Astaroth was having a very difficult time containing his rage. Every room he entered experienced a temperature rise of at least 20 degrees; thankfully, everything was fireproofed, but it was still rather inconvenient for the servants, who were now staying far away from him unless called upon. He was spending more and more time with Forneas, if only because he was the only member of the household that wasn't running.
His daughter had been kidnapped, and there was nothing he could do about it, legally. Astaroth wanted nothing more than to bring a meteor down on Seir's estate, but he had to show that he could compose himself if he ever wanted a hope of being able to adopt Coronis. Sitting in the library with Forneas, Astaroth seethed as flames wreathed him while leaving everything around him untouched. There had to be something he could do to get back at Seir. How he so deeply wished for all the misfortune in the world to-
Misfortune.
The flames snapped out of existence with a sharp hiss as Astaroth shot up from his chair. Misfortune. It was extremely petty and childish and it wouldn't benefit him personally, but if it even so much as slightly inconvenienced Seir, it would be a victory.
One of Astaroth's powers that he didn't go out of his way to advertise was probability manipulation; fitting, given his image as a casino owner, but he didn't often have much cause to use it. Like the precognition of Vine, Astaroth considered it a "cheating" power, one that should only be used if absolutely necessary. At the moment, Astaroth considered it quite necessary to make Seir suffer as much as possible without directly tormenting the loathsome slug himself.
Exiting the library with haste, Astaroth grinned as the makings of a plan started forming in his head. Seir would never know what hit him.
The next day, Astaroth stood before a ritual circle that had, in its center, a clay figure sculpted into the image of Seir; this would have worked better if Astaroth had access to something physical from his target, even a feather would work, but he hoped it wouldn't matter too much. Magic didn't have many hard-set rules, being more defined by one's intent, but it helped to be as clear and on-point as possible.
Glaring at the clay figure, Astaroth gathered his magic and began to shape it into a very powerful, targeted curse. It wouldn't be an overwhelming wave of misery, more of a death-by-one-thousand-cuts situation, but it would be nonstop, relentless, robbing Seir of any amount of peace. While the curse took form, Astaroth poured power into his words as he spoke.
"Fortuna, turn your eye from Seir! Let the fates unleash their anger upon him, return the misery he has inflicted on others! Let misfortune plague his life, do not grant him a single moment of peace! Let no miracle shine upon him, let no magical aid shield him from my contempt! As he turns all he touches to rot, so let his life rot around him! Let this plague be unending until I myself see fit to end it! I have spoken, so it shall be!"
A rainbow of energy swirled around the circle before turning a dark, moldy green in color. The hurricane of magic shot up into the ceiling, disappearing from view as a distant, powerful gong-like sound was heard. Astaroth stared up at the ceiling as the whirlwind died down, panting in exhaustion and relief as the curse set off to infect Seir. Sure, it wouldn't get Astaroth any closer to reuniting with Coronis, but Seir wouldn't be having a good time for a long time, and that was good enough for Astaroth.
His job done, Astaroth hurled a fireball into the center of the ritual circle, destroying it and blasting the clay figure into shrapnel. If he never had to see that despicable creature again, it would be far too soon. Seir had invited this upon himself by making an enemy of Astaroth; now he would pay the price for sticking his beak where it didn't belong.
@darkest-dove