lost to him, the tiefling didn't speak much during the meal. The longer he sat with the Wizard, the more nervous he became. There was something about the way the old man looked at him. It was as though his eyes could pierce holes through the young man's body. He knew he should be trying to make sense of his world, but he found that he could barely speak.

When supper was over, the tiefling wandered the tower a bit on his own, touching things here and there. Some of the old books felt familiar to him, and running his fingers along their spines or through their pages was comforting. Holding them close to his chest made him feel safer.

As the moon began to rise in the sky, the old Wizard came and found the Apprentice again. "You'd best go on to bed now, lad. Maybe a good night's sleep will help with your memory. We'll speak again in the morning."

The tiefling obediently went to his little room. He lay a long while in his bed, and when sleep finally came, he was overtaken by nightmares.

Bones. That fetid smell. Something writhing on a table. There was a voice, a furious voice, and a painful flash of red light. Bones. The iron door...

He sat up in his bed. The Prince! He had to tell the Prince about the iron door! The bones!

The Apprentice hesitated, trembling in his bed. Why couldn't he remember anything? Why did Master Dalfor look at him with such cold eyes? What was behind that door?

As silently as possible, he left his bed and crept through the tower. He found his way through the unfamiliar yet familiar rooms and made his way to the basement, where he stood in front of the dark iron door.

As he moved forward, the Apprentice became convinced that he could hear something. A strange scuffling sound. It send a chill down his spine. He leaned toward the door, listening. He reached out his hand for the door knob.

It was locked.

Realizing he'd been holding in his breath, the tiefling sighed heavily. Why was he doing this? Because of blurry visions? Because of a nightmare? A sound? He was going to get into trouble again. He should go back to bed.

As he turned, he gasped in surprise. Dalfor the Wizard was standing there behind him, eyes darker and harder than he'd yet seen them.

"What did I tell you, you sneaky little half-breed?" The Wizard growled. "The minute I lay down, you're snooping around again?"

"I'm sorry, Master! I didn't mean... I thought..."

Dalfor walked forward and pushed the young man aside. Taking an old key from the pocket of his bedclothes, he swiftly unlocked and there open the iron door. "Go on then, have another look."

The foul smell hit the young tiefling like a slap in the face. Just when he thought he'd manage to stop his stomach from lurching, the scene inside brought an even more crippling wave of nausea.

The table stood before him, just as in his nightmares. It was covered in old blood, and a twitching, severed leg. The shelves were stocked with bits of flesh in jars. There were skulls, and so many bones. The air was thick with rot.

The tiefling stumbled backward. "No! This is wrong! You can't! It's forbidden!"

"Yes. The new young Prince is even more stubborn that his father. He's made it a crime in these lands." the Wizard smirked. "But necromancy is such a fascinating thing." He turned his eyes to the young man. "I told you not to go in here. But you don't listen."

"It's wrong. You can't..."

"I hoped wiping your mind of the incident would be enough. But it seems that tiefling brains are more difficult to work with. Having to teach you everything all over again would have been bad enough, but knowing you won't even stay away from my private work?" Dalfor raised a hand, pointing a long finger at his Apprentice. "I can always get a new servant. You'll probably be of more use as a corpse on my table."

The light around the tiefling flashed red again with pain.

~*~

"Hey, you up, little guy?"

When the Apprentice opened his eyes again, another figure was leaning over him. There was a strange man, with large horns and a bizarre smile fixed on his face. The man tilted his head, studying him curiously a moment, before seeming to relax. He turned, glancing quickly at someone over his shoulder.

"Are you a tiefling?" The Apprentice asked softly. "You have horns like I do."

The grinning man looked back, eyes brightening. "Sure I'm a tiefling! Well, a Reaper now, but I used to be a tiefling. You're fine, aren't you? I knew you weren't gonna change."

"You have to be careful, Reaper. Dalfor's around here. He's... he's a dangerous necromancer."

"Yeah, we know. But thanks for looking out for us. You're a nice kid." The Reaper replied cheerfully. He peered back over his shoulder again, this time leaning back enough that the Apprentice could see behind him. "You done with that asshole, Bro?"

A second Reaper stood in the forbidden room. He looked nearly identical to the first. "Uh-huh, just another minute or two." the second Reaper replied casually.

The Wizard Dalfor was beside the second Reaper. He seemed taller somehow. It didn't make sense at first. Not until the Apprentice realized that Dalfor's feet were dangling a few inches off the ground.

Dalfor was pinned to the wall. The second Reaper had impaled the old man with a large, vicious-looking scythe. Dalfor's body shook, blood pooling slowly on the ground beneath him. After another few seconds, the wizard's body went limp.

"What's happening?" The Apprentice whispered in horror.

Dalfor's body crumbled quickly away into ashes. And yet somehow, he remained pierced to the wall. He was translucent now, a ghostly version of his former self.

The second Reaper twisted the scythe ever so slightly, and Dalfor's spirit shrieked in pain. The old wizard began to crack like broken glass, and then shattered into tiny fragments which scattered and faded as the second Reaper withdrew his scythe.

"Fuck this stinking tower." The second Reaper grumbled. He turned to them, wearing the same unnatural grin as the first Reaper. "Hey little fella! Let's get out of here, yeah?"

The first Reaper turned back to the Apprentice. "You wanna go on a boat ride?"

The Wizard's Apprentice never fully managed to recover his stolen memories. Even his true name escapes him. When he accepted the job as one of Grymm 's Reapers, he came to be known as Lore Shadowmurk.

Lore is a Scribe; a non-combative Reaper bonded to an important magical book. The book slowly fills itself with the names of humans who are reaching the end of their lifespans. As a new name appears in the book, Lore guides his fellow Reapers to the human who is about to die so their soul can be collected and safely escorted to the afterlife.

Lore is a quiet, nervous young man who doesn't like socializing with anyone he doesn't know or trust. He works with all the Guides and Slayers in Grymm's brood, but prefers the company of Hemlock and Rictus .

He greatly looks up to the Dark Reapers Howl and Hollow . Lore fears that he might have been transformed into an undead being if the twins had not been so quick to collect his soul and save him from Dalfor's cruel necromantic experiments.

When not working, Lore can be found reading whatever books he can get his hands on, or spending time with his fellow Scribes Ebon and Dirge. He has recently been forming a friendship with the Guide Salem , although both young men are a still shy around one another.

Lore does everything in his power to commit experiences to memory and is always eager for new information. He has a sensitive personality and can be very harsh in scolding himself, especially if he feels he may have forgotten something important.

Background - Sveva's Diabolical

You may NOT edit or reupload my images or use them for your own avatars, fiction or roleplays. None of my characters are for sale, trade or adoption.

Description
NOTE: Some of the elements of this story are a bit disturbing. Some harsh language is also involved.

~*~

When the young tiefling opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the face of the grey-haired man looking down at him. The wizard's brows were furrowed, and his mouth was set hard. But after a moment, the old man's face softened, and he smiled.

"There, there, lad. Don't sit up too quickly. Are you alright? You gave me quite a scare!"

The tiefling moved his head about slowly, taking in his surroundings. They were in a large, circular chamber. The walls were made of ancient brown stone, cracking a bit here and there. Large tables were set up, scattered with vials, jars, loose papers, wands, and every other manner of fascinating arcane object. And there were bookshelves. Bookshelves with so many, many books.

He looked back to the old man. This person was a wizard. He was sure of that much. But everything else was a blur in his memory.

"Where am I?"

The wizard sighed. His eyes darkened, but only for a moment, before the smile appeared on his face again. "It's that bad, is it? Are we going to have to start over at the beginning? Ah, well, perhaps we'll be lucky and things will come back to you as the day goes on." he cleared his throat. "My name is Dalfor. You're my Apprentice. This is my tower. We're studying the arcane arts here. Does any of that sound familiar, lad?"

The Apprentice sat up slowly. He looked around again. He scrutinized the black and red velvet cloth that covered the tables. He stared hard at the swirling crystal ball on the bookshelf. He took in the scent of the incense coming from silver bowl on the little stand near the curved doorway.

The young tiefling rubbed his temple and looked back to Dalfor the Wizard. "No. It doesn't."

The wizard was quiet for a long moment, before nodding slowly. "Well then. I suppose I'd better show you around. Pay attention, and be sure to remember everything I tell you."

The wizard took his Apprentice all over the tower. The young tiefling saw ancient tomes and curious objects and artifacts and every manner of alchemical ingredient. Dalfor showed him a portrait of a handsome man in fine clothing. "That's Prince Calieth. Surely you remember that we work for him?"

The Apprentice gazed long at the image of the royal, and something did stir inside him. A thought popped into his mind. "I have to tell him. I have to warn his majesty..."

"What did you say?" The wizard's voice was loud and sharp. "You're no one who's in any place to even think about speaking to a prince! Mind your tongue, boy. Gather your thoughts!"

The tiefling cringed at the sudden rebuke. "I... I'm sorry."

"Just listen to me carefully, lad. It's going to be a burden having to teach you so much all over again. So don't go looking into things that aren't important." Dalfor said in a serious tone. "You just mind your Master."

The wizard showed him a little room where simple meals could be prepared. There was a rather lavish bathroom with a lovely marble tub. There was a room that seemed to be filled with nothing but shelves upon shelves of brightly colored potions in delicate glass bottles. There were two bedrooms, a large opulent one for the the wizard, and a smaller, but comfortable room for the tiefling himself.

"You can go anywhere you like in this tower, lad." the Wizard said, "Except the room with the iron door. There's too many dangerous chemicals in there. Walking into that place is what's given you this horrible amnesia. Let's be safe and make sure things don't get any worse."

An iron door. Something flashed through the tiefling's mind. A table... leather straps... bones... a horrible smell...

He shuddered. "Yes, Master. I won't go in if you say I shouldn't."

"That's a good lad." Dalfor nodded. "Let's sit down together and have something nice to eat. You can ask me questions, and I'll do what I can to fill in these gaps in your memory."

Although so much was lost to him, the tiefling didn't speak much during the meal. The longer he sat with the Wizard, the more nervous he became. There was something about the way the old man looked at him. It was as though his eyes could pierce holes through the young man's body. He knew he should be trying to make sense of his world, but he found that he could barely speak.

When supper was over, the tiefling wandered the tower a bit on his own, touching things here and there. Some of the old books felt familiar to him, and running his fingers along their spines or through their pages was comforting. Holding them close to his chest made him feel safer.

As the moon began to rise in the sky, the old Wizard came and found the Apprentice again. "You'd best go on to bed now, lad. Maybe a good night's sleep will help with your memory. We'll speak again in the morning."

The tiefling obediently went to his little room. He lay a long while in his bed, and when sleep finally came, he was overtaken by nightmares.

Bones. That fetid smell. Something writhing on a table. There was a voice, a furious voice, and a painful flash of red light. Bones. The iron door...

He sat up in his bed. The Prince! He had to tell the Prince about the iron door! The bones!

The Apprentice hesitated, trembling in his bed. Why couldn't he remember anything? Why did Master Dalfor look at him with such cold eyes? What was behind that door?

As silently as possible, he left his bed and crept through the tower. He found his way through the unfamiliar yet familiar rooms and made his way to the basement, where he stood in front of the dark iron door.

As he moved forward, the Apprentice became convinced that he could hear something. A strange scuffling sound. It send a chill down his spine. He leaned toward the door, listening. He reached out his hand for the door knob.

It was locked.

Realizing he'd been holding in his breath, the tiefling sighed heavily. Why was he doing this? Because of blurry visions? Because of a nightmare? A sound? He was going to get into trouble again. He should go back to bed.

As he turned, he gasped in surprise. Dalfor the Wizard was standing there behind him, eyes darker and harder than he'd yet seen them.

"What did I tell you, you sneaky little half-breed?" The Wizard growled. "The minute I lay down, you're snooping around again?"

"I'm sorry, Master! I didn't mean... I thought..."

Dalfor walked forward and pushed the young man aside. Taking an old key from the pocket of his bedclothes, he swiftly unlocked and there open the iron door. "Go on then, have another look."

The foul smell hit the young tiefling like a slap in the face. Just when he thought he'd manage to stop his stomach from lurching, the scene inside brought an even more crippling wave of nausea.

The table stood before him, just as in his nightmares. It was covered in old blood, and a twitching, severed leg. The shelves were stocked with bits of flesh in jars. There were skulls, and so many bones. The air was thick with rot.

The tiefling stumbled backward. "No! This is wrong! You can't! It's forbidden!"

"Yes. The new young Prince is even more stubborn that his father. He's made it a crime in these lands." the Wizard smirked. "But necromancy is such a fascinating thing." He turned his eyes to the young man. "I told you not to go in here. But you don't listen."

"It's wrong. You can't..."

"I hoped wiping your mind of the incident would be enough. But it seems that tiefling brains are more difficult to work with. Having to teach you everything all over again would have been bad enough, but knowing you won't even stay away from my private work?" Dalfor raised a hand, pointing a long finger at his Apprentice. "I can always get a new servant. You'll probably be of more use as a corpse on my table."

The light around the tiefling flashed red again with pain.

~*~

"Hey, you up, little guy?"

When the Apprentice opened his eyes again, another figure was leaning over him. There was a strange man, with large horns and a bizarre smile fixed on his face. The man tilted his head, studying him curiously a moment, before seeming to relax. He turned, glancing quickly at someone over his shoulder.

"Are you a tiefling?" The Apprentice asked softly. "You have horns like I do."

The grinning man looked back, eyes brightening. "Sure I'm a tiefling! Well, a Reaper now, but I used to be a tiefling. You're fine, aren't you? I knew you weren't gonna change."

"You have to be careful, Reaper. Dalfor's around here. He's... he's a dangerous necromancer."

"Yeah, we know. But thanks for looking out for us. You're a nice kid." The Reaper replied cheerfully. He peered back over his shoulder again, this time leaning back enough that the Apprentice could see behind him. "You done with that asshole, Bro?"

A second Reaper stood in the forbidden room. He looked nearly identical to the first. "Uh-huh, just another minute or two." the second Reaper replied casually.

The Wizard Dalfor was beside the second Reaper. He seemed taller somehow. It didn't make sense at first. Not until the Apprentice realized that Dalfor's feet were dangling a few inches off the ground.

Dalfor was pinned to the wall. The second Reaper had impaled the old man with a large, vicious-looking scythe. Dalfor's body shook, blood pooling slowly on the ground beneath him. After another few seconds, the wizard's body went limp.

"What's happening?" The Apprentice whispered in horror.

Dalfor's body crumbled quickly away into ashes. And yet somehow, he remained pierced to the wall. He was translucent now, a ghostly version of his former self.

The second Reaper twisted the scythe ever so slightly, and Dalfor's spirit shrieked in pain. The old wizard began to crack like broken glass, and then shattered into tiny fragments which scattered and faded as the second Reaper withdrew his scythe.

"Fuck this stinking tower." The second Reaper grumbled. He turned to them, wearing the same unnatural grin as the first Reaper. "Hey little fella! Let's get out of here, yeah?"

The first Reaper turned back to the Apprentice. "You wanna go on a boat ride?"

The Wizard's Apprentice never fully managed to recover his stolen memories. Even his true name escapes him. When he accepted the job as one of Grymm 's Reapers, he came to be known as Lore Shadowmurk.

Lore is a Scribe; a non-combative Reaper bonded to an important magical book. The book slowly fills itself with the names of humans who are reaching the end of their lifespans. As a new name appears in the book, Lore guides his fellow Reapers to the human who is about to die so their soul can be collected and safely escorted to the afterlife.

Lore is a quiet, nervous young man who doesn't like socializing with anyone he doesn't know or trust. He works with all the Guides and Slayers in Grymm's brood, but prefers the company of Hemlock and Rictus .

He greatly looks up to the Dark Reapers Howl and Hollow . Lore fears that he might have been transformed into an undead being if the twins had not been so quick to collect his soul and save him from Dalfor's cruel necromantic experiments.

When not working, Lore can be found reading whatever books he can get his hands on, or spending time with his fellow Scribes Ebon and Dirge. He has recently been forming a friendship with the Guide Salem , although both young men are a still shy around one another.

Lore does everything in his power to commit experiences to memory and is always eager for new information. He has a sensitive personality and can be very harsh in scolding himself, especially if he feels he may have forgotten something important.

Background - Sveva's Diabolical

You may NOT edit or reupload my images or use them for your own avatars, fiction or roleplays. None of my characters are for sale, trade or adoption.