[Nerdlord57]

"Of course, you will in no way be able to uphold them. Caliburn, a blade forged from the guiding hands of the angels themselves, a weapon used to combat and expel witches and warlocks alike. It'll be a fitting instrument to make certain that you will be rewritten in the name of the stars, and that you may be reborn."

". .do not fill me with false hope, Archmagi."

That is when the the blade was swung, effortlessly cleaving the head of Dimitri Asimov from his body. He died as he had lived, powerless to change his own fate. Yet what those in the room could not see or understand was his final moments in the land of the living. Even as Caliburn moved its way towards the middle of his neck, to sever his spine, he couldn't even focus upon that sensation as they were already upon him.

Stygian chains wrapped around his very soul and burned him with an agonistic feeling he could never even dreamed of, tainted by the effects of Hel. He felt molten magma rise at his feet and pool around him, burning him. Tormenting him. All of these magics were far too familiar, of course the Marquis would send them to come and claim him. To drag him down before her feet like a slave.

Once his head was fully cleaved through and the blood began to stain the stone floor of the Osronan Cell, that's when the descent truly began.

---

The descent into the realm of Hecate Elaide was anything but pleasant. Shards of burning obsidian fueled by the occult and spiked earthen chains pulled him, screaming into Hel'heim. Sights he cursed upon others finally visualized in person, making him struggle and shake. This couldn't be real. He couldn't breath, he couldn't bleed, all he could feel was agony claiming dominion over the maelstrom of emotions. Souls and Spirits littered the endless expanse of Damnation that he was dragged through, seeing the unforgettable sights that burned their mark into whatever was left of his mind.

In the distance? An opulent palace floating above the endless fields of unmaking, a hedonistic crimson hue overtaking all of the structures that were built upon the broken souls of those brought to Her heel. Those unfortunate enough to be undergoing their sentences were nothing more than playthings to the Nethradin that roamed its streets. The stench of false grandeur and nobility permeated this place, as every other being here paled in comparison to the Mistress of this fortress.

Finally he was thrown out before the gargantuan throne, set atop a platform that was littered with gold and gemstones. Nethradin groveled before the empty throne, broken by the sights that craved. Dimitri could only wonder what his fate would be. . with all of these sights.

The two Nethradin that flanked him forced him to his hands and knees, the magma that seemed to follow in their wake burning his hands and legs as the chains paired with them grew tighter and tighter. In the distance? He heard the sound of chamber doors being opened and before long? The throne would be sat upon.

Dimitri did not look up, trying to compose himself despite the horrors he was to undergo. All he could say was. .

". . .I've got one more deal left in me."

[Tantrum]

Few days following the death of Captain Asimov,
the front of the apartment where Dimitri used to live changed.
The quaint hall that never bore any decoration was clad in flowers
and candles for the first time in a whole decade.

Asking other residents about who could have done it would

 end up only stirring further questions, as no one could recall anyone
other than his wife, Hina Asimov, being around the introverted Captain.

There, a vodka bottle would forever wait to be drank.

[Kida]

"There, a vodka bottle would forever wait to be drank."

it wouldn't take long

ur death will not be in vain brother

[Seraphite]

The straining of violin music only emphasizes what appears to be
the rising of smoke and almost-lilac embers in the night sky outside Achyon.

Hands run over strings as Dimitri Asimov's body is cremated,
in what appears to have been a private decision by Hina Asimov, his widow.
Portions of the ashes are buried across Esshar

and scattered to its winds and oceans alike.
If pressured on her motives, she only has one thing to say:

"The world should remember Him as I do - soil, sky and soul alike."

[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."

[Seraphite]

Daughter. Student. Alchemist. Magi. Wife. Mother. Barkeep. Puppet.

Dead.

Caretaker of the Eternal Meadow.

Hel was an enjoyable place, at least at first. Though still subject to the rendings of the mind through the Marquis' (and Dimitri's) feasts and machinations, along with the strange sensation of a mask upon her face, it wasn't as if she was reluctant to embrace the finer details of living amidst the damned. After all, her life had been full of enough torment for the years after her husband's death. Slowly, meat was seized from hooks on chandeliers, and reluctance was washed away.

The mark of painful beauty still found its way upon her. A flower crown, vined and thorned, practically grew from her head.

And then she was given responsibilities, solely for the purpose of keeping her busy.


Due to the technicalities of farmland, the Eternal Meadow was a bit of a mystery at first. Lush purples and blacks grew across sprawling land, a haven amidst the dryness of Helheim. The woman who had never even held a pair of shears, let alone properly tended a garden, had to find somewhere to start.

Standing upon the deeply unnatural grass, in the shadow of the beautiful yet morbid citadel of the Marquis Hecate Elaide, would be Hina. Tasks amidst tasks had laid themselves out before her - an intensity on perfection, in all of its forms, fueled her now. Besides her rested that same pair of silver, purple and black shears, seeing as she had gone to move against the wilting buds on a particularly fussy rosebush herself. To the other side of her would be a familiar and rather large Nethradin, sporting a spider visage. No other masked figures wandered these grounds. After all, it was only regenerating busywork.

A flower, dried and crumpled, is crushed in her hands for a moment. Deep ichor, black in nature, bleeds out from between her fingers - almost as if the plant itself had veins, and such a flow had been interrupted by her actions. After a few seconds, her hand lifts to drip some of the liquid into her mouth, curiosity getting the best of her. It's sweet; such a thing is promptly consumed whole, almost as if its magic and potency is consumed by lingering magic itself. Wasn't that always her nature?

More things to check on laid around. There were new flowers to rehome, arrangements to create from the garden's plentiful supply; everything would need to be kept in order, looking beautiful, so that a smile could lay upon the faces of those around. 

One particularly nice bloom is plucked, placed into her crown of flowers and worming its way in after a few moments.

The Caretaker and her keeper converse, and where the conversation finally becomes audible, it's with a pause from the pink-haired woman amidst the two.

"Something is changing up there, Mortia. I can feel it; the ground almost breathes in anticipation for blood."

"Of course. You of all people knew what would happen next."

"... but Dimitri tells me to not worry about mortal affairs, let alone that which would hurt me above. I know that the necromancer is a concern, but there's no way that he could walk into Hel. I don't even get why he would, besides revenge for the loss of that which I'm now free of..."

"Perhaps you do."

"You're really cryptic sometimes, Mortia. Maybe I do - but maybe, just maybe, I want to forget what happened while I was alive."