For most mortals, the heat would have been unbearable and the humidity even more so. Yet the mortal-killer soared high above the ground, his bare chest leaving plenty of room for the massive black leather-and-bone that made up his dragon-like appendages. He landed smoothly - what was smoothly for him, of course - less than a thousand paces from the colossal gate to the stronghold.

No, the heat didn't bother Lord Bloodspawn at all. It was almost comforting, actually - like being back home in the Abyss. The next-to-lowest part of it, anyway. Most thought it was all icy black sand and freezing air, but the inner sanctums were where all heat was spawned in that universe.

And I shall return there one day, with an army so vast and unstoppable none shall stand against me. But for now, this is the world I must take. And take it I shall...

Lord Bloodspawn stalked into the grand fortress like a king, but quickly blended in. He wasn't a fool. Four thousand years of existence had made him anything but. He was half-demon, not an idiot. Which was also why he didn't dare carry any gold with him. Or any water. He had no need of either, really, but the former helped him get along with those outside the fortress. Those inside could be - 'handled' - by his contacts. Then, of course, there was the massive two-handed sword by his side. Few could lift it, and fewer could wield it. He was one of those 'fewer', of course.

The place was busier than usual, but it had nothing to do with the war on Arda's moon. This was good, though, for while it meant more cutthroats, it also meant more business - and that meant an easier time getting what he needed from the fort. He hated waiting to get what he needed, and his contacts were far more than very well aware of this. They'd learned by now not to irritate him. Death would be welcoming compared to what Lord Bloodspawn would do to them if they failed to appease him. He was better than a filthy 'god', and he should be treated like it.

The problem was that it was only their fear that kept them from massing in an army against him. He did not have nearly as much power here as he did in the Abyss. But that would be solved soon enough - he hoped. For the time being, though, he wanted to pick up as much information as possible - as usual. That was his regular task, one he performed each time he entered Angband, and he did it so well some thought he could read others' minds. But he couldn't. He merely picked up on the cues that he was given, the ones he'd spent four thousand years learning and a thousand years on Earth mastering.

There it was. The Devil's Pity. A terrible name, but Lord Bloodspawn could care less about the name. He was more interested in the service and the goods, and not necessarily those belonging to the tavern itself.