Torrin awoke in a room he almost instantly recognised. Bland uninteresting walls, shoddily constructed table barely able to hold the weight of all inane magazines and journals that nobody would ever want to read but would provide the only form of recreation in this room. A foul smell pervaded the air and the sound of children screaming and crying would cut the silence occasionally although no children could be seen in this small box of torment. The chair he was sat in was truly a masterwork of carpentry, for it was uncomfortable almost immediately and no amount of adjustment would help. It would both creak and squeak at almost any change in weight. It was secured to the ground making it impossible to lean back on the chair, even if one was foolish enough to believe that they would not fall or cause the chair to break as all the weight was forced onto two legs and to sit in the chair for long periods of time would no doubt cause severe postural problems. It takes a lot of effort to craft a chair so terrible and he felt obliged to recognise such craftsmanship. No doubt about it he was in Hell’s Waiting Room. Instinctively he reached into one of his robe pockets and pulled out a long strip of paper with an immense number written on it. He compared it to the “Now Seeing:” counter and was content that it would be a significant length of time before he would join the Legions of Hell.
It was apparent that the abominable Hive Mind had figured out that Torrin could only continue to endure due to the healing music of Talathel. There was no doubt that Talathel would be dead already, why Silvanto insisted on bringing someone he evidently cares so much about to extremely dangerous situations was somewhat lost on Torrin but then again he wasn’t terribly knowledgeable on the whole “love” thing. Still he was confident that the others would prevail without him, after all failure was not acceptable. Asmodeus (Great is He) and his Legions must emerge victorious in their conflict with the one called Cthulhu. Furthermore, they would need to kill the monk which seemed highly unlikely.
Despite the truly awful nature of the room he was currently trapped in Torrin found it all to be a welcome reprieve from his current life. He wasn’t being slashed apart by an alien abomination, nor having to face a god and he certainly wasn’t having to deal with Lilith. He really wasn’t looking forward to that. As Lilith crossed his mind he simply more convinced that freedom was at fault for everything that went wrong. All this began when the cage protecting the hole in reality was moved allowing free movement for the Invaders. They freed the constructs and they used their new found free will to plot and move against their liberators. Introducing the concept of individuality to mirror elementals may have allowed the team to gain the Deck of Many Things but that backfired horribly for Torrin. It increased his power and granted him nobility. On the other hand it gave reality altering power to the amoral fey sorceress who proceeded to use it to become fey nobility. Even giving that power to Agony would be better in Torrin’s eyes. To add insult to injury the empire’s forces are being commanded rather successfully by someone under a Geas. All this left him wondering just when would Asmodeus (Great is He) finally save us all from ourselves and subject us to his glorious rule.
This thought however was interrupted as his soul was torn from Hell and placed back inside his body. While no longer launching projectile gore from his wounds everything still hurt. The pain faded into obscurity when he took notice of the situation. Down from the vents familiar looking dust clouds floated towards the beaten corpse of the Hive Mind….