Gishgorolbom smiled down at his newly lacquered fingernails, before turning his
pleased gaze upon the young elfen warrior chained to the table before him. With
eyes filled with exquisite rapture he traced his forefinger across the ridge of
the warrior's ear.

"Shansa; that is your name, right, poor misguided one?"

The young elfen, barely more than a boy, nodded silently, his eyes rolling
wildly within their sockets.

"I will give you a gift, a special one. You will have the great honor of being
the first prisoner I torture in my new position of Champion of the Nihilists,"
Gishgorolbom smirked at the prostrate boy before flicking back the elfen's long
tapered ear and with his fingernail carving away at the flesh, separating ear
from scalp. The screams were especially delicious, perfectly suited to one of
his power and expertise. The boy provided him with the most intense pleasure he
had felt in ages.

With a fresh towel he wiped the bits of grime and skin still clinging to his
hands away before striding to his office perched high in the Tower of Dark
Fates. Matters were going beautifully well of late, with the curious demise of
the previous champion, and all of his family and supporters as well, also quite
curiously, the ascension to the position of Champion had been even easier than
he had anticipated. Everything that a man could desire was his.

Until the whinny from outside the tower window broke his train of thought. He
glanced out and down beneath and saw his younger brother beckoning him down.
With a sigh Gishgorolbom strode out of his office to meet him outside the tower
in the courtyard below.

"What do you need, child, I am busy, can't you see?"

"Oh nothing, revered elder brother, I merely wished to congratulate you, and
share with you my excellent news. It appears that our father's machinations
have succeeded within my guild; you are looking at the new Guildmaster of the
Ur'Guard. I wished to come by to congratulate you on your ascension to… err,
what did you earn again? Ahh, Champion, that's it. And I wished to show you my
new steed. I ordered my men to scour every inch of the realm, from the desert
to the east to the farthest of the Northern Mountains. My stallion is the
finest horse that has ever trod this world," spoke Gishgorolbom's younger
brother.

Gishgorolbom grimaced a moment, gripped with frustration at being surpassed by
his younger brother, and his father's favorite, yet again, before smiling
again. "Ahh, dear brother, I regret to tell you, but it is not. The Demon Lords
of Nil themselves have heard of my prowess and have promised to me a steed
beyond human comprehension, one that will drive men mad with fear in the dark
of the night, and mute the very colors of dawn."

Gishgorolbom swirled on his heel, not allowing his brother time to speak and
retreated back into the Tower. Once within his office he locked the door and
broke into a raging fury. He cast his desk against the wall, and screamed at
the paintings on the wall. "That little rodent! I swear I will beat him if I
have to make one of the Demon Lords themselves my mount!"

Hearing himself speak those words, a very quiet, but very dangerous thought
crawled its way into his mind. To make a mount of a portion of essence of a
Demon Lord… Surely that would make it the greatest steed to ever exist. In a
flurry he rushed to his book shelves and immediately began pulling relevant
subject matter. Over and over, under the dim glare of candlelight he poured
through each tome, before finally standing from his desk and chortling madly to
himself. He had determined how he would go about the matter.

Midnight found him ascending the Megalith to the Cosmic plane of Nil, a flask
of swirling vapors, and a talisman, covered in arcane scrawlings tucked within
his robes. If his understanding of the tomes was correct he need only steal a
little essence, using the flask, then remove it from Nil and open it, while
envisioning the steed in his mind. He strode with vain pride before Baalphegar,
whom Gishgorolbom had always thought a weakling amongst the lords of Nil.

"Great Lord Baalphegar, I greet you, and ask of you if you will permit me to
perform a ritual in your honor."

The Demon Lord stared in silence at the form of Gishgorolbom, before slowly
batting an eye in acknowledgement.

Gishgorolbom stood and bowed before him, and began a loud sonorous chant, while
sketching a large symbol on the earth beneath him, as the ritual progressed,
Gishgorolbom felt the talisman hidden within his robes grow with heat, until it
almost burned his flesh to the touch. The tome had said it momentarily
incapacitated its victim, no matter how great or small, and left them with no
memory of what had occurred. With a final smirk of victory, Gishgorolbom seized
the talisman from its hiding place within his robes and turned it to face the
Demon Lord, flashing blindingly bright for a moment before cooling back to its
normal black iron hue.

With a quiet chant Gishgorolbom extracted some essence from the unmoving form
of the Demon Lord and sealed it within the flask. He paused for a moment at the
Megalith, realizing he needed a medium with which to form the flesh of the
horse. Rather than returning to the Prime Material Plane, he descended the
nexus to the Elemental Plane of Earth, planning to use the tainted soil to
provide the flesh of his beast. He unstoppered the flask and envisioned his
steed, in its glory before him, and a torrent of dark essence rushed from the
flask, and began to take form. Slowly the color drained from Gishgorolbom's
face, as the form coalescing from the flask into the shape before him was not
in fact the steed he had hoped for, but rather the very form of the Demon Lord
Baalphegar.

The Demon Lord turned upon Gishgorolbom with a cruel smirk.

"Little twisted elfen, have you forgotten your place? I am the weaver of the
web of deceit, misdirection, Lord of Dark Fates. You truly believed you could
take me unawares? I have an ear at every keyhole, and knew your intentions
before you knew them yourself. I merely wished to see if you were stupid enough
to attempt this folly," the Demon Lord bellowed, the word stupid slapping across
Gishgorolbom's face, as though a physical blow were struck.

"You wish a mount do you; foolish one, then I will make you the keeper of my
steeds!"

In a flash of movement the Demon Lord seized the viscanti by his throat and
soared upwards through the planes, coming to a stop within the plane of Nil.
Baalphegar chuckled at the whimpering of the ‘mighty champion' who had
forgotten his place. It was almost humorous. So easily are these puny mortals
ensnared! With a grating snarl Baalphegar plunged his claws into the skull of
Gishgorolbom. As the form of the Nihilist slumped, quickly fading beyond even
the edges of undeath, the Demon Lord opened his mouth and spewed a black sludge
into the gaping hole in his skull, and knitted the flesh back together with his
tainted power.

"Now little fool, you remember nothing. Know terror, fear each drowsing moment.
You are now the keeper of the steeds of Nil. Whenever you slumber, your horror
will be so real it will take physical form. You will be the vessel of my Night
Mares, and you will serve me well, for death will not ever keep you long
against my will."

With another quiet chuckle Baalphegar settled into his favored position once
more as the tattered, and memory-less form of Gishgorolbom stumbled through the
darking mists of Nil.