Good morrow,
Lathis, I intercepted a letter last eve from one of T'zavar's servants. I cannot verify its legitimacy for certain, but the local pyromancer's guild says that the interplanar distortion in the parchment is unmistakable. We might have just found the job opportunity you've been looking for. Also, call off the assassin as soon as possible--he can't kill a target that isn't here anymore.
Best regards,
Marius Gutslinger
. . . . . . .
Great Hell-Lord T'zavar,
I apologize for not contacting you for such a long time, but the mission you sent me on has demanded my full attention and time. Not to mention lots of carefully worded deception! I thought for certain I would be exposed, imprisoned, and disemboweled long before I would get the chance to write this letter. In fact, I initially wished you would have done that instead of sending me as a decoy T'zavar--the task you set before me seemed ludicrous, even by your standards. I say that not as an insult, of course! I only mention this to praise your ambition, I swear!
While I still cannot understand why you sent me in your place (I can only assume to send me to a quick and foolish death), I do hope that my absence has quelled the rumors going around about this mortal king trying to summon you to help him ascend to godhood. Usually when these things happen, it's to a much weaker, uglier, smellier, and--pardon my language--morally sound god or goddess with a buxom chest.
Now, in fairness, when I first emerged from the portal into King Raleth's palace, I took one look at him and realized why he wanted help from someone more powerful. The man is ganglier than my firstbred infant son was at two months after gestation, but still managed to attain a healthy set of jowls beneath his greying beard. Personally, I think he would do better to trim the end into a braided point as you order me to. And speaking of, I do apologize for botching that last haircut. I hope you have found a better servant in my absence.
I thought he would immediately recognize me as an imposter. After all, how could a wretched imp a third of your stature such as myself pose as a mighty lord of the hells? I didn't even bear the scepter that your portrait wields on the palace wall (and might I add, makes you look rather more handsome than reality). But this King Raleth, the flatulent fool, took one look at me and said, and I quote, "after all this time, we have misjudged your image, Hell-Lord T'zavar." Well, I forgave him. Fortunately, he ignored my voice crack at my first attempt in deepening my vocal tone. I told him it was because I was trying to control my anger towards him.
And the fool bowed at my feet! Begged for my forgiveness!
And so I shift my obedient tone in this parchment, Hell-Lord T'zavar, because I no longer need you. Raleth's blind arrogance and lust for power (not to mention for women far more attractive than he, many of whom I have sent to my quarters on the coldest of nights) has stripped him of hope. He now bends to my will, carries out my deeds, even makes my dinner, all in the false promise that it's part of a "contract" to ascend him to godhood. I will wait until he lies on death's bed, where he will smile in hopes that his passing will result in reincarnation as "Earth-Lord Pee'nyss." I told him that means "glory of eternal fire" in devil's tongue, even though I have not spoken a word of it since my arrival.
So, thank you, T'zavar. Thank you for setting me free. May your servants despise you as I have, may they suffer less whippings, and may they piss in the next bottle of imported wine you chug down like the heartless vermin you are. Who knows--maybe in a few centuries, you'll see my army come to your doorstep.
Ha! Kidding. I know you'll kick my ass if I ever come back. So I'll never come back!
Signed,
Overlord Helik OO*
*the ink marking beside the signature appears to be made by a small pair of testicles.