Far, far away from the Wilderlands, in a different realm of existence where thought and wicked deed make manifest the manyfold layers of the Abyss, the wicked Caizel strode like royalty above the other succubi and incubi who licked at her feet. “So you see, master Tsothagga,” she said to the great frog-demon god which reclined and gave slow, soft croaks, “that is why I must have my great granddaughter brought to me.”
Tsothagga gave a monstrous burp. “I do not see why I should not just have her killed, Caizel,” the demon lord replied.
“Because, master, she alone has a clue where the Horn of Zargon lays. I went through a lot of trouble getting the Blooded Company to deliver Jewel to you and now to deliver Vanessa to the Holy Cities. With their holy woman bothering them, they won’t even notice if Vanessa goes missing and you will have a new prize to spread your slime upon. Then, when we have the Horn of Zargon, you will be able to control the Returner directly.”
“Hmm,” Tsothagga pondered. “We shall see, Caizel.”