Chains of Judgement - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The crowd cheered as the formidable judge Vylania walked calmly towards the famous gaming table. She was flanked by guards decorated in the shining regalia of the Demonmore courthouse. Their gleaming armour reflected countless jeering faces. A kind of madness had overcome the masses, the sheer excitement was almost palatable.

She was the High Justice and a minor power in her own right. Those unfortunate enough to wind up in her courtroom could expect no mercy. Only the most dangerous and demented criminals found themselves prostrating themselves before the High Justice in the hopes of prolonging their worthless lives.

As too many had found out, lying in Vylania's courtroom was tantamount to suicide or worse. She was harsh, utterly cold and took great delight in the suffering of those that broke the word of law. Many suspected her of being a sadist though voicing such rumours often landed you in shackles.

Many couldn't believe that such a celebrity had graced such a grungy and crime infested establishment with her presence. This was a place of sin that lacked even the slightest bit of integrity.

Some of the more adventurous onlookers silently admired her imposing figure, her untouchable force of character. She was beautiful if a little plain looking. Vylania wore no makeup, nor any kind of magical glamour. Her short black hair was cut with almost military precision but was still glossy and full of life.

Her stature was short but no less imposing, dressed as she was in the official uniform of the Demonmore courthouse which consisted of a black velvet doublet enriched with golden embroidery. On her chest was pinned a jewel encrusted broach fashioned in the shape of a snarling dragon. Rather than donning a more traditional dress, Vylania preferred the practicality of military styled trousers.

Her entire image was one of stark harshness, of barely restrained hostility.

"Get out of the way you stinking vermin!" demanded one of the guards before smashing the unruly patron's nose with the hilt of his enchanted warblade. Strong smelling beer spattered the nearby customers which promoted them to severely beat the clumsy fool to within an inch of his life.

Vylania ignored the spectacle as beneath her notice. Such idiocy she reflected, such a waste of human potential. As she pondered on what she was about to subject herself through, her pale hand tightened around the golden rod of her office. She was utterly fearless of course but braving such a backwater, godforsaken place wasn't a good sign of character.

The Blackened Hand was one of the oldest gaming houses in the city and had an infamous reputation among the higher orders as the kind of place where you could lose everything on a single bad roll of the dice. Where you could bet everything you owned and more. Where restless spirits haunted every nook and cranny and mere concepts could manifest into wonderful riches. Where the exotic and high stakes gambling bordered on the illegal and downright dangerous.

The old stonework walls were decorated with long, cheaply made tapestries that depicted such outlandishly sexual acts that the practicality of such positions boggled the mind. The air was thick with the battling aromas of cleansing incense and the near toxic scent of bluecreep smoking pipes. Dancing girls of various shapes, natures and entities entertained the assembled guests with provocative motions, their supple flesh backlit by magical flame.

Pickpockets, black-market dealers and confidence tricksters took heed of the changing atmosphere and when they realized who had just entered the vast gaming hall, the collective intake of breath could be heard even over the loud, chiming music. Needless to say they were all much too small time for one such as Vylania but still, the almost paralysing throught of angering her made endless purgatory an almost pleasing prospect.

Upon reaching the gaming table, one of Vylania's guards pulled the chair out respectfully, the rest of them bowing in humble servitude.

Vylania dismissed the guards with a sharp nod and tried to ignore the pounding musical chaos that passed as entertainment in the Blackened Hand. The honoured judge sat completely motionless in silent contemplation, the many loud voices and catcalls ignored as if they didn't even exist. She would need her wits about her for this mockery of a game. The Dolus Eventualis game.

Vylania knew very well what kind of depraved, sick game that she was about to undertake and certainly had no intention of losing. This was a personal matter, one of balance. Someone very dear to her had been killed, murdered by one of her three potential opponents tonight. The covert information network of the courts was second to none and Vylania had it on very good authority that one of these scoundrels was responsible.

Eleanor had been the closest thing to a friend that Vylania had ever had. Her lip curled in passionate hated, an emotion so strong that her teeth almost split her smooth, inviting lips.

Eleanor had joined the judiciary alongside Vylania mostly because it was one of the only avenues of advancement those less fortunate. Joining the military was only marginally more survivable than committing suicide considering the many ongoing conflicts with the heavenly paradise Celestia and while you could always make a deal with some fickle god or higher power, you had to be really confidant with your negotiating skills.

Always read the fine print is the first lesson they teach when dealing with otherworldly beings from above or below.

Vylania had quickly attained the honoured position of High Justice and had earned a savage reputation for excessive punishments which were often personally administered with great enthusiasm. Eleanor had been one of the best information gatherers, enforcers and occasional assassins of Vylania's administration, that is until her lifeless body had washed up on the riverbank while investigating sightings of the legendary Jewel of Malediction.

Vylania would take her sweet time in torturing the perpetrator with the many tools of her profession and when the scum eventually died in painful, screaming agony, Vylania would enlist the assistance of a necromancer and happily repeat the process until justice was served in full. Yes, vengeance was a powerful weapon indeed. Vylania intended to harness it, mould it into unbeatable conviction. Whoever had killed Eleanor would rue the very day they were born.

Vylania heard the change in the assembled crowd, the scandalous catcalls that formed into a chorus of pleading, lustful yells. A a kind of madness had descended over the patrons of the Blackened Hand as if they had all come under the influence of some sinister spell though Vylania detected not the faintest trace of magic.

The source of this commotion soon became apparent as the first of Vylania's opponents casually strode through the Blackened Hand as if she owned the place.

Jezebeth was a succubus, a demonic entity. She was sinfully beautiful and moved with the grace of a ballerina. Her every move was unnaturally sexual and commanded the attention of all those around her, particularly the males. Some were foolish enough to try and touch her crimson skin, drawn to her like enchanted moths to a flame but the snarling guards made short work of them.

Jezebeth giggled playfully as she slid into her luxuriously padded chair. Her revealing outfit left nothing to the imagination, particularly her generous cleavage. You would be forgiven for mistaking her for a goddess, an embodiment of fertility if not for the devilish black wings, horns and snakelike tail.

It was said that she could seduce even the most righteous man with but a simple, wicked smile. Jezebeth would gleefully steal your mortal soul and you would thank her for it because one moment with her was worth eternal damnation. A truly frightening opponent in a game such as this.

"Hello, my dear Vylania," Jezebeth said with a smirk. Her voice was musical and bewitching. Jezebeth's refusal to use Vylania's full title was a deliberate slight, one that she could only get away with in the confines of this most honoured establishment.

"I'm so delighted to see you here. It makes such a change from all the usual common, aimless souls. What would bring a most honoured judge to such a despicable house of sin I wonder?"

"I go wherever I please, demon," Vylania replied icily. "The question of why is no concern to one such as you."

"Oh, don't be like that, my lovely little judge. I'm a big fan of your judicial work. The way in which you dismissively crush hopes and dreams never fails to make me wet between the legs. I bet you enjoy it too, you little minx. Who knows what your busy hands get up to under that mighty oaken desk."

"Silence," the High Justice snapped. "If you wish to find out what happens in my courtroom so much, then I will gladly arrange a special viewing just for you."

Jezebeth smiled knowingly. "Perhaps, but that's assuming that you win the game tonight. Are you feeling confident? You do know what will happen if you lose, don't you?"

"I never lose," said Vylania.

Jezebeth just continued to smile as if she alone knew some hidden truth. Vylania disliked that condescending look and might have said more but just at that moment, the next opponent made himself known.

Jezebeth took a sharp intake of breath as she drank in the sight of the newcomer in all of his splendour. She seemed entranced, almost dreamy like a butcher eyeing up a choice cut of meat.

Derek Harcourt passed through the chanting crowd with genuine admiration. His name was repeated like a mantra, his cult of personality proceeding him. Humans, demons and everything in between bowed respectfully. An ethereal banshee fainted as he brushed against her and blinked out of the mortal realm in total embarrassment.

Derek Harcourt was well known for his dashing good looks and his deadly prowess with a blade. He was incredibly muscular with curly auburn hair and sharp features. Despite his many hard fought campaigns and deadly duels, there wasn't a single scar to ruin his perfect image. His armour was the purist white and as reflective as a mirror.

He had been a famous adventurer in his day and was a notorious womaniser. Woman wanted him and men wanted to be him. Soldiers would follow him to hell and back and had done so if the rumours were to be believed. Caught up in the fervour, the guards began to bang their weapons against the wooden railings in a steady rhythm like welcoming a victorious general back from a great battle.

Perhaps less well known was his ruthless sense of ambition. The man was a snake oil salesman, a treacherous backstabber who had climbed his way to the top over a mountain of corpses, many of which had been his misguided followers. Vylania herself had initiated many investigations into his illegal activities and outlandish claims of valour, all of which failed to find any concrete proof. Either he was extremely lucky or very skilled in covering his tracks.

Derek removed his trusty, enchanted warblade in it's jewel encrusted scabbard and handed it over to a trusted steward before sitting down. He smiled at his fellow competitors but while his friendliness might have fooled everyone else, Vylania would have none of it and gave him a disdainful stare of contempt.

"Hello, ladies," he said, nodding to each one in turn. "How lovely that I can spend my time which such alluring company."

Jezebeth leaned across the table and glared at the hero with a genuine sense of longing. Her large breasts jiggled as the weight of her seductive body pressed against them, a single bead of sweat disappearing in between that mouthwatering valley. Her midnight tail waved behind her invitingly.

"Greetings my lovely, heroic Derek. I've dreamed about you on many a cold, lonely night. Won't you keep this delicate flower company? I'm sure we would have such fun together."

Derek was suddenly overcome by indescribable feelings of lust and desire as the succubus weaved her irresistible charms over him like a puppet master. As a seasoned adventurer he knew what to expect but still, the force of Jezebeth's sex appeal hit him like a tidal wave. He gulped, his throat inexplicably dry. His mind was screaming at him to throw caution to the wind, to leap over this table and forcibly mount her like an animal.

Concious of the effect she was having over him, Jezebeth slowly opened her mouth, her tongue lashing against her deliciously wet walls. Glistening saliva trails dripped down her red skin. Her all seeing eyes blinked with untold promises of otherworldly sex and debauchery.

Derek's erection was painful as it pushed against his britches. His fingernails dug into the expensive fabric of the table. Quenching his thrust with her sweet ambrosia would be simply heavenly. He would fuck this demonic entity ragged until his mortal heart gave out from exhaustion and would kill anyone foolish enough to stand between him and this picture of diabolical perfection.

Thankfully for him the magical charm hung around his neck throbbed as it released cleansing thoughts of purity. He imagined a loving family, a calming orchard full of soft fruit. The priceless family heirloom burned hotly against his chest and gave him the strength to fight off the seductress.

Silently composing himself, Derek brought his ragged breathing under control. He straightened up and plastered on his best, award winning smile.

"A charming proposal I'm sure," he said while choosing his words carefully to ensure that no further vulnerabilities exposed themselves through careless words. "But I'm afraid that I must decline so tempting an offer."

Jezebeth pouted disappointedly. Derick's soul would have made such a wonderful plaything. All the other succube would die of envy as she flaunted such a coveted trophy right in their jealous faces. That intoxicating thought caused the succubus to squirm her legs together with unabated sexual desire. Reaching down, she almost started spontaneously pleasuring every inch of her curvaceous body but reluctantly she relented, at least for the time being.

The night was still young after all...

Vylania just sighed and shook her head.

"Have you pulled your mind from the gutter yet?" she asked.

"Whatever do you mean, High Justice?" Derek replied while dabbing at his mouth with a luxuriously embroidered handkerchief. "I am always of sound mind and purpose."

"As long as that purpose is lining your own pockets."

Derek chuckled light-heartedly but there was a dark edge to his voice, the subtle warning of a seasoned killer. How dare this bitch insult the great Derek Harcourt, he thought. He'd killed men and women for much less. And this talentless harlot Jezebeth? Why, he'd turn them both into slaves and make them lick the dirt from his boots.

Vylania was about to say more when without warning, a powerful, unsettling presence shattered all the magical protection arrayed around the Blackened Hand with an audible thunder clap of force. Many of the onlookers cried out, blood pouring from popped ears as Lucille the Dark materialized in the only remaining empty chair at the gaming table.

Vylania squirmed uncomfortably, her black lace panties moistening slightly at the frightening spectacle. Panicked murmurs and hushed whispers followed in the wake of Lucille's dramatic appearance, most of which consisted of wild speculation and astonishment. Stupefied surprise kept most of the patrons from fleeing though the sense of fear was rife. The musical band was plunged into silence, a fact that greatly pleased Vylania despite the circumstances.

The air was alive with static discharges as the wards and protective spells re-established themselves. Heliotropic purple lights weaved themselves around Lucille like coiling snakes of pure energy as the physical realm caught up with the witch's presence. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned and took in her surroundings. The place, so jubilant before was now as quiet as a mortuary.

Lucille the Dark was a relatively young witch who had rapidly gained fame as one of the foremost spellcasters and exorcists. Once a young, naive girl, Lucille had sold her soul for power to an old, ancient demonic name and allowed herself to become its vessel in the material plain. Talented beyond measure, Lucille possessed the willpower to banish the demon back into the never-reaches of hell but not without losing her humanity.

Her soul had become tarnished in the process and as a result, Lucille had become addicted to the purest emotions and concepts. Her body harboured many souls that reflected in her deep, purple eyes, screaming for release.

Sat atop her long, sleek black hair was a witches' cap which was decorated with immortal dandelions from the Garden of Eden. The flowers seemed to weep, cut off as they were from paradise. The homesick emotions helped to feed Lucille's insatiable hunger.

She wore a splendid gown made from the flawlessly glorious feathers of an archangel whom she had defeated during the latest crusade into heaven. "Hello," she said, somehow managing to make even a simple greeting sound creepy and foreboding. Her voice was ghostly and changed pitches and accents seemingly at random.

"The game. Excited. Most pleasing to see souls of the highest calibre."

Vylania realized that she was gawking and quickly closed her mouth before anyone noticed. Derek shuddered inwardly while doing his best to mask his discomfort. He could have sworn that he recognized some of the voices that came out of the witch's mouth but such a thing was surely impossible, wasn't it?

Jezebeth stretched her arms like a cat, her large round breasts fighting against her constricting clothing.

"Well, this certainly is interesting." she said. "I'm positively thrilled to meet so many famous names and faces. It will be so lovely to bend you all to my will."

"Thrilled?" Lucille said. "Killed? Souls bend? No, they ebb and flow like water, until you drink them like the finest wine." She giggled, her pale, deathly face twisting into a mockery of a smile.

"I'm not afraid of you, witch," Derek said. Subconsciously, his hand reached for his trusted blade that he had willingly relinquished. Bitterly he cursed his luck and hoped that the little bottled chaos known as Lucille remembered to follow the rules.

"Enough," Vylania snapped before slamming her precious golden rod down hard on the table. It shuddered under the weight of judgement as if scared. All three pairs of eyes looked at the High Justice with varying levels of suspicion. These things sickened her. Criminals, abominations, all of them.

One of these bastards killed Eleanor. This ends, tonight.

Continued in Chapter 2

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