“Who are you?” demanded the balor Giggloshgrün. “I am nothing. I live to serve. My soul is yours to meld. My will is yours to twist. My essence is yours to shape. I exist to serve.” The soul repeated the mantra of the lowest denizens of Aeron's vault perfectly, and without the slightest hint of doubt. A wise soul, Giggloshgrün thought. He was simultaneously pleased that this soul would be easy to meld, and irritated that he would not be able to punish it for doubt or defiance. “Go, then. Practice the Mantra of Despair. We will have a mission for you in time, mortal.”
Laroth's pale manifestation remained impassive as the balor left him, but he inwardly smiled. The spell to cover his deception had worked. It had been a simple cantrip in all but scale. Ordinary magic didn't work in Aeron's Vault, as Laroth's research into the nature of the inferno had suggested, but one could sacrifice parts of their identity to create a semblance of it. Doing so was normally a hideous mistake, a trap set up intentionally to hasten the process of becoming a mindless servant of Hell, but Laroth simply saw to it that others made the sacrifice for him.
In life, he'd kept a decent amount of magical power tied directly to his soul. After his death, he had used it to bring out what little goodness remained in a particularly defiant soul. He convinced the soul of his own benevolence, and suggested that it sacrifice itself to help Laroth escape, spinning a wonderful tale of his beloved family, sick daughter, and so on. He'd expended more magic then he'd hoped to in order to assure the manipulation's success, but the soul eventually bought Laroth's story and sacrificed itself to him. Laroth had made a profit, with enough left over to forge an item out of another soul foolish enough to actively defy its superiors; a trinket to hide his identity and intentions from demons. Neither soul had been missed. The former was lost to the Infernal cause, a mindless servant of some demon lord. Every so often, while the trinket was activated, Laroth would hear the latter soul scream.
It was a careful act from then on. Taking out souls that wouldn't be missed, convincing them to empower Laroth while hiding his true intentions. Part of him suspected the gods of Hell were fully aware of what he was doing, and tolerated it for some reason of their own, but Laroth refused to accept the possibility. He preferred to imagine he was defying the gods on their own terms, especially as that was his long-term plan.
Laroth had obtained a few more trinkets since them. They were made of what Laroth had termed soul-dust, and none had a definite form, any more than he or the other damned souls did. He had ended up having to sacrifice all but that first, precious Trinket of Deception in order to avoid drawing suspicion, but his research suggested if he was to escape the Hells, he would need a weapon. He had tried making a knife out of a lesser soul, and leaving it for some defiant fool to pick up, but the weapon may well have been made of wet sand when used on even a lowly imp. Just as well Laroth had not attempted to use it himself.
The balor Giggloshgrün was too canny for Laroth's purposes, but he had his eyes on another, Magnashglug, a servant of Mammon who was more ambitious than wise. Laroth had an idea, a foolish, desperate idea, though, that might make Magnashglug serve him.
“O glorious Magnashglug, I, a lowly and nameless spirit, damned and unworthy of your time, seek your counsel.” Laroth applied a bit of spirit magic to keep Magnashglug from instantly smiting him. He had learned to do a lot of magic with very little power, considering how difficult it was to obtain; rather than attempt to pacify the beast outright, he merely put it in a comparatively good mood and added a hint of boredom. “Very well. If your words amuse me, I will spare you any agony. Speak.” “Magnashglug, Terror of the False City, Annihilator of Blasphemers and Pretenders, Destroyer of Dreams, Lord of the Legion of the Broken Coin... I seek to serve your infernal might. I presently am servant to Giggloshgrün the Hollow, Lord of the Fourth Host, Master of the Twisted Scepter and Corrupter of the Innocent. But compared to your awesome glory, Giggloshgrün is but a speck. To even gaze upon your glory is a far greater reward than he could ever provide.” Magnashglug nodded. Flattery was indeed his weakness. “And how would you serve me, pathetic one?”
This was it... Laroth risked everything. “I have deceived Giggloshgrün, as he is unworthy. I shall show you how I might serve.” Laroth dropped the Trinket of Deception, and Magnashglug stared at Laroth's true power.
Neither Magnashglug nor Laroth, however, noticed the greater presence, presently shapeless, but still there. Laroth had overestimated his abilities, but where he had failed, a far more powerful entity had provided.
And so Magnashglug heard Laroth's proposal, rather than crushing him and using his power for his own gain. Laroth said, “give me a fragment, a tiny fragment, of your own power, and I shall slay Giggloshgrün for you. Then, I shall trust you to protect me when I am sent to you for punishment.” Laroth knew Magnashglug would never hold up such a promise. Magnashglug would have noticed Laroth's own scheming, but again, his vision was obscured. “Very well,” Magnashglug said. And established a connection with Laroth.
Laroth then seized not onto the power offered, but Magnashglug's identity. This would normally have been fatal; Magnashglug would have been reduced to a wild beast, but annihilated Laroth nonetheless. But where the identity of Magnashglug had once been, Laroth placed his own, while wiping what had once been his own soul clean. And thus what was once Magnashglug became Laroth. Consciousness, Laroth had believed, is an illusion, a side-effect of identity and not connected to the soul. For a brief moment, the original Laroth slowly realized that his assumption was wrong; consciousness is indeed tied to the soul. He had little time to consider the implications, however, before his copy annihilated him.
The new Laroth had left behind a memory or two. His parents, the games he played with his brothers, indeed, much of his childhood, but nothing he held dear. Indeed, he didn't even notice them gone. Instead, he took from the identity-less thing that had once been him the power he'd collected, and the Trinket of Deception, before hurling it off for whatever the Infernals wanted to do with it.
Laroth noticed one miscalculation, however. He had hoped to pass as Magnashglug, but noticed he had wiped out the balor's memories along with its identity. He also noticed the balor's manifestation had changed... to resemble Laroth's own form in life. He attempted to reshape himself to something less obvious, but found it difficult; he had overestimated his own willpower. The best he managed was to clothe himself in the garb he'd had in life. In short, he'd made another miscalculation.
So when Giggloshgrün entered the room, he beheld a wiry but kind-looking old man, with laugh lines and a long, flowing beard, wearing a gray robe with blue runes sowed onto it. He looked like the sort of sweet old codger who would find himself in Sirona's heaven after fathering a large, happy family, but for two things. His eyes were jet-black pits, hinting this was not the man's true form, and Giggloshgrün could also see into the man's soul. And that was certainly far more appropriate for Hell. And those runes... despite himself, Giggloshgrün had to respect the audacity of such a villain wearing holy runes.
“You... how? Where is Magnashglug? You are no ordinary denizen of Hell, I can see that. Kneel, and I may have great use for you...” Laroth wasn't going to serve, however. He muttered a spell and conjured up a sphere containing the very essence of hope. “What do you intend to do with that, mortal?” But Laroth's form still retained much of Magnashglug's power; he jumped over Giggloshgrün and out into the main hall. There, he detonated the sphere and filled the numerous petitioners with newfound hope. Chaos ensued as they suddenly dreamed of turning upon their masters. They would be punished horribly, of course; the hope was wonderfully irrational, consuming them far beyond the point of sanity. This was hardly Laroth's problem, however. Laroth knew of the portal through which the most powerful petitioners exited, and fled through it.
He had, once again, miscalculated.
[As I said, due to lack of knowledge, a
lot of liberties are being taken here (please don't hurt me). I'm choosing to operate under the assumption that Laroth did go to Hell, specifically straight to Aeron's, for his evil acts, and as you guessed, pulled his way out. Giggloshgrün is taken from one of TheWyrm's stories, an entity who will later be known as Giggles. I realize that essentially destroying your own soul after re-writing somebody else's to contain your identity is a somewhat insane idea, but so is stepping into a
Star Trek transporter; they bring up similar paradoxes. And as you may have guessed, someone wants him out of Hell. I don't actually intend on answering the question of "who;" call it Virgil if you must. I vaguely suspect Kael has more details on Laroth then he's letting on, and I have completely and utterly gone against canon... like that's stopped me before.]