The Descent.

[Nerdlord57]

Son, Orphan, Magi, Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Captain, Councilman.

Dead.

Master of the Menagerie.

     Hel was not an enjoyable place, at least at first. The rending of his minds through the machinations of the Marquis, as well as the stabbing sensations of a thorned loop of roses around his neck. He had still held onto some of his humanity back then, within him, and that was what made the suffering so much worse. Once the memories he desired to remember were sealed away in a singular ring. The Tactics of the Empire and the memories of his darling family.

No longer would he wear that collar. Now? He wore his old uniform, or something glamoured to be akin to such. Without all the insignia.

Once all others were twisted and set into the background?

The movements of Hecate's forces would never be the same. Organization, Binding, training. All of which coalesced and allowed the pushes into other domains of Hel to be more efficient than before- as much as they could. The forces of other Marquis were not to be taken lightly.

Standing upon a balcony, high in the floating and morbid yet beautiful Citadel of the Marquis Elaide, would be Dimitri. Beside him would be a rather large Nethradin, sporting an Arachnid visage. The balcony was overlooking a rather large expanse within the Citadel's walls, sporting a number of caged Hel-Beasts and Nethradin that raged within them. Masked individuals, sporting different percaline animal masks and thorny collars, would move from cage to cage ensuring the locks and runes were upkept.

Nethradin and creatures of all shapes and horrible sizes would face the same fate here. That sickly sweet, acrid and discordant melody of the Fiddler would be burrowing into their very minds. In time? They would break, and they would serve the Marquis. Some were more mentally resilient, but in time they would be added to the Menagerie. The variation of the different Nethradin and beasts from the Pit added an additional advantage and edge to the conquests Dimitri set his eyes upon- as his forces can shift in composition at a simple whim.

He took pleasure in dealing with the more difficult to break souls, as they tended to be the strongest- and were personally added to the Marquis' personal retinue should she desire their use.

The souls that were of no use were simply consumed, feeding the Master's strength.

The Master and his Lieutenant shifted their gaze to the south, where magic fluxuated and a distant Necromancer screams faintly vibrated through Mortia's web of shadows.

"Something is changing, Mortia. Have the Menagerie prepared to be mobilized and move for battle at a moment's notice."

". .of course. However, there seems to be an ulterior motive to this."

"Should the Necromancer catch wind and barge his way into the Black Paradise I will want him weakened enough and enraged enough where his soul will be all the more delectable."

"As you wish."

"Good. Inform the Marquis that the corruption of the Caretaker is going smoothly, and she is taking well to the Eternal Meadow."