The Six Trials of Larazod
Act 1: Condemnation A high-backed obsidian bench stands upcenter. As the curtain
rises, HAANDERTHAN himself perches there, an awesome figure of power looming
above the shackled forms of LARAZOD, TYBAIN, DENTRIS, and FARUS. The other
members of the COUNCIL, including the sultry ILSANDRA, flank out stage right and left
of HAANDERTHAN’S tribunal bench. The hulking bearded devil BAILIFF stands over
them, spiked truncheon in his scabrous red, leather-like hands.
Order in the Tribunal. The Court of His Honor Paraduke Montigny Haanderthan, Black
Tongue of Lord Entropy, Magistrate Maleficarum, now holds session. All rise.
Be seated, members of the Court. Today this court seeks truth, or at least shadows
thereof, from one Larazod Rilsane, honored veteran of the Shadestar War, member of a
once gloried house, of recent fallen in Lord Entropy’s regard. The accused stands on
several counts of failed conspiracy, evidenced thereof by the industrious interrogations
of the court’s own Seeker, Drovalid Vorclune, administered with his usual diligence and
severity. In these interviews Vorclune gathered from notable sources, only a few of
whom survived their conversations with the lash, that Larazod of the Rilsane held
audience with undesirables—the topic of their whispered covenant the activities of none
other than myself. A most serious affair. Service to Lord Entropy’s ever-darkening glory
is never without risk of menace, betrayal, and threat of doom. My family and I have long
suffered the bumbling attempts of assassins who would tear at our dark lord’s visage as
casually as they befoul their mothers’ beds.
What they lack in cunning they bolster with sheer desperation, evidenced by consorting
with all manner of Aroden-suckling knaves, and aged wiz-worms who trust in mystic
secrets over the Dark One’s love.
You hereby stand accused, Larazod, along with your illseeming compatriots, of
conspiracy to undertake grievous harm to the institution of this tribunal, namely myself,
Paraduke Montigny Haanderthan. How answer thee these charges, Larazod of House
Rilsane? Be thou maligned by a scandal-brewer’s wagging tongue, or dost thou cleave
to my comings and goings as a bloat fly to a fresh cadaver? Speak! And know that lies
are my closest friends. They’ll betray you before I. Speak the truth or do worse than die!
Hold your tongue, boy, and we’ll escape the firebrand yet. Your father was the model of
a devil’s squire. Summon his wiles now, and keep shut that Abyss you call mouth,
before we all tumble down into its darkness. Had you been born deaf and dumb, this
loyal servant would yet live to see another midnight.
Hurl his arrogance and accusations back at him, Larazod. He wants precious golden-
yoked truth? Give him more than he can choke down. For whether revealed by the
brilliance of Aroden’s eye, or the long red shadows cast by your Dark Lord’s fiery gaze,
a man false at heart and shrouded in hollow faiths is nothing more than a traitor to all.
Let him that judges false be judged by wraiths—smote by his own brand shall he fall.
Larazod knows no lies, great magistrate, and no slanderer’s tongue caresses my
dignity. The accusations you speak are as true as Lord Entropy’s sword. They cleave
clean through. Let the witnesses suffer no more lash. To burn their innards with pokers
and steal their eyes is simply to waste precious toil better spent in Entropy’s service.
There is but one point misaligned in this dark constellation—I seek not your death,
though the secrets you harbor in your feeble heart deserve a gruesome demise.
I carry no assassin’s blade, nor breath-stealing spell to rob your mortality. To end you I
need only know you, and to cast you in an honest shade. I pierce your “shadows of
truth” and show you for what I know—a false knave, a demon-supping wag-tail, a
balor’s bawd, a pus-leaking cataract in the eye of Lord Entropy’s justice, and subject to
the multi-handed ministrations of a marilith whore, dretchloving plunderer, and traitor to
our great Dark Lord.
Farus makes an amusing rude gesture as there is much commotion among the council.
(Aside) And to think I almost spent this session in the orgybaths of Kalrath. None of their
fleshy delights could compare to the ecstasy this half-breed’s words stroke within me!
See his fierce aspect burn in fury, even below the tribunal’s culling justice. But how shall
Heavy words for a forked tongue to manage, boy. You juggle them well enough, but like
a poor fool, offer jest and jape. I assume this glib outrage, obviously a threadbare
attempt to throw off the keening blade of justice, is backed by the testimony of a
thousand law-loving fiends? Perhaps the ancient augurer at your side, ever your father’s
faithful lap-lizard, probed the ancient secrets of the cosmos and uncovered my
blasphemous treachery? Or have you a soulbonded scroll of bone-white parchment
upon which my scrawled hand appears next to some Lightspawned conspirator? You
amuse me, half-breed, and it is the only reason your sniveling soul is not yet blasted
away in hellfire and borne on a river of sorrow to some ignominious corner of the Hells.
Whereof comes this lunacy? What disease vexes your broken mind? From what
mystery of psychosis do you draw your lies?
You mewl lies like a sullied maid on her wedding night, O Great One. Even a lord may
be smote in darkness as Lord Entropy sees the truth of you—a base and lowly thing,
snivelling in crimson robes. These Dark-bowing citizens about us are affront enough to
Aroden’s divine will, but ye, whose left hand clasps Tiamat’s claws, and right reaches
out for Entropy’s boon—oh double-dealing fiend-lover, who allies with Tiamat. Entropy’s
oaths and then blasphemy spew in one breath from your twisting lips.
Does your Aroden arse-kissing pall-a- dine put you up to such resounding blasphemy?
Have you no tongue of your own, half-breed, to answer my charge?
Truth is spoken freely in many tongues, false magistrate, and by agents of light and
dark. You know what you are.
You persist in this foolishness? It shall go hard for you and yours. Recant and your
deaths shall be swift, your souls consigned to diligent service in bowels of the Arena.
Refuse, and enlist in agony’s service, consign your soul to wallow in the most
ignominious corner of the Pit, and take eternal suffering as your bedmate.
(Aside) He’s to have a much more interesting bedmate, if I’ve anything to say. The fire
that one shows at tribunal, will no doubt burn even stronger between my sheets.
(Aside) That one grows hot betwixt her infernal thighs. Hope beyond hope. One voice of
dissent on the council and the slenderest chance of salvation is ours to clutch. Let this
waxen sliver of hope not melt until she does—let her find her tongue.
Speak, boy. Do you still baffle with false charges, or have your battered wits returned?
I recant nothing. You, accuser, so stand accused. How do you answer?
Innocent, of course. And so judgment is passed. My right as magistrate puts you to the
flames on my command. My word is law.
Respectfully, my lord, when I was a barrister of the tribunal, it was common practice to
ask Consular Consent in any judgement of a matter involving the Magistrate personally
in the case. Has the ancient code of Lord Entropy’s court, scorched on the Tablets of
Law by our Great Lord’s own bloody talon, so fallen as to warrant its complete disregard
in this tribunal?
Of course, you are correct, old man. I’ve no intention of affronting our Great Lord.
Council, what say ye on this matter? Do you concur with my judgment? These heinous
slanders cast upon my great name warrant utter annihilation. So sayeth I, Magistrate of
this Gloried Tribunal. Do you agree?
Councillors mutter and call “Aye.” Farus mocks them in pantomime.
My ears deceive me. Do you, august erinyes, daughter of the Dark, speak against our
I speak against your judgment. Our cause is yet undetermined by my mark. According
to our oldest codes, truth can be drawn from an offender, as pus from a wound. Lord
Entropy’s Trials show the true heart from the false. Why, simply put the half-breed to the
flames. Let us try him properly in accordance with the old ways.
Well done, lad. Your pretty infernal face is good for something, even if your tongue
offends all who hear. We may live yet.
Tut, the business of the tribunal heaps higher day by day. We’ve cases waiting in the
wings by the thousands. Penitent souls singing out for justice. Shall we delay their flight
to Lord Entropy’s waiting embrace to engage in infantile contests? Nay, expediency is
our charge when matters so lacking in evidence are brought before our bench.
Come, come, sweet magistrate. The spectacle of a few trials would do my poor heart
well. I wane at these tiresome sessions. Let the trials commence. ’Twould arouse me.
’Twould tickle me. ’Twould drive me to distraction.
Trials you say? How now? If it is to be so, let us sweeten the pot. A price I would exact
for trials as you insist. If this half-breed fails, not only is my name cleared of all
preposterous charges, but you shall compact to me for a full moon’s service, to do my
bidding and satisfy all my unwholesome needs.
Let it be so agreed. I hunger so for trials, I happily wager my body to your whim. We
shall see if this half-breed’s words strike true or false.
So be it. Larazod, you stand in trial. By my discretion you shall face six of Lord
Entropy’s fell tests. You stand alone in the face of terrors over which no mortal has
Not alone, my lord. I stand with him.
You are under no obligation to do so, puppet of the Light. Back down and be
discharged, to keep at your slobbering benedictions for a few more years at least.
I am true to Aroden, the Bright Blade, my lord, but I am also true in loyalty and kinship.
This man, though half-Darkspawn his blood may turn, is bound to me in brotherhood, as
I stand bound to him. Our blades both matched the enemies of Cillimar, and what faith
divides, common cause unites. You cannot sunder me from his destiny. I stand trial at
his side, as is my right, if I so beclaim it. Is it not so, Dentris?
’Tis true, my lord. If the half-brained, light-blinded knight wishes to perish alongside my
good master, he is within his lawful right.
Very well. Burn with him, fool. Dentris Maltrada, you are hereby discharged.
Nay sir, though I wish nothing more. This boy, as wayward as his fancies take him, is in
my care. I never waivered from his father’s service, and I shall not turn my back on the
Surely, you’ve no wish to die?
There are worse fates, magistrate, than even can be promised on the deepest level of
your Hell. To walk alive in a world, my duty undone, my sworn oath broken, is to walk
through fires more smolderous than any found in the Great Arena. Though he be a fool,
and possessed of a diseased wit, Larazod is my master, and I shall stand by him. Do
your worst magistrate. I’ve rolled bones with demons, and gazed in dragons’ hearts. Let
us have these trials and be done with my life, if the lords of darkness so command.
Then the halfwit! Begone from thy ill-fated lord’s service.
Farus refuses comically
Doddering old sack of bones. Mute fool. No demon’s dice, nor dragon’s musings await
you—only torment beyond the stars’ most infinite imaginings. When you mewl out for
merciful death, I shall look on in pleasure, as your soul’s wake burns from a withered old
corpse. Make ready, supplicants. The trials begin anon. May Lord Entropy take pity on
your blighted souls.
Act 2: Trial by Torture Enter DROVALID.
Good Keeper of Pain, Tormentor of Liars and Demonsuckling Miscreants, we are
honored by your presence. Show these supplicants the favor of your stinging lash, and
with rack and fire, purge lies from their lips. Break their souls, and let the mad and guilty
appall our ears no more with ranting.
Magistrate Maleficarum, I come before you a simple hand whose lash is guided by the
greater glory of Lord Entropy, may my scourge do him and this devoted tribunal proud.
With your permission I shall begin our first trial.
Begin at your leisure, Tormentor. End this fool’s mockery of our court with cleansing
Enter the Device and other implements of torture. Drovalid begins administering
agonizing pain upon a stoic Larazod and companions.
Fools, my good master may be a fool of a tiefling, but if you think to wrack his spine,
and wheedle mewled recantation from his black lips, you are even greater fools than he.
Larazod is no coward, and he sneers in the face of pain with true faith in Lord
Entropy—he cannot waver. He faced Tiamat’s spawn and hordes of their slime-ridden
minions in battle. His coal-black soul did not quake then. He stands resolute now. You
cannot break his spirit.
Recant half-breed. Admit your twisted falsehoods, serpent-tongued traitor!
Even an ocean of agony cannot turn truth to lie.
More bone-crunching, skin-flensing torment.
Recant and end this trial! Swift death shall embrace you and Lord Entropy smiles upon
those who admit their falsehoods—he may not rend your soul completely, may leave
some semblance of your spirit intact.
I recant… nothing! Grind on, honeyed torment. Sing sweetly as I may, no cries of
“recant” shall you hear. I hate lies, as I hate Tiamat-loving traitors.
Had enough, Magistrate? Can you withstand it any longer? Please give in and recant,
for the only torment I cannot bear is your continued duplicity. Recant, Magistrate!
Recant your own lies, and Lord Entropy may have mercy on your slimy soul.
Ha! Even in the face of soul-crushing pain, he taunts this ridiculous Magistrate of Hell.
Hear me, Powers of the Light, if Lord Entropy has such as Larazod in his employ, all our
efforts are doomed. Would that you could command such steadfast loyalty as this one
here, who laughs at death and grins at the grimmest pain.
(Aside) Such a sweet voice. I long to hear his screams more—ah, but to elicit them
myself, with a soulburning kiss, and an aching embrace. This torture is most stimulating,
though I do hope the Tormentor doesn’t mar the tiefling’s choicest parts. Leave off
those! They belong to me alone!
Never! Lash every inch of flesh from me, leave only a bloody ruin where I stand—that
skinned wreck of a man will gurgle only truth and never recant.
Drovalid ends torment and casts down his whip.
He is as unbreakable as a marble tide—dragon’s scale would have shattered long
ago—and yet he stands unbowed. No lie can evade this unholy lash of mine, gifted to
me by Lord Entropy himself. Larazod must speak the truth!
Fool! Continue the trial, you’ve yet to probe deep enough into his soul’s painful lies!
My work is done. My findings true. You have never doubted my hand before. Why do
you so now? Could it be this Darkling speaks true? Are you allied against our august
master of darkness?
Mind your place, Tormentor! You speak blasphemy in the face of this land’s own
Magistrate Maleficarum. Beware, your words endanger your very soul. Take you this
halfbreed’s part? Then you would join him on his trials? Don’t be a fool.
If Lord Entropy wishes it so then my soul stands with his. If my hand has failed you, then
I shall burn for it. I shall face the remaining five trials at Larazod’s side.
So be it, traitor. Your rending death, and his, shall be my vindication. Bring on the
Act 3: Trial by Pleasure Enter the bailiff bearing five vials and five curved flensing
knives. He hands one of each to Dentris, Tybain, Larazod, Drovalid, and Farus.
It is said that a liar’s pain is easy to bear, but pleasure steals truth from even the most
well-tended fortress. So let it be with ye, Larazod. Here before you now are the Flukes
of Lord Entropy. Their bite more pleasurable than the caresses of a thousand succubi.
Taste of their deep burrowing bliss. Their rapturous journey through your body shall
explore the deepest, darkest pleasures any mortal has ever known. Their soul-
shuddering wanderings end in your skull, where they plant their young who consume
you in an orgasmic frenzy—leaving you an empty husk of a thing—a spent lover,
drooling in blissful oblivion forever. Unless, of course, you can resist these Power-
bending pleasures. This time, the trial is not yours alone to bear. Let us see if your
trusted companions’ faith remains as unshakeable as yours. Who shall be the first to die
in spasms of ecstasy?
Oh, how I long to face this judgment!
(Angered). Then so be it! Ye, who speaks for the half-breed, the lone traitor on the
council who speaks against my august personage. You must brave this trial, and all that
follow, alongside the accused.
(Laughing) Gladly! I stand at this Darkling’s side, or at his back, or him at mine, or
perhaps I should bolster him up from below or allow him to do the same to me. You
shall see how devotedly I attend his pleasure, for he speaks the truth.
Then burn with him.
But I see only five flukes, oh Magistrate. It seems that once again you will be leaving a
Fear not, turncoat. Thou must face the black caress of Entropy’s tendrils, which shall
drive you to such exquisite ecstasy that your black heart will burst from your chest!
Black tendrils erupt from the ground around Ilsandra and entwine her, leaving her
gasping in rapture.
If one such as you can feel concern for her, then make haste! Once each has baptized
his blade with his own blood, then you may cut away her bonds. If you are able to resist
Master Larazod, most unholy saint of our dark Lord Entropy, please allow me to prove
my devotion to your cause. To think my biting lash flayed your chaste red skin, and
cracked such a noble hide as yours. I shall be first to face this trial, if you so wish it.
Your courage is beyond question. Show this lickspittle Magistrate the meaning of
devotion, my friend.
Drovalid administers the fluke, convulses in sheer orgasmic ecstasy, but as it crawls up
his arm he suddenly plunges a flensing blade beneath the skin, skewering the fluke and
(Gasping) Lord Entropy bear witness to my devotion. This half-breed speaks only truth!
Likewise, Larazod applies the fluke to his flesh, where it hungrily burrows beneath the
surface. Larazod shudders in pleasure.
(Moaning) Oh, to be that fluke! To burrow into such sweet flesh!
I sing only of the joy of supplication to our dark lord. This pleasure is only a gift of Lord
Entropy’s truth. I would gladly die at this fluke’s bite, but alas, my duty here is yet
undone, and so I scorn this pleasure with a bleeding blade. I shall not relent until your
lies are revealed, foul Magistrate.
Larazod cuts out his fluke.
Dentris applies his fluke.
Oh! It has been so long! Sweet, aching ecstasy!
Improvises a rendition of the Tallis and his Three Wives, and then cuts away the fluke
when it is nigh in his neck.
(Sourly) Between you, my hideous half-breed young master, and a dream of three
succubi’s frolics on my flesh—a hard choice, Larazod, but somehow your sweet
countenance won out.
My turn, I suppose.
Tybain applies his fluke and begins giggling uncontrollably.
Ooooh! Aaaaah! I know not this feeling!
Ha! Watch the virginal knight squirm!
It is as if a thousand feathers assault my flesh— especially my most… tender… parts.
What strange pleasure is this!
Farus makes suggestive gestures
Ah, servants of the Light, so like sweet children they be. Hold true, my dear friend!
Tybain suddenly tears loose his fluke.
I am well, though I may never be the same.
The last! Quickly now!
Farus applies the fluke and shudders in delight, then cuts it loose.
Now, to the Dark lady!
The companions plunge their blades into the tendrils holding Ilsandra, which vanish.
Ilsandra joins the companions, and embraces Larazod with a fiery kiss. He surrenders
to her pleasures.
Know the gifts of Lord Entropy, dear child. You have earned great boons by your
devoted service, and I shall pay them all with interest. But for now, our pleasures must
Curse your persistence. All lies eventually reveal their ugly fangs. I shall draw them as
venom from a wound.
Act 4: Trial in the Belly of the Beast
Such horrors. What next?
Hold true, old man.
Easy for you to say! Youth laughs at death as a stranger. As you grow older you come
to know it well—and fear it.
I have seen young and old break before this court. They all share one thing: a weak and
watery eye speaking to a frailty of spirit. Your eyes are like grit and sand, obstinate even
in the face of the storm-fraught sea. You cannot break, old wizard.
Perhaps not, but tell me, Tormentor—what fresh horrors await?
Here follows the Trial in the Belly of the Beast. A great terror, gifted to this court by an
Old Power, the Beast is a hideous thing, whose stomach is a nest of acid-spewing
serpents. It shall swallow us whole, and wash us clean in its acid well.
Where is the “trial” in this!?
If we are innocent, and speak no lies, then the Beast’s Belly will leave us unscathed.
Hold fast, my dear friend. Have faith in Lord Entropy.
But I do not!
Well then you better learn to swim.
Enter the Beast.
Come, horror, I shall tear my way from your gizzard with the white-hot blade of my truth.
Die though I might, melted to a puddle of liquid flesh in the bowels of the Beast, I cannot
think of any greater man to join in death. I am honoured to die at the side of a man so
filled with truth.
If my flesh must liquefy, then know that I am glad it will mingle with yours, dearest
Come and have a bite, Old Beastie. These old bones shall stick in your craw and choke
the life from you.
My holy flesh shall burn it all the way down. Aroden’s blessings upon my soul ensure a
most unpleasant meal for this Beast.
Farus makes comical gagging motions.
The Beast devours them. They fight their way free from his gizzard.
Act 5: The Birthing Trial
You have crawled from the maw of the Beast. Let us see what blasphemous lies slither
from your treacherous insides. Show them.
The Bailiff brings out six crimson eggs.
Dear Entropy! Spare us!
What means these strange crimson eggs?
Oh horror beyond nightmare! The eggs, they burrow deep within us. They hatch deep in
our insides, churning our guts to paste and slurping them through gritted devil teeth.
They feed on our souls. When these foul devils have eaten their fill, they tear their way
free—terrible things! Hideous devil-children bearing our own faces, but filled with hate
for all we are. We are mothers to twisted things and look upon our own visage as we die
by their taloned hands.
Shall you recant now, or will you give birth to abominations of your very flesh?
Do your worst, fool of a mortal. I am a princess to hell, and no child born of my black
soul shall bear malice against me.
Larazod lifts the Bailiff off the ground by the throat with one mighty hand.
Ha! Give me your egg, you lickspittle. If Lord Entropy wishes it, I shall choke the life of
my own devilish child with glee. I gulp this egg down before this court and our dark
lord’s very eyes.
Well, give me mine. Not much good it shall avail you. The real Dentris Maltrada was
killed ages ago at my own devilish hands when I was born from his old soul. I am a child
of this egg.
Truly?! I had no idea!
(Rolls eyes) If only everyone was as naïve as ye, paladin.
I like eggs! Red, white, or otherwise. Hand me mine! I’ll eat it raw!
The companions eat their eggs and hideous devil children are born from them. They
battle the devil children valiantly. Ilsandra, amazed that her daughter attacks her, lashes
out with ferocity.
No! My child! Forgive me! You’ll pay for this, Haanderthan—with your heart’s blood, and
with every shred of your soul.
Act 6: Trial by Combat and Love
(Aside) How can this be? Four trials broken, and still they prevail. Lord Entropy smiles
upon them. Does the Dark Lord truly know of my compact with Tiamat? It cannot be, or I
am utterly undone. True or nay, I must try the last. I shall plunge their faith in pitch and
acrid stew, and see if they hold to the cause.
(To the companions) You sickly whelps profess undying devotion to one another.
Another smoldering lie flung from your dark holes. You but conspire to confound this
court and our Dark Majesty. ’Tis ye who contract with dragon-spawn and seek my
undoing, in service to some slimy mistress or master of the putrid Tiamat. Your vile
benefactors have thus far warded off justice’s dark hand, but let us see if you hold
steadfast before the promise of oblivion.
More? I cannot last. My old heart gives out. Go on without me, master. I served your
father faithfully. Alas, I am found lacking in the face of his half-breed son. The
challenges, ever dire, cleave my soul from me. May Lord Entropy keep me.
No foolish talk, old wizard. Haven’t you claimed immortality a thousand times to any
bent ear? Old Dentris Maltrada cannot die, ye said. I’ve eaten the heart of an ancient
Red Wyrm, and warmed by his fire, my soul burns eternal. Get up, my dear friend, more
father to me, than ever any father was. Your duties are not abated. Your task is yet
Let him die. He’s suffered long enough, and we’ve suffered his blustery speeches even
more keenly. Kick off, old bag, and be done with ye!
Why you shiny beetle! You quivering pall-o- dine of a sniveling Lighted Power! You
plump kettle! I’ll bring the all-encompassing powers of a thousand worlds crashing down
upon your head! The keening song of dead gods warble at my command. I’ll leave your
mind a tatterdemalion of a sad rag. Die! Die, you say! Nay, not till I’ve seen the last
oafish breath squeezed from your lungs by tongs of fire—you simpering Aro-din- din!
Looking more lively now, aren’t we?
Peace, old man. The pall-o- dine works a righteous healing upon your old
bones—applying the only balm your withered heart desires—spitting ire and uncouth
rage. Bile for balm, bile for balm—what a wolfish old man, a terror to kings and angels.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Dentris Maltrada. He knows no equal.
Enough, pup! I am much abused. Lay not your hands on me, pall-o- dine! I’ll rise without
your Power’s urgings. I’ve work left indeed.
Strange old wizard, loyal and dear heart. He’ll join us in the marriage bed and one last
night of bliss will be his for the taking!
A lovely sentiment, my princess of Hell, disturbing though it may be.
Enough. It is time. I am not long of your company, but know that I would stand by you all
through six hundred trials. Take hands with me, half-breed. My sins and yours are one.
Our destinies intertwine, and I walk your path with you to the bitter burning end.
How touching. These sentiments of yours are nothing but dreamy clouds, soon to be
shred by Lord Entropy’s blasting winds.
Face of hazy dream-like bliss, kiss like fire. I burn for you, princess. Cling to me, dig
your talons into my chest and touch my heart with white-hot caress.
I am yours for one thousand blissful years. Drink my sizzling blood from my wrist, or
anywhere else you like— let us seal this sinful compact and consummate our love in the
heat of battle.
Dentris, you old cur, dog curled by your master’s feet. I can’t call you friend, but a truer
servant I’ve never known. Loyalty is the mark of greatness. Know that my sword is
Farus comically hugs everyone.
Great Tormentor, Drovalid Vorclune, let it be said a man who can bear the vicious
ministrations he renders upon his foes is a great man indeed. Though I am pledged to
this young half-breed, know your courage sends shudders through my loins.
You do me sweet honor, great lady. I stand in awe of your passion, and these worthy
nobles’ unshakable courage. Even this milksop of a pall-o- dine stands hard against the
torments of the Arena—harder than the fiercest witch.
The companions fight off a legion of devils.
Act 7: Trial by His Own Dark Hand
The final trial is at hand. Your souls shall be quenched at long last.
This trial is yours, Magistrate Maleficarum. Lord Entropy is the only true judge here.
Bow before him.
Insolent dog! Lord Entropy shall scour your soul as sauce from a pan. Ash for bones,
and waxen souls melted by the dark lord’s flame to puddle at his taloned feet.
We shall see who is judged!
THE DARK LORD enters in a burst of foul colored flames and shrieking, crimson
skinned imps and offers Larazod a choice. His creatures hang silk scarves around all
the companions’ necks—one of red, one of crimson. Each is handed a contract written
THE DARK LORD
Choose. A true heart shall beat strong for all eternity at my side, a false one rots to
_Larazod and his companions choose the crimson scarves and the red ones rot away.
Haanderthan cries out in terror as THE DARK LORD turns on him._
THE DARK LORD
Treacherous magistrate who lords false justice over true souls. Your soul shall burn for
all eternity— an everlasting torment in the Arena awaits you.
THE DARK LORD drags Haanderthan into the mouth of Etheric Void.