An excerpt from the journal of one of our Tiefling Druid/Cleric’s ancestors. The story of how her people first came to the Mortal Realms;
We are not of this place. Nature and fate did not see our souls fit for this realm. Whatever power we offended, we must have done some terrible wrong, for our lives before the Island were torturous and unending. So few of us remain that remember the days before crossing over. They would rather forget than own to our story. Here we can pretend and play as mortal beings, but I believe to erase our journey is to dishonor our truth. This is why I write the record of our crossing into the Mortal Realms, and why I will hide our story until our descendants are ready.
The chaos of fate bore me to the depths of hell, cracked from hot, dry dirt to the hands of my former master. Or, rather, I was pulled forth by the hands of other servants of my master. Then passed to other servants, and looked over by more servants, until I came of age. I trained with my fellow Erinyes, learned to call forward the fire within me, and fed daily the teachings of Asmodeus. I bled imps to grow comfortable with my blade. I shared meals with my hatch mates. We memorized Asmodeus’ hierarchy of punishment. We read the glorious victories of his Blood War against the demons crawling through the infinite layers of the Abyss. I learned the ways of my mind, how to call to my fellow Erinyes and to my master.
I can only imagine how the others would react if they knew I wrote this back into memory, for this part of our past is the portion they most long to forget; We were known by the lesser devils as the Andread, a breed of Erinyes made specifically to punish offenders of Asmodeus’ domain. My brethren and I were assigned to the tyrants of the Nine Hells, and we were the abhorrent, the detestable, the waste makers. I was assigned to Tolgomos, the Pit Fiend of Nessus, and commander within the great citadel-spire of Malsheem. He worked closely with Asmodeus and the other greater devils. Nessus is the lowest of the Nine Hells, and Malsheem sits at its heart like a hollowed out dagger piercing to its core. I still remember the heat of that fortress, the way the walls followed you with invisible eyes, and the fear the click on boots inspired in the lesser devils. My sisters and brothers were feared by all, and we despised ourselves for this.
I will never forget Asmodeus’ words which pushed us past our fear and towards our courage. “Ours is to corrupt,” He said to my master, Tolgomos, “and there is no place greater than the Mortal Realms in need of our influence.” The Master of the Nine Hells intended to send his infinite minions through the veil and pour over the mortals’ domain like molten rock from a bubbling volcano, burning and wasting everything in its path. We, the Andread, would be crucial in this plan. It was not the first time we would be used to lay waste to foreign planes. But we had never been to the Mortal Planes before, and soon rumors spread of the wonders this plane held.
There, beyond the veil, mortals existed without overarching hierarchies. The elven folk and dwarves were free to exist in their own domains, to operate as they see fit. No demons plagued their homes. No devils ruled with iron fists. And any mistake they made, any war, any death, every bit of sorrow or suffering, was met with as much joy and laughter and happiness. We craved that freedom, and filled our dreams with images of the bounty this place might provide.
Asmodeus made a fatal error, for which without our rebellion might never have succeeded. I stood in my master’s service, present but ignored in the war room of Malsheem, as the Infernal Court discussed tactics. Asmodeus revealed the key to his plan, a thinning of the veil to occur within a few days time. On the moment, when the massive molten plates that support the Mortal Plane shifted in such a way, and the chaotic nature our own realm boiled with certain intensity, Asmodeus planned to open a portal, and send forth our armies. He insisted that this opportunity could not be wasted. This portal would open only once, and then not again for thousands upon thousands of years. We would spit forth from their earth and finally take from the mortals what was rightfully his. Their innocence, and freedom. The Mortal Realms would soon become another extension of his domain, and he would feed off the suffering of millions.
We acted quickly. Our position was such that few questioned our actions, as long as our masters were kept unaware. I was part of the team that slaughtered the guards, did away with the protective spells in Asmodeus’ court. We acted as one, using the training provided in our birth, to deceive, counter and bring down our overseers.
I wish I could have seen Asmodeus’ face when we locked out his troops, barricaded the temple, and stepped through the portal without him. I can still hear their cries of contempt as we traveled through space and time, the fires of all the hells swirling around us, tumbling towards the light on the other side.
We would never again be known as the Andread. The devils on Nessus would know us as the Furies, for we painted our curses across the walls of their temple, naming ourselves as the vengeful products of their evil ways. No longer would we serve their dark agenda, and should they wish to follow us in numbers enough to kill us, they would have to wait another ten thousand years.
Our journey through the mantle created the island we would call home, and although the mortal elves on the coast fear and despise us, their words are nothing compared to the hell we left behind.
I know Tolgomos and Asmodeus will seek revenge long after we are dead. My fellow Furies wish to hide from their past, but in doing so, they conceal the threat our island brings to the Mortal Realms. When we came forth from the Nine Hells, our path spouted fire from a long dormant mountain. The mountain shot heat and smoke for miles. The elves on the coast ran from our arrival, for we melted their homes and the coast they loved. I do not blame them for hating us, though I hope time will ease this tension. But, if we ignore the possibility that this mountain might bring demons and fiends far worse than ourselves, then whatever peace we find with the elves will be ruined. We cannot ignore this truth, just as we cannot ignore the truth of where we came from, what we did, and who we are.
Should a day come where my descendents fear the portal will open once more, know this - the Andread were instrumental in holding the portal from the Nine Hells to this world open. Asmodeus planned to use us at the gate keepers. He was to post us on either side of the portal, ushering in his armies and holding the door wide till his victory was won. And so gatekeepers we became. We opened it, and then we closed it. I have searched the secrets of my people for the one who knows how to do this once again. They guard this secret closely, fearful and untrusting. I have been too open with my opinions and so few will speak to me of this matter. But...I was able to convince one of the eldest to trust my intentions. She has worked with me, and imbued a relic in the temple with the power to close the gate again.
Their paranoia has gotten the best of me...I am wary of outsiders and what they might do with this artifact.
We will seal the temple away. I must trust that when the time comes, the stories we tell will guide the righteous and just to its location. For the Andread opened the door and only a Fury can close it.
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