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B'Tanalirn and Gr'Choneliew were known amongst the ranks as being two of the most useless warriors in the entire legion. Despite giving themselves the nicknames "Easy Death" and "Impossible Power" respectively, the two of them have hardly ever shown any of it. Both of the demons disrespected the others and were hated by many, but as it turned out, they were also both the sons of the two great demon generals there, and the reports of their deaths would mean a well-deserving hard-working demon would have to feel their wraith for suspectedly threatening their bloodline. Therefore, B'Tan and Gr'Cho took full advantage of that and instead impressed their proud fathers with their false leadership skills and abilities, despite not even surpassing the demons representative rank of 'private'.
The both of them knew how to use a blade; common knowledge amongst the demon ranks, of course. Any demon could use a blade and had the guts to kill mercilessly and without hesitation. They were no different, but the opportunities in which they were to kill were either scarce or avoided by them either being in the back of the ranks, or away from the battlefield altogether. They've killed a few targets, but obviously not enough to prove their true worth. It annoyed the rest that they haven't had to serve and sacrifice themselves during the battle and earn their birth-right of born demon leaders. Their fathers, B'Toralyhtan and Gr'Chuenaht, were mostly kept in the dark about their sons laziness, as they were too proud and respected to accept the sorry truth told by any other tongue, so the ranks merely lived with it. Two lazy demons, nothing more.
Better then having 2 spies, anyways.
B'Tan and Gr'Cho on this particular rainy day were seeking shelter within the nearby Zamorak temple. Originally formed as a hidden chapel for the hidden monks of ZMI, the chapel consisted merely of a few rusty suits of armor, an altar, and just enough torches to add a glimmer to a dragon's eye. The rafters holding the pointed roof up were exposed, as usual in a chapel, but at least a chandelier or a paint job of some kind would have made them look more natural and intended to be shown, to which there sadly was none. There weren't any real decorations to go around either, and the majority of the chapel's interior design was composed of concrete, raw wood, and metal nails. A sad sight and reality for any monk to call themselves Zamorakian in, but the faith itself existed there, so it was accepted.
Although it was a poor excuse for a chapel, it was dry, and so B'Tan and Gr'Cho at least took advantage of that. The others were being briefed out in the open, and since they had their reputation stuck to them worse than magic tree blisters, they went ahead and abandoned the group by tiptoe. Their excuse would be that they were exploring for any signs of life or provisions as ordered by some demonic sergeant that didn't even exist. Only used twice, and still fresh. The place just seemed to invite them in anyways, as though there was a presence within just asking for them to have at it, so who were they to disappoint?
Gr'Cho's spiky claws slowly pushed open the large door to the main room, revealing his impressively well-kept visage behind the wooden barrier. His inky-blue skin hardly shone at all from the dimmed glow of spent torches about the room, but his shining green eyes pierced the darkness just fine enough to see it was deserted enough for their entrance. He had to crawl on all fours to even pass his bulky frame through the small door, but even before his pointed tail passed the frame, B'Tan was already beginning his entrance, clawing his burnt-red hide in out of savage curiosity.
"There's notin' here, fool." Gr'Cho growled after taking a wild claw to the tail.
"Yeah, tha'ss what you ssay." B'Tan aggressively shot back.
The roof was comparatively high, so the both of them stood up easily; their tall, curly horns not even close to grazing the ceiling. There was the altar, its dedication to Zamorak proven by red draped cloth and golden symbol atop. A book of foul preachings lay open and abandoned like the rest, and beside it sat a large jug and a pair of goblets housing some red liquid one would only bravely identify as wine.
"Nuffin t' eat here." B'Tan complained.
"Ain't my fault." Gr'Cho replied, "I too was hopin' fer some snacks."
The two lumbered lazily past the 9 suits of armor positioned carefully around the room to give it a false impression of usage. Each one held its own distinct weapon, ranging from the mighty two-handed sword to the hastily hammered throwing axe. They stood and stared, immobile and uncaring, at the two intruders as they walked past, before being reunited with the vision of the wall and each other.
"Tha'ss Zamorak'ss altar." B'Tan said, pointing an ugly misshapen claw.
"Ya think?" Gr'Cho barked.
It wasn't the altar, though, that B'Tan was pointing at. Anyone would have easily noticed the altar sitting in the next-to-empty room enough for common sense to prevent anyone from actually having to point at it. No, what B'Tan had more in his sights were the goblets sitting on top. Perhaps he was at first intrigued by the luster of its golden trim or the carefully carved runic symbols engraved in the sides, for he had stared at it for a moment before getting Gr'Cho's attention. However, craving overcame curiosity, and he immediately switched to the common sense that if there were goblets, there was drink as well.
B'Tan walked up to the altar and peered into the jug. Sure enough, it contained what he was looking for.
"Hey, think Zamorak'd mind we ssample a lil' of hiss wine?" B'Tan asked, taking a grip upon the jug.
"Nah, I've never seen the guy drink. Don't even think he likes the stuff." Gr'Cho shrugged, approaching the altar.
Both goblets were generously filled, and a toast was announced for good health and the resolve of leading Zamorak's forces to a greater cause then any demon general in existence.
"Don't think he'd mind we just sample a lil', anyway." Gr'Cho said.
They saluted, and they drank.
"Don't think he's mind we have jusst a bit more." B'Tan observed.
They had seconds.
"Come now, you had more than I did that time!"
And thirds.
"Would be rude to present Lord Zamorak with half a jug of wine ..."
One after the other, they downed the jug. Despite being merely a jug of wine, both demons took the effects of the liquor as though they each drank a full barrel. They laughed. They sang.
And then they started talking.
"Can y' believe we're fine'ly gonna get thiss world for oursselvess?" B'Tan asked between laughs.
"Yeah, totally! No more of this Saradomin, no more of this Guthix, however y'pronounce his name; just us, our buds, and Lord Zamorak." Gr'Cho answered.
"He sseemss like a cool God to be a part of, doessn' he?"
"No kiddin'. I'd take him over Them any day. Least he gives us praise."
"Careful what you ssay, brether. They might be listnin'."
"Come on! Ye serious? You think Zamorak would bring Them into this world with us? THEM? He'd have competition! He don't like that, this I know!"
"Yer right. What'm I ssayin'? There'ss no way he'ss bring Them here. Total wasste."
"I'd drink te' that, but all the wine's gone."
"No worriess. Once we join oursselves with the easst, we can ssnag some more from there. I hear that city they call Canifiss got ssome mighty good sstuff."
"That'll be great- hey, y'know, I jus' got a great idea."
"What iss it?"
"This's our first time bein' on this world. We're the sons of generals, ain't we? Wha'do ye say we get some servants from the east and make us our own army to command?"
"Yeah! We'd totally deal ssome death! Great idea! Hey, le'ss get a bunch a' thosse magic usserss t' make our armies invincible or ssomethin'. Y'think they have thosse kinda magicss here?"
"We'll teach 'em! We'll teach 'em those magics! OUR magics! This way they'll respect us more! Greater respect, greater army! Can't go wrong!"
"Yess! Excellent! Perfect! Gloriouss! It'll be the most perfect plan!"
Both demons danced around the altar, none to observe them but the 8 suits of armor surrounding the room. They didn't care that the demons were dancing. They didn't care that they had come from another dimension. They didn't care they were going to get reinforcements and overwhelm the entire world.
They didn't even care that one of their own number was suddenly missing.
"Hey, Gr'Cho, what say we git back to our squad b'fore they come lookin' fer us?" B'Tan asked, "I don' wanna have to use that excuse again."
Gr'Cho intended to answer that they should indeed do so, for there was the possibility that their excuse wouldn't work and that they would be exposed to their fathers as being what they really were to their shame. Their fathers would have scolded them, and made them work twice as hard as the rest, while they looked on and laughed at their misfortune. Such hard work would have been intolerable by the both of them, and they therefore would be abandoned as being useless in the eyes of Zamorak, leaving them bare and exposed to the world's mercy. Yes, that would have been a nightmare, and so he wanted to agree with B'Tan and return to their squad for further orders.
But a peculiar circumstance prevented that. Such a circumstance, unexpected altogether, had instead made him want to say that a weapon; a spear of some strange material covered in his own blood had just appeared out of his neck from behind, and that it was causing him immense amounts of pain. However, because this so-called spear had forced a large hole through the jugular of the demon's neck, the windpipe leading to his voice box in which to actually make the statement had been severed, so the demon instead said nothing and slowly dropped to its knees.
B'Tan, seeing his comrade fall to this sudden situation, attempted to make a grab for his own blade to have at the spear and save his brether, but because of the sudden appearance of a crystalline blade through his own heart, all motor functions throughout the body ceased and he too dropped to his knees.
Side by side, both demons fell together, face first, on the concrete floor. The spear and the sword, satisfied with their work at severing the life-force from the demons themselves, had just as quickly removed themselves as they appeared, and the demons hit the ground with a loud sickening crack. A pool of demon blood joined together between them, and their life stories, their past, their future, and their very existence was no more. Instead, all that remained was the ninth suit of armor, poised for combat, and the elf who had revealed himself by jumping down from his hiding place within the rafters.
The elf kicked the creatures who, just a minute ago, had been singing and dancing so merrily, and nodded with the satisfaction that this would never happen between the two of them again. Then he approached the altar, spat at the symbol, and curiously and gingerly raised the jug as though it was covered in a thick smelly poison.
"Truth potion, Alex 43?" he asked.
"Bragging potion, Karl 67." Alex replied, "It works much better."
Karl shrugged, setting the jug back on the altar.
"What's the difference?" he asked.
Alex took a deep breath.
"A truth potion works by stemming a chemical reaction inside the brain making it unable to cope with the stresses of imagination to emerge itself within a false sense of reality and thereby only allow the user of the mind to recognize and blurt out the truth. However, with an ordinary truth potion, one can still maintain silence and security by keeping the mouth and mind shut from all inquiry. However, with the combined effects of liquor and a couple of relaxant herbs, one undergoes that inability to tell lies along with the inability to keep the mouth shut due to the mind's artificial sense of security in which it-"
Karl shot Alex a look that even made Gia, who was coming up from behind and couldn't even see his face, flinch.
"A patrol just passed us." Gia reported, his own visage soaked from peering outside in the rain, "Now would be the best time to make for the bank and closer to the castle."
"Good idea. Thanks, Gia." Alex agreed, taking his spear in hand and leaping over the two bodies.
"We'd better hurry now." Karl advised, kicking the bodies again for sport, "Once they find these two, they'll actually start searching for us. Such is a result of the slaying of sons of demon generals, of course."
There was no way they couldn't agree. Once again, the trio dashed back out in the rain, and a 5-minute time interval found them crouched behind what used to be the Varrock museum.
"Hey, Alex," Karl asked, "Who were they referring to as 'they'?"
"I dunno. Other Gods, I'm sure." Alex replied, "After all, these are summoned demons. They had to come from somewhere."
"But where?" asked Karl.
"Look, that's why I even used the bragging potion on the wine and luring the two here in the first place, to learn these things." Alex retorted in a hushed voice, "Unfortunately, it didn't get 'that' much out, but at least we've confirmed a few things."
"Like what?" asked Karl.
Alex looked on ahead towards another group of demons. His visor pressed down from the top a bit, as though it was squinting. The patrol was approaching, but it was unwatched. They would have to become targets.
"We know they're from another world." he said, "And if they can come to this world ..."
He nodded. They were off and sprinting.
"Then we can go there." he finished, planting his spear in another demon's neck. The patrol was dead before one of them could even grip a blade.
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