Damon Inferel

"You know Cal, my grace only seems to fail when someone else is around!" Gabriel shouted after the flaring cloak, rubbing his head. "Wow," he muttered quietly "That's the least amount of time I've ever been unconscious..." He sprang to his feet and chased after the elf, not as quiet as before. It took him a minute, since he ran into two more trees on the way, but he caught up to Calonderiel who was still flaring his cloak. "Does your cloak ever stop flaring?" he asked the fuming man in front of him. "Eh, it doesn't matter. So, um... I guess putting you in a good mood is kind of a longshot. From what I've heard from that little kid, you were always a tough cookie to crumble. Well, unless you kill me, i'll be here 'til thursday, trying to conjure that miracle that maybe you'll show a little spark in your eyes to illuminate those shadows. Hell, if there's some divine presence out there, maybe I'll get a cold glare accompanied by a smirk of pure evil. It'd give your jaw muscles a chance to unclench..." He picked up his pace a little bit so he was adjacent to the still expressionless person beside him. "Um... so, where are we going? A cliff? The gallows? somewhere that maybe the atmosphere is more dreary than you? I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but there's got to be something out there that can lighten your mood. Anything? Even if it takes getting you drunk?" Shouldn't have said that... "Scratch the drinking bit." The bard let out a yelp as he tripped on a raised root, but caught himself and stumbled back by Calonderiel. "Oh yeah, thank you for the healing. I'm not too fond of mosquitoes, and if I had laid there for a while, i'm sure I'd be whiter than you from blood loss..." (OOC:I really don't know what to say to your character ashke... Meow? Don't worry, i'll be as annoying as it takes... hee hee...)

Hn... I don't know what to say to all of this. I am grateful, surely, however as fluid as my thoughts came out on a keyboard before, they're not really manifesting the darkness they had some days ago. It's like this all the time. One day, I'll hate everything, the next, I'm all happy and stuff. Maybe i'm a schizo? Anyhow, thank you all for your insight and advice and otehr views. I'll try to give that crappy short term memory of mine a shove and take heed to what you all said insstead of pilin it into the "Well, nobody wants you to hurt yourself so why don't you just shut up and do it anyway" pile. I guess some good news would be that despite my forty or more little slices on my arm from the past months, I haven't done it as much recenty as the balde just doesn't seem as appealing. I guess it's because my mom's husband isn't drinking right now, so i have no need to feel total hatred for anything. but, if he gets mean or whatever, i'm sure that my little problem with overactive empathy will pick up my mom's anger and such from his drinking, and i'll just have to vent my hatred elsewhere... i'll try to keep it under control. Thanks again.

I don;t know for sure if i put this here, but it's kind of accurate to how i feel ,and though it is a form of poetry, one of lyrical style, it's not original, so i didn't put it in the banquet room. Slipknot (Gently) --Track #7, Iowa Gently, my mind escapes into the relaxing world of pleasure,a pleasure that'll take my mind off the reality of my life, my past life...life as I know it now. And whatever may come,it slowly disappears to somewhere in the back of my mind.it will remain there, until I wish to retrieve it. Yes,I will stay here for awhile, for I need the break.A break from the pressures of life,and everything that lays in the palm of life's hands. This mode is incredible.It's out of this world.Too bad I must always leave it... ...but that's life.

Ummm... It might seem a little off that i post such aresponse here, but perhaps there is a trifle amount of other information that I might possibly offer to this little, or rather, a possibly large, dilemma of mine. thus far, the thoughts and expressions that have come from those who have shared their viewpoints with me on this matter have actually caused myself to inquire about myself. Some answers... I'm too afraid to find, and others simply make no sense. Perhaps some time in the future I would weed out thses instances of confusion and possibly find out who I am, but at the moment, while my brain still shambles through this wave of self-inflicted grief and moderate pain, I cannot discern what would make sense even if it actually did... (I don't know how much sense that made...) I have a belief that I am taking up space in this world. I heard the expression off of a commercial once, and that only gave me the words to express how I felt. Thus far, my purpose is unclear, save to make my girlfriend happy. To anyone who reads my journals, that fact is no secret. However, that number is two... I have asked myself several times if I truly do care about my life and what I might make of it. i might answer that as i always do. I care about my girlfriend and my friends, nothing more. I am convinced that that is the truth. I despise who I've become andwho i might eventually become, as my current road is leading me to a soulless shell of nothingness, as i am in the make of destroying my emotions. Teenage apathy and angst taken to the extreme as one might put it. There is still that shred of whoever i really am that exists though that tells me to keep going, as well as a promise i made to my girlfriend not to die. More of that promise than anythign else. I believe that i can safely say (if 'safely' can be used...) that I do not care about my life, but I care about the lives of others. Whatever I can do to make someone else happy, I will do, unless it puts my friends or my girlfriend in danger. For instance, if it makes someone happy for me to shoot my friend, I couldn't do it. extreme example, but the fastest I could conjure. I live my life helping others live theirs. I care nothing for their longevity or health in the most part, but simply that they live their lives happily. I will live in anguish with myself if everyone else around me can at least be happy, and I'm at different eends on whether or not i'm comfortable with that. I would go for the gold and try to bring back whatever I once liked of myself, but as much as I can remember of my past (which is very, very, very little... semi-amnesia or something) I have never liked anything, especially since i haved matured and seen how childish I was all those years ago. Becoming angry, becoming happy, becoming irritated, sick, anything... I hated it. At the time, when i was still a small child, or even an immature adolescent, I did not care. It was what I liked to do, but as time progresses, I realize how immature I was and i hate myself. I fear I have become too mature in the sense of myself. I can still laugh with my friends, of course, but it only adds to my reflections later on. I love my friends, and i love my girlfriend more, but I have a feeling that my life is going to leave them. I feel my emotions are inevitably being drawn towards a nexus of all things empty, and that my soul will simply cease to function, leaving me with no personality and no care for anything. The only person who is truly unique, the person with no personality. A machine, an automaton, something more lifeless than a plant. That is what I fear i am doomed to become, and I see no resolution to this problem. I can say that the only reason I hold onto my emotions is because of my girlfriend. I hate to admit that all of that puts her on the spot as the only thing holding me together, but it's true. I have already lost myself, but I live because of a promise made to her. Everyday my life is questioned by my mind, and everyday i think about that promise. If she were in my same situation, I'd want her to live too, so I live because she doesn't want me to die. This, of course all radiates stereotypical teenage mentality of those who grow up saying "I don't care." and crap like that. I do care, but not about myself. I've seen the effects of what I do to myself when other people take it to an extreme, and I know everythign about my problems. I cause my problems willingly, seeing how far I can go before i must regress. I don't want to, but what else is there? Fun and happiness are finite. no one can live their life in perpetual happiness, unless that comfort, that happiness radiates from somethign that can be perpetual. Pain can run through a person's life unending. emotional pain, physical pain, it has the option of never stopping, and if one finds familiarity and comfort with this pain, then they can live in infinite bliss, while still regretting. It is a paradox... pain causes pain, but pain causes happiness. Happiness causes pain, for when your happiness ends, you want it back, and sometimes you can't have it. Thus, you feel depressed or the like. Everything ends, of course, but why make it end when you don't have to. It is by these philosophies that I have lived for somethign over a year now, and it is these philosophies that I regret ever forming because i now hold them so dear. I believe, truly, I have gone insane, but yet my sanity remains intact through some thin thread, and i know what that thread is. In all of this, i do not believe I am uncurable in my instances of inflicting pain on myself, starving myself to my physical perfection, and the like of things which only expose themselves on the veil of flesh that houses our souls. I fear my uncurability comes from where my dark destiny is taking me to in this oblivion of everything that makes me human. I don't understand it, and I can choose to not accept it, but if I change who I am, I will eventually grow tired and thus hate it once more, reverting back to this. Overall, my problems, my physical problems are certainly not beyond hope as long as I want that help, which I do, but my mind is lost, at least I believe so. My 'cutting' and my 'starving' are smaller things of the big picture in my mind. They are minions to the overlord of my madness, symptoms of a grander disease. In my mind, I am already dead, and the only indication of my life is that my heart still beats, my brain still thinks, and I still breathe... Life is finite, but I fear that my finity has come to a conclusion earlier than my body had anticipated...

(OOC: Just so our physical movement as far as characters remains steady, let's just say that we walk and talk. I can appreciate stnaidng in one spot for days, but that's one of the things that ended my other RP... just a suggestion.) The incubus shrugged at the display of apparent regeneration. "Illusion or not, I don't care. You didn't do anything to my sword anyway, so you'd have kept your hand in the first place. Besides, if I found your hand wouldn't do, I kind of doubt you can regrow your head." Damon grinned evily and then violently shook his head. "No, I can't do that anymore." he muttered to himself, apparently trying to restrain himself from such a good idea. It had been some time since he had last taken a mortal soul. "Centuries of reformation, and still I have trouble restraining myself. Funny, huh? Anyway, your guess is correct. I did work under Graz'zt, but my link with him is no more. He abandoned me, and so too I have abandoned him. I simply keep it for the ties that I once had and enjoyed being in the company of." He sheathed his sword again and continued walking. "You might be right about the magic. It is wholey unholy, no pun intended, and if somebody like you were to touch it without some protection, you might not have been able to reattach your hand. There's some other uses to the sword, but they're all minor. enchanting it so it can touch the incorporeal and such. That blade though, has killed more beings than you will ever see in your lifetime. It is precious to me." (My precious...)

Thus far, I am very grateful to all of you who have given some time to give me light words of caution or entire pages of advice or knowledge. i'll continue to be grateful as well. For those of you who have given responses in private, I apologize that I have not responded back to them, but it will take some time to give an appropriate reply. I'm not ignoring you in the least, I would just like to send more words than a simple word of thanks.

(OOC: friendly riivals... how amusing...) Damon flipped the blade so the point landed neatly in his hand. There was a small trickle of blood, and Damon let a single note flutter from his mouth in a musical tone. The wound on his hand closed seamlessly. "Yeah, you can see the sword. You know, what you look like doesn't bother me. I gave up on caring about the whole ordeal anyway, I'm just sure nobody else wants an old man to slow them down while we actually have a trail to follow. I mean no offense by this, but i hope you can understand my meaning. whatever form you choose is all right, just please do not take that raggedy elderly person again. I'd have to be a little annoyed with you." At the last sentence, he raised an eybrow and made his comment almost humorously. The sword gleamed under the small bit of sunlight peeking under the canopy, the balck jewels giving off a white glare that Damon turned his eyes away from. "Not really used to the light..." he said, shielding his eyes. He handed the sword to Heinrich reluctantly. "If I hear you mutter anything that isn't in the common tongue, I'll cut your hand off. My sword doesn't need any warding spells or the like, and that's the only weapon I've got besides my claws. Just letting you know..."

Scary, I read the whole thing in less than an hour. My reading speed is getting better. You know, in a very off-topic way, this story sounds a lot like an alternative to Y2K, something that would effectively destroy the world, but nobody knew what was doing it. But, I don't think that was what was going on, or was it? I don't know. There were a great number of characters in this, both alive and dead... more the latter as it seemed, and you did an excellent job of portraying memories in such vivid and yet not too realistic detail. Memories are usually brief flashes of images and short phrases to be remembered, not a graphic novel, and you did very well with the compilation of this. The story, it seems to be on the grander scheme of things, somethign that this is only a small part of, but I've come to notice that you never write the WHOLE thing at once. That's fine, it keeps me anticipating. I, of course, recognized some of the characters, and there were some new ones as well I noticed. I was kind of surprised I didn't get lost in the obituary with all of the names, and as such I found it easy to keep track. Dead people don't need too much of an intoduction I suppose... I've never actually been drunk, but that seemed interesting too. I don't know in what way though. Perhaps it was because her drunkeness was the supposed solution to giving her a little ease, and it didn't work. Futility of alcohol. Meh, I don't know. It's only like ten in the morning. Overall, this is very good, as is most everything you write. (The only one in questionability was the one with several instances of vulgarity, but even that wasn't too bad.) I really do think that you'll go places with this talent. Hn... maybe I'll become a publisher, and then your stuff will get published if you want it to no matter what! MWAHAHAHA! Well, a good story all in all. Keep up the good work ashke. Ai shiteru itoshii. Ja ne.

Damon looked with annoyance at the old man, knowing what was going on. He plucked his sword with his finger and grasped the handle. "Yes..." he said through his teeth, "We've been helping this 'old man' here through our little ordeal." His expression calmed a bit. He'd spent millennia taunting and decieving people, so he knew what kind of joy must come from Heinrich's illusions. He turned to Lelu. "A terrible shame it was. This poor fool wandered into the woods and decided to hit me with his staff. He doesn't seem to like me too much. We're all trying to get out of this woods, especially so I can dump this 'old man' off of a cliff or something. I don't like being hit in the head with a staff, nor do I like to be deceived, if you take my meaning Miss..." He walked over and gave a light push on the hunched shoulder of Heinrich/ Myriddin. "Look, she's part feline." he whispered, knowing the ears of the cat-lady could hear him. "I think she can tell, and you weren't like that when she first showed up. As amusing as it would be to watch her eyes turn into question marks, I can give yo my assurance that it will not happen." He unsheathed his sword, looking at it sentimentally for a moment, and offered it to the disguised Heinrich. "Only if you take off that illusion. I'm sure we now have anohter member to our party, so you can't hide forever anyway."

Hn... I don't know how well it would work for me to place this here, as I can only imagine that the advice i'll get will still be the same as I have always gotten, but, as they say, it never hurts to have a second opinion. You see, I've noticed through a lot of my recent past, namely the past few months and maybe the year, that I have a lot of people who have mixed feelings about some of the stuff that I do. Nobody here knows what they are except for two, maybe three of you. The general concensus is that i should stop what I have been doing to myself, and try to get help for the stuff that i can't stop. However, if you could say that it is a twisted mentality (I don't think it is) I have no real desire to stop this. This is probably the only thing that keeps me rom helping myself is the fact hat I do not really want to be helped, and yet the other half of me does. That would be the half that equals about twenty percent of me... the part that cares about my life. Anyhow, I'll be rather open with this and wonder if there is perhaps anyone who has some form of opinion on it. Perhaps some in favor o what I'm doing, but i can imagine the majority will not be. That does not matter, as I'm trying to figure out a way to stop this. Of course, the key to it all is myself, and none of this can stop unless i want it to. I'm not trying to burden any of you, just ask opinions. I've never really been diagnosed with any particular psychological disorder, but through my studies of discovering what waswrong with me, I found that I, due to signs and symptoms and whatnot, that I do indeed have some of the problems, or at least I had them. My most prominent and dangerous ones would be my undying love for causing pain to myself, usually through the manner of a small razor. My shoulder has nearly forty scarsfrom it, and my arm is becoming lined with them as well. none of them have ever drawn enough blood to be life threatening in any way, and certainly not enough to taste blood in enough quantity to be sufficient for my taste for it... However, as i am studying 'abnormal psychology' which deal with the issues thta nobody really wishes to deal with, I read a lot about cutting and anorexia and such, and I aspire to become like these people. Scars are not pretty, but at the time, the blood and the 'pain', if one could call it that, is. I, with my aspiration, want to see more of this blood. My life does not matter to me in most senses, so if they do become life-threatening, it makes no difference to me. i'm eighteen, and thus I can't be forced to seek help. My other problem is that I have dealt with anorexia twice. I'm a very small percentage, as only 15 percent of anorexia patients are male, and that is a significantly small number, not even numbering a million. Perhaps it does, but I'm not entirely sure. The number is indeed small though. I have an obsession with losing weight, as my goal weight is 110, or lower. however, I also have the Obsessive compulsive disorder to eat,as when I as little, I loved to eat, and it became so familiar that I can't stop once start. It is aggravating because I gain weight instead of losing it. My ideal weight is 150-ish, and I weight about 125, and I still have 15 pounds to go. I can't stop that, but i know i'm not anorexic anymore. At least not yet. I figure thta if continue though, I will have it for a third time. I just can't stop... not until I've reached my goal, at least, and my preferred maximum weight is 120. Overall, I have to want to be helped to be helped, but... In the former case of cutting myself, I do that to feel pain, to relieve a lot of stress (since i deal with a lot of other people's problems... {I'm the box that holds people's secrets}), and to taste blood. I do it because nothing else works, and i feel much better afterwards. The cuts never are more than an inch except maybe ten of them, and then not much more thna an inch, and they only get a little bit of blood. As long as I feel better, whatever. In the latter case, I am not anorexic anymore, but i know that, since I do not work out, whatever weight i gain will be fat, and I have a vanity problem about my figure. I don't like to be... muscle bound and athletic and... built. I prefer the more lithe appearance. I prefer grace and frailty over strength and masculinity. I would work out and such, but I don't have that sort of privacy... as I can't be watched like that. Hell, nobody has seen me without a shirt, pants, socks, shoes, and coat for almost two years. i'm too private to just do pushups and stuff wiht other people in the room, and since my mom's husand is alway home... Sorry this was so long, but i'm just looking fo insight or something. If you care to respond, i thank you for your time, and if you even read it, I also thank you for your time. Good day.

Before i give my short reply to this life question, I have to ask... What does RTCYSIA? at the end of James' signature stand for? I love his signature, but I would really like to know. (That made no sense... >*_*<) I am thankful for... My girlfriend and the friends who haven't betrayed me... yet. Hopefully they won't, but I'm not a very trusting soul... Grrr... <-- humorous 'grrr' Eh... um... (witty comment here)

Damon watched the illithid snap the tree and walk off afterwards. He turned to see Adglomero coming towards him. He did a small chant and nodded at Adglomero. "No hard feelings." he said before she opened her mouth. He tapped his head with a pointed claw. "I can read minds to an extent." The illithid was out of sight by now, and Damon grumbled at the thing. Had he not been caught off guard by Heinrich's staff, the thing would not have pulled him down. Hell, the demon the incubus had summoned could have killed the thing without blinking, and Damon could have dispatched the thing even easier than that. Oh well, it didn't matter. What was done was done, and there would be more along the way. He cried out in pain for a second, reverting back to his humanoid form, the holes in his coat from where his wings had grown through repaired themselves as Damon cast a mending spell. His eyes reverted from black to soft cimson once more, and his claws became more like casual hands. Lelu stepped through the trees as he finished, overhearing what Adglomero said about Heinrich and his friendliness. "It's true, but he's not too bad. He likes to play with people's heads though..." he recalled, the illusion of an old man taunting him. Damon walked over to Brute Jr., as the cat had so been named and held out his hand. his hand was sniffed, and Damon pet the cat. (I love kitties! ><) "Well, that's over..." he said, sounding a tad bored with the whole ordeal. "We know where we're going, and as much fun as it owuld be to stay and chat with this new person... so to speak, we have a trail to follow now." He held his hand out towards the balor's decapitated body and a short burst of white fire split the creature in two and consumed it whole, leaving nothing in place of where the body was but a scorch mark. "I hate evidence." he said, brushing leaves over the black spot where the body had been. (OOC: My character's boredom with the event does not reflect my true feelings. I'm loving this! I hope I'm not ofending anyone with my 'competitiveness' though. In my biography thingy, Damon is the best swordsman in the Abyss, and that counts for billions upon billions of demons, so being caught off guard kind of erks his nerves.)

I think this is about raising a kid, Brother Andino, but I don't know. If it is, then you just summed up the entire eighteen years in a short little poem. If not... I don't know. An easy read and a good one nonetheless.

Damon paused, glaring at Heinrich through his raven-colored eyes, and rubbed his head. He had been hit by a staff and was thrown to the ground, and Damon mentally screamed at himself for underestimating the power of a mortal soul... again. "Heinrich..." he asked, trying not to snap at the Hunter. "Next time, do you think it might be possible not to hit me while I'm crashing into the ground? The most that would have happened to this thing is it would have a head ache, and he wouldn't have been able to control you. Now, i can't be sure if you are you or not, none of you." He grimaced, sheathing his sword, and muttering a curse in Abyssal, his native language. There was a small crack beneath him, and he leapt out of the way, a small black spiraling portal opened up where the sound came from. From it, a large dog-like beast with four arms, two of which ending in menacing claws and the other two with humanoid hands, emerged. Black flames swathed the new demon, and he surveyed his surroundings. "Yes?" He blinked, realizing who had summoned him. "YOU?! What do you want traitor? If it's my service, then you should know you'll have to pay for it." damon nodded, this same hting happening every so often. It was a wonder the balors he conjured up from the Abyss hadn't killed him yet. "Yes, I'll pay you. It seems our party here has come across this illithid... a mind flayer of some sort. They can't communicate with it, but I know you can... How about it?" "You called me up here for this?!" the claws clicked rapidly as the two demons stared at each other. "You can communicate with this thing just as easily as any other demon, and you called me here?!" "Yeah, well, I'm lazy, and i'm quite sure you were getting a little tired of being attacked. I thought i'd give one of you a break. Look, either you do this or not. If you say no, then I'll charm you and you'll do it anyway. Your choice." The balor grumbled, muttering archaic curses at the incubus, who was now turning his attention to the two figures he spotted in the distance. A small kitten and a form of lycanthropic hybrid of a cat... or anthromorphic. *** The mind flayer and the balor looked at each other for some time, neither one actually moving. It was a complicated conversation that only they could understand, since Damon was two busy trying to figure out if these newcomers were meant for the sword. (Demons are evil! >< But, he'll be good...) Shaargrizm, the balor, turned back to Damon, who abrubtly turned back to Shaargrizm who was turned back to Damon, etc... "The mind flayer doesn't want anything. He was intruded upon by your party's cacophony of travelling, and he came to investigate. He did indeed recognize the amulet on that man's chest, and so he decided not to fight. He knows both which direction to travel to leave this forest, and he knows why the dragon is travelling. He wishes to inform you tht your father's killer passed the same direction about three weeks ago, and he wa bearing the same amulet that that man wears." He motioned to Heinrich. "Her father's killer was one of your kind, turned sour however. This illithid wishes to express something of an apology for trying to decieve you in his first appearance, and that you, Witch Hunter, are not the last of your kind. The last of your pure kind, but not the last of your ways." He finished his dialogue and drew a large greatsword. "However, Witch Hunter, your kind was meant to be destroyed long ago. I shold be much reered if I---" He stopped short, considering his head was rolling along the ground, and a clawed hand poked through his chest. "Well, I'll take over the Abyss, one demon at a time." Damon said, grinning. "Sorry about his hostility Heinrich, most of my cousins don't seem to know when to let a grudge go. I didn't order him to try to attack you, in case you were wondering. They are summoned, indeed, but they still have free will." "By the way... Our visitors that all of you have been curious about, don't seem to be unfriendly. One's a kitten, the other seems to be some form of lycanthrope or something. She is part feline it seems."

Thank you ashke. Sadly, I had to type it twice. This infernal library doesn't have the ability to move stuff from a disk to their computers... >*_*<

So... what happens next? you um... live right? you're supposed to die a dramatic deaht in which case I happen to be latched onto your leg the whole way screamng "No! Please don't go! There' another way, I promise!" And the nyou just look at me and say "No, there is no other way." And then we both end up dying and the whole world gets a moment of peace... or wait, that's another story, right. Anyhow, looking forward to more, even htough you wrote this forever and a day ago. Ai shiteru itoshii.

And indeed I did. I'm actually over my time on the computer this time though, so I shall have to keep this short. I'll just give you a big hug and a congratulations on a job very well done. Just as a note... I like Arilyn better... silence is wonderful, yes? (except on various occasions when somebody that i know is talking and i'd rather not hear otherp eople in the background while i'm trying to listen to her...)

History Damon nferel was created apprximately seven millenniums ago, an ageless demon who has survived every war amongst the mortal realm and the Abyss and the Nine Hells as well. He has never held any form of rank amongst the other demons, his kind considered too frail and not useful for battle. His ego, one that was once present, resented his so-called 'weak race', and so he trained himself in the art of duelist swordsmanship, becoming an accomplished fighter. some mortals who were ill-informed of the difference between demons and devils mistook him for the Arch-Devil Levistus, and his swordsmanship was so compared. Such 'people', in the general sense of the word, did not live long enough to spread the word, as demons are forever opposed to those who worship devils or know of them. During the Reckoning, before Levistus' betrayal to Asmodeus, Damon fought with Levistus and lost horribly, the Arch-Devil sparing him out of his potential. He challenged damon to fight him once more, but only when the incubus had grown in strength. Levistus was not aware he would be imprisoned at the time, and Damon took the devil's imprisonment as a cursed blessing. He was favored with the option of more time to better himself, but his pride was hurt, as he was now unable to challenge the ice-imprisoned Levistus when he wished to. Another few millennia passed on, Levistus still imprisoned, and Damon still not being appreciated by his masters, despite the several wars he had taken part in. The Reckoning had gained him no power through his conspiracy, and it nearly caused his death. So, he continued to hold his lowly position under his master Graz'zt, and waited, his alignment slowly drifting towards his own individual nature. One of chaos, but yet indifference, as nothing he did seemed to cause anything to change in his eternal life. He continued to fulfill his desires, seducing countless numbers of humans, elves, half-eves, and anything he deemed fair enough for him. It was his nature, and it never seemed to grow tiring until Graz'zt was taken from the Abyss. with no inspiration or master to guide him, he began to resent himself even more, developing emotions past his overall evil shell. He tried to disguise it as best he could, refusing to believe he was contracting such things that made the mortal soul so weak. Something that took, destroyed, ate, or sold souls, and would never have one of his own, should not have something that only things with souls had. There was a plot against Graz'zt's layers of the Abyss, as both Orcus and the twin insanity of Demogorgon's dual head and forked tal conspired to take them in Graz'zt's absence. Their plan was foiled due to their own wars against each other, and neither side could spare enough force to take the sections of the Plane that belonged to the six-fingered ebony demon of seduction and lies. This was good news to Graz'zt once he returned from his capture by the mad archmage. Graz'zt would not reveal his captor's name to lesser beings though, so Damon could never avenge his master. As 'wonderful' (if such a word existed in a plane of pure chaos and evil) an event the return of Graz'zt, Damon still continued to feel as though he was being treated less than what he should, and continued to resent his rank as well. But, he was bound to 'eternal servitude' unless he could prove ot be more powerful than those Demon Lords he hated so much. His only affection for the Lords was towards Graz'zt, but a time would come for abandonment or betrayal, and he felt the former would be easier to accomplish. In time, he could become stronger, and return to destroy Demogorgon and become overlord of the Abyss. But, there were still centuries to plan for it... or so he thought... In some decades, while those who roamed the Material Plane were living in the Medieval ages, a demon appeared that threatened the entire Abyss. This demon was nothing more than a simple thief, but with powers that surpassed anything that could have originated in the Abyss or the Nine Hells. It was feared by all in the lower Planes, and was thought to be a lesser god deposed and who sought a new realm to rule over. This demon came in the form of a graceful fox, a kitsune, something of a beauty that rivaled even the perfection of the succubus, and while her beauty had enraptured many of Damon's fellow incubi, those who had not lost their will of succumbing to lust, Damon was partially unfazed. There would be a time to gawk later, and so he organized a legion of femal demons and those without gender specifics. among this legion were succubi, mariliths, nalfeshnees, balors, retrievers, and vrocks, as well as a vast number of other sorts. Anything with military strength was sent after this intruder, andanything with military strength fell. Damon had noticed an opportunity at one point, and teleported behind the fox-demon, plunging his clawed hand into the frai lflesh beside her spine and attempted to crush the kitsune's heart. To his dismay, this overbearing force whom he had expertly flanked held both of two hearts and two souls, and enough strength to break his arm while it was still suspended in her chest before he could deliver a final blow. As his arm went limp, he retreated before he was destroyed, and the kitsune retreated a well. Damon's training had paid off in the sense that he had caused the Abyss' posible executioner to retreat. However, with as much as he could have been revered as 'savior', he had pulled aay instead of trying to finish his job. For this, Damon left the Abyss, and began to dwell among the mortals. He recieved word later in the century that a quasit brought to him. Graz'zt had heard of his deed and gave him commendation for it, but his cowardice banned him from ever returning to the Abyss without the hostile greeting of every military member he could spare. To return meant his death. So, for his deed in saving the lower Plane of Chaos, he was spared his existence, and for his cowardice, he was banished from the very place he saved. He thought it possible that if he destroyed the creature who had been the cause of his punishment, he might be allowed to return, so he set out to find the fox. It was several years of searching, and that amount of time meant a great expanse of space was covered, as he could traverse the planet at nearly lightning speed by means of teleporting. He found his prize, but not in the body of a fox demon, but rather the body of an elf. One Lirya Moonflower, it turned out, and as he discoveredthat this elf was the one he had sought out to kill, he found that he could not do it. Instead, he fell in love with this elf. Something of profound power and skill, and such inocence it seemed at the same time. A force of pure good, and a force of pure evil, each fused into one, but separate in their own rights. A being of two hearts, two souls, two lives, and thus, two existences. It began from there... Damon chose to remain in the mortal realm, still sacrificing those to his original master, but only in secret. He could not deny his nature, but as time passed, it became less interesting, and he lost faith. He continued his chants and rites to Graz'zt, but his sacrifices became far and few between, and he often had others perform them for him. More time continued to pass, decades, and he stopped sacrificing altogether, his prayers and rites kept secret. This was the climax of his banishment, the full extent of his punishment. Nothing would regain his favor for what he had done a century before, his cowardice, and he had realized this thorugh his few sacrifices as they became scarce. There was no counsel from below, there was no assistance if he needed it, and those few demons that he summoned began to not show, and those who did brought laziness or hatred for his will. He was forgotten by his Plane, by his master. Though he was banished from the lower planes, his ambition to defeat Levistus never faded, and it still has not, But the Arch-Devil will never be freed, so he continues to train himself in futility. He still swears to defeat Demogorgon as well, but that ambition is secret, and should he ever try to accomplish it, he hopes his beloved Elwen, as he discovered the fox's name was, might rule with him. Ona side note, he is on a quest to find the Angelwing Razor, a sword so finely honed on the wings of a celestial, that it is impossibly sharp, and can cut through any manner of matter. A truly evil weapon, but it holds no bars to him... A demon does not care baout the ature of a weapon as long as it might assure him victory.

Damon inferel... A character born of anagrams and misspelling. A demon with a shady history, no accurate description, and an undefined personality. A figure with ever-changing interests, and a person who seems to be in several places at once. Perhaps, there is a time now for me to develop this character who I have grown so accustomed to. Perhaps a description is needed, perhaps it is time to clear his history, but how do you write a history that is millenniums long? Well, an effort must be made. Description Damon Inferel is an incubus, a seductive demon by nature. He has straigh, waist-length, hair the color of pure darkness, the color of pitch, and should there ever be a defined 'shine' from his hair, it will be faint. His hair is always clean, each strand a thread of perfect silk, yet unbreakable in its seming frailty. His skin is neither tan nor paled, but rather a midpoint of both, and the shade is evenly toned throughout, but yet the tones are placed perfectly blended with each other. His eyes are a piercing black, a color shared among all demons, and to stare at them could make one feel as though his soul is being swallowed by the endless pits they create. It is for this reason that Damon has changed his eye appearance to that of a soft crimson color, that of fresh blood under a soft light. If he is to revert back to his demon form (with his wings spread), then his eyes become hollow pits once again. His face is ageless, retaining the youth of a matured adolescent, a face both pretty and handsome at the exact same time. His nose is neither too big or too small, and thus does never draw attention to itself. His lips are slight and sensual, proportioned equally with the remainder of his facial features. He has no laugh lines, as he is often expressionless, save for his brief moments of happiness when his forbidden beloved Elwen is near. He is not muscular in the sense of body building, but is slender and toned evenly, giving him a frail, gentle, appearance, but the strength of several people. His hands end in perpetually manicured claws, sharp enough to draw blood with the slightest graze across a mortal's flesh, and his hands are slight and delicate, those that might mark a musician. It is due to his tough flesh that his fingers have not developed the calluses that years of use of sring instruments should cause. His attire changes scarcely, only when he must disguise himself does it change, or when it needs to be washed. He wears a red trench coat, a moden marvel for those who live in a time of tunics and armor. He beas a black T-shirt, one that fits him snugly, but not tightly, and he had a pair of loose-fitting slack, though not baggy. They are a shade of dark, almost blackened, gray, in effort to contrast with the shirt, but not entirely. He wears a pair of leather boots, black, that reach above his shins, but they are not combat boots, nor are they those that you would find on a cowboy... somewhere in between the two. His belt is that of cracked leather and holds a sheath for his rapier, though neither one of them poarticularly ornate in the sense of the belt or sheath. His sword, however, is second only to that of the sword he seeks, the artifact Angelwing Razor. The blade is ivory in color, to represent his ties to Graz'zt, the realm of Azzagrat (the three layers Graz'zt controls), the city of Zelatar (whih spans all three layers of Azzagrat), and the sixty-six Ivory Towers in which his former master resides in. The hilt is dotted with flawless jet black pearls, and there is a crystal orb at the bottom of the handle clutched by a six-fingered hand, thesymbol of Graz'zt.

Meow! Enjoy your coming of age ceremony, and may it be a merry one that you store within the back of your mind for aeons to come.

I talk of talk I talk of walk I talk of chalk I talk of stock I talk of ears I talk of years I talk of cheers I talk of jeers I talk of suspense I talk of two cents I talk of repents I talk of nonsense I talk of good I talk of wood I talk of should I talk of food I talk of red I talk of dead I talk of shed I talk of bread I talk of nothing I talk of something I talk of anything I talk of everything All in all, I just talk... A good poem indeed. I just had to write a bunch of nothing as well. A rather enjoyable piece, and somethign that oddly enough makes sense in some way that my brain cannot quite grasp in all of its simplistic complexity... I just wrote a review that I don't even know what it means... Good poem. ><

Hn... I'm not one for cutting my legs, unless it's by accident. I guess it's because it's more difficult to keep an eye on them, and you risk it getting infected a lot more. I mean, generically, you're always wearing pants, and pant's have lint, and lint gets into the cut and infects it. infection sucks. It's not painful, and it can do some really bad stuff to you... But, that's my opinion. I guess the same can be said about the fact I ALWAYS wear a shirt, and the whole lint thing about my shoulder... But, that's why I wear polyester,where the only thing I really have to worry about is that evil static electricity which shocks my cats every time i touch them... they don't like that, but I think it's funny. >< They'll live, and it just makes them attack me in a playful manner. >< For some awkward reason, I don't think I could cut my throat, even if I wanted to. that's a little painful, unless it's just a scratch, and your jugular vein isn't too far below the surface. Your carotid arterie (sp?) is much deeper though. I printed out a list of suicide methods one time, and it gave some interesting details. I was a little crepy about it... But I almost keep thinking I'm immortal... did yo know that I took 29 Aleve pills, and i'm still sitting at this computer several months after that? I should be dead, right? I guess I don't bother myself with scars and superficial wounds that can be seen because of a light vanity problem as well. I'm not oppposed to having what could be 'battle scars of my willpower's weakness' but I prefer not to be horrifically mutated in some way. I don't think I'd try to insert knives in place of my fingers, you know? But, I've got a good deal of cuts that have healed over time, I think it numbers well over 40 or so. It will keep going for some time, until perhaps I grow up. (which probably won't happen) I worry a lot of people, but the only one i care about worrying is my girlfriend. that's why I don't do it as often... Bleh... and no, you don't scare me at least. You should see some of the looks i get when i can portray a gruesome image as simple as gouging out someone's eyes. I have that 'psycho appearance' and people never seem to bother me. (Melodramatic) Why won't anyone play with me?! I just want to be friends! Here, i'll save you one of your arms, honest! I just need the other one. I swear, Frankenstein is real!!! He's Real DAMMIT! Augh! Gimme that arm! It's mine! Don't fight me damn it! *chopping sounds* Um... Damn. i killed another one... for more info on my life and my internal conflicts, check out all... more than eighty of my DJ entries at My Webpage

(OOC: Illithid? I'm guesing that is something that resembles a mind flayer... This should be fun... I'm going to kind of start back at Heinrich's comment to me before the fight started, and then jump over here... ok? I'll mark it with a little *) Damon looked shocked by Heinrich's comment about the ladies. It was true, he was betrothed to another, despite being a demon of his sort, but the fact that the Witch Hunter had stated something so obvious was alarming. "You do know what kind of demon I am... don't you? Charming people is sort of my thing, and it has been for the past six millenniums. Hell, if I wanted all of you to be my friends, I could practically force it upon you, I would just rather not chance the possibility of being destroyed after the charm wore off." In the back of his mind, he oped that none of them knew that an outsider, a demon in other words, could not be resurrected by any form of magic... *** As silver approached him and drew her sword, he hefted his with little effort and a little bit of flourish. He prided himself in his grace as a swordsman, and was not afraid to express it. Aside from the blade being ivory in color, the hilt was flamboyant to almost an extreme, but the gems encased within it were all the same. All of them were flawless jet black pearls, and there were six of them lining the handle, poking through the 'grip-tape' that surrounded it. At the bottom of the sword, a light blue crystal orb was placed, clutched by an ebony hand with six fingers. It was a sybol of his secretive allegiance to his former master, Graz'zt, though no one without knowledge of the Abyss would know it. As the small elven child approached, Damon looked at it with unwavering confidence, simply watching while the disguise unfolded to reveal to him what was an illithid, a mind flayer as far as he could tell. He braced himself for the mental assault the thing was bound to launch upon him and his team mates, and took to the air. He almost collapsed out of his concentration when he heard Heinrich mention something about not wanting to kill it, and he gave a look of utter surprise from what could be discerned through his black pits that were called eyes. "Are you insane?!" he screeched at the Witch Hunter. "These things live only to control the minds of others and eventually drain them of life, possibly even their souls. These are mortal demons, and it knows what we are after, and will use that against us. Don't believe anything it says to you, especially if it says it through your thoughts." With that, the creature began probing the demon's mind, trying to gain his alegiance by force of will, but Damon shook it of before it became too difficult. The forest was crawling with these things, and he had dealt with them before. He swooped down over it's head and rapped it on the creature's skull, attempting to break whatever other concentration it had. If they wanted this thing as a prisoner, they would have to knock it unconscious first, and hope they could resist control from when it woke up. "If you really wnat information from it," Damon called back after passing over the illithid's head, "You'll have to keep him restrained first. Try to knock him out if you can get close enough."

The demon blinked in response to the sudden quiz he was being given and looked over his shoulder. His wings were still folded behind him. "My, how perceptive of you... I mean that in the least amount of rudeness i can conjure. I tend toforget my manners in the face of mortals sometimes, being a demon and all. More specifically, I am an incubus, a demon of the more seductive nature of the Abyss, though it brings me no regret to state that I have decided to give such a life over to other forces. Thousands of people and their monotonous drone of various noises becomes rather annoying after a while... even boring." His eyes fluttered open suddenly and he put his clawed hand over his mouth. 'I've said too much...' "Anyway..." he paused, unsure of how to continue. "My name is Damon Inferel, but to keep matters more simple, you may refer to me as simply Damon. I have noticed, through my 'perceptiveness', that you are indeed an elf. Perhaps a tad more aloof than the elves I have seen, but an elf nonetheless. Unless, of course, it was Heinrich who stole your grace from you in that moment with his sorcery." His shadowed eyes closed slowly and remained that way for a second. "Seeing an elf reminds me of my beloved. I can be sure that it might be found a little astounding, or even humorous, to believe that a demon, especially one of my... type, can even consider having the emotions such as love. But, as my love is an elf, she is also, in part a demon as well. A being of two souls, and the only demon to have a soul. I miss her so..." He looked over to Silver as he continued talking to Adglomero, and he drew his rapier. The ivory-colored balde contrasted heavily with his shadow and crimson attire. "A blade forged of petrified grass. Such a plant is found only in a place where unspeakable evil was committed, and once it is taken, it will never grow again. The amount of evil I committed there... I do and do not regret. I was a different being then, but part of my nature still flows through my blood, keeping me from remorse. This blade..." he looked at it with a small sense of wonder. "It is second to the one I seek. This balde is sharper than any steel, and hold a greater durability as well, but it holds nothing to the Angelwing Razor. An artifact that I hold so dear, but it is out of my reach, for the devil Levistus his it from me millenia ago... As I have found company, perhaps we can all follow our own quests, each as our one party. Being timeless... I have patience..." He regarded Silver. "Silver..." he said quiet-loudly "I am suspecting we are to have uninvited company?" He held his rapier to the ground like a cane and waited for what was to come.

The expression 'my good man'... sorry about that. It's more of a general term derived from somewhere. I think I took it from "Dear boy? Dear Boy?!" *pig chuckles* in some Cold War film that featured animals instead of people most of the time. I saw it in government class... Ah, I generally find myself doing them in some discreet location, normally my shoulder. It's not so much as an effort to hide them, but rather it seems moe controlled there. I like patterns... >~_~< But, when my mom's cat just basically rips my hand apart, I'm happy about it. I don't really care what they think, though my mom doesn't seem to understand that. she just shakes her head. (Being 18 is wonderful.) I'm not what you would call an extremist in the point of my anarchy, but I do hold to my beliefs. And just the same, I am a pacifist (until someone insults or hurts my girlfriend), but my sadistic tendencies get a lot of wierd looks. My sister one time told me that she was afraid when I was joking around with her. I was mocking like i was going to clobber her with a hatchet, and she said that "you look like you want to do it." I'm not going to brutally murder them, but it's fun to see their reaction anyway. To everyone else, I'm crazy, insane, loony, deranged, malignant, anti-social, depressed, and all of that fun stuff. To me... I'm me. Meow!