The Godscourge. Tyrant of a thousand spheres. The Nightplague. Archfiend.
Semsephiel.
Ever since time immemorial, Semsephiel had thought that he could not be beaten. Armies had tried. They'd failed. Angels had tried. They'd failed. Demons, daemons, demonodands, devils had all tried. They'd failed. It seemed as if Semsephiel would hold his throne against all comers, it seemed as if he could hold on to his slice of hell and the material plane forever.
Alas, it was not to be.
In the end, it was a mortal that stripped Semsephiel of his power, bound him, overwrote his mind. A mortal named Narciso Ribbinz, crime lord of (insert city name here). The overwhelmingly powerful conjurer made Semsephiel his Eidolon almost seventy years ago today, and as the true identity of his bound devil was kept a closely guarded secret that was the last anyone heard of The Tyrant of a Thousand Spheres.
Half-elves live a long time by human standards, but Semsephiel was as old as the stars themselves. He could wait. Narciso grew old, and knew that he wasn't long to this world. Semsephiel was eager. As far as mortals go, Narciso hadn't been the worst conversation, or the worst company. But he had a thousand spheres to get back to.
Alas, it was not to be.
The old summoner was plagued by two worries in his age. The one- what manner of havoc might The Godscourge wreak were he to walk the planes freely? And the second- what would happen his daughter when he was gone? The Ribbinz criminal family had many enemies, and he feared that his daughter wouldn't live to be old enough to make use of her inherited wealth and clout. She didn't have magic or bound fiends to protect her.
Using a dark pact seldom learned except by the most desperate of men Narciso Ribbinz sacrificed, destroyed his soul itself to bind Semsephiel to his family line for as long as it persists.
The material plane is cold. Semsephiel had been looking forward to returning to the hellfire the moment that he left it. The material plane is wet. And the material plane is lawless.
With his power constrained by the skill of his summoner, with the drastic loss of ability, of memory and cognition, changing from Narciso to Evalee Ribbinz, Semsephiel feels helpless. Helpless and stupid and weak and . . . frightened.
Damn you Ribbinz. I wish I could damn you Ribbinz. I wish there was enough left of you to damn, Ribbinz, you old bastard.
At least then I'd have someone to talk to.
