The underworld was in turmoil. Tales had spread across the nine circles of the damned all about Satan’s decision to plot a new crusade to the over-world in a reverse-summoning ritual.
Demons of all ilk paused in their torture of murderers, burning of rapists and their Sunday tea parties (a benefit classically enjoyed by the higher demons of the aristocracy) to gather in secret to discuss participation in this conquest and who would be chosen to venture forth into the ripe fields of the overworld.
The excitement and distraction of this news burned through the communities like hellfire and swept the society of the undead into chaos.
Satan had announced that he was recruiting militia from several areas in each circle of hell, however was restricting the amount of participants as the portal could only be opened for a certain number of demons. Additionally, he was hiring commanders for his army so each group had to elect one leader to move the demons under their chain of command.
He decreed that each community had to gather at their local tavern to determine members worthy of participation. One such tavern was hosting their meeting of several clans of demons who had gathered upon hearing this news.
“I for one am sick and tired of labouring for this eternity in this cesspit of torture,” growled a Dullahan, slamming his head onto the table and looming over it menacingly as it spoke.
“Too long do we endure the screaming and moaning of these infidels and criminals. When is it our turn to enjoy the sun and sky and the wind on my armour? The cries of criminals is not as sweet as the screams of the innocent, there’s just a certain quality to it you know…”
“Hah, if you think you’ve had it rough just think about how bad the flames of purgatory and the red haze of the underworld is for my skin,” complained a ghoul, his skin oozing and greying as he sat there.
“As soon as I can bathe in that glorious sun, my visage will be as healthy as those over-worlders. My fellow ghouls would be so jealous when they see this new ghoul in town!”
A wave of grimaces washed over the crowd as they unwillingly envisioned a scantily clad ghoul frolicking under the sun. Several other members shrank back at the clumps of gristle and viscera pooling around their feet. In the back, a hooded figure who had been nursing a horn of grog stirred to the heated discussion that filled the room.
With a snarl, the shadowy figure unfolded itself from the corner of the room. She planted her steel-shod boot onto the table with a solid thunk and her cloak fell open to reveal black stockings over clear pale skin (the ghoul blushed and shied away) with leather straps and black frills.
Pulling back her hood revealed her to be a red-faced succubus. She yelled at the crowd, reeling slightly as she did so.
“You men are pathetic, squabbling over your meagre bickering like chimps fighting over scraps,” she drawled, spilling booze over the table and herself. A split in the back of her cloak parted to reveal the dark wings of a Succubus.
“True torture is being trapped for eternity in this hellscape with you ragged louts. A thousand years us Succubi have been damned to wander the nine circles of this wasteland with nary a good man in sight. Oh how I crave the essence of a good strong warrior, freshly fallen in battle. Or perhaps a widower who seeks the escape of my willing embrace, oh! I must go,” she cried, squirming with anticipation.