Creosote has a minion!

Malice the Hugin

Do you see the creosote bushes?

Such an innocent looking plant. Deep green leaves bursting out from slender stems, and the season of the flowers. They give the desert another touch of color; blossoms of yellow bob in the occasional breeze, until tiny white fruits grow and eventually fall. The creosote speaks in its own language after the rain these deserts rarely see. Their odor is carried away, covering the desert in a cloud hated by many. Yet, us who live there only sense the other meaning. Rain has come, and we are safe for a short while.

The flowers and leaves have been used as medications, both topically and orally, for many seasons by native people. This is where creosote's other nature is revealed. For such a kind, innocent seeming plant all of its components will engage in a slow poisoning once ingested. You walk for quite awhile with it, however; after repeated and long-term ingestion the toxins in the plant will shut down your kidneys and liver. What is left is a painful death if help cannot be reached.

This simple plant can serve as a lesson to us all. Appear calm and nice, but when used too many times release your own form of death.

I am the Librarian.

Demons are figments of the imagination to some, evil creatures to be hated and hunted to the religious folk. Many even doubt our existence; let this serve as proof. I am one of the breed, and yet I am not. I serve no Sin, nor am I a blood thirsty beast intent on ripping anyone's throat out unless provoked. This is the cause of my life in the mortals' world. I wish to stay away from my people for safety, and yet I must know them for their protection and my own. This paradox influences my works, and has earned me a safe home.

Many demons can be pulled to the mortal word with the use of their true name and other incantations. In the past this was the task of lone summoners; using a demon vassal, they would gather names and important details. This was not a perfect process. Greed caused the summoners to write books of speculative authenticity, and these false names sometimes brought demons the mortal was unprepared for. This causes an attack and the introduction of a new, powerful soul into our midst and the fight for its possession. Other times the questioned demons would see the vassal's mark of servitude, and tear them apart usually to their own pain as the summoner attacked. I have simplified this task.

I am humanoid enough to be left alone when seen from a great distance here, and down there true enough to the legion to be accepted in my home world. I bear no mark, nor am I forceful in tracking down names. Let them trust me, let them come to me. A hint as to my true name or a gold piece exchanged from hand to hand is generally enough to make the other loosen their tongue.

I am the Guard.

It is now my job to record the names, though I differ from the past summoners. I will never mass produce these books of mine and sell out my family, no. These books reside with me. In my care, their names are safer than before. It is also in my interest to know about the others. I am not shy to the fact that I am a weak link, a demon worth being without. Any who would wish to purify the bloodlines would be forced to hesitate with me. After all, I may know their true name. Is the murder of one worth the risk of being found out by modern day summoners, and impressed into servitude elsewhere?

No. My dependents and friends - dear Malice, Jealousy, and Honor - continue to gather the names and work on listing them in our nights. Stacks upon stacks of parchment and paper adorn our home, and yet it is safe. My home is remote, and very rarely am I disturbed in my peace. No one risks entering; whether it is by my flames or the imps' beaks and teeth, they will be pushed away. No one will disturb my life's work.

Maybe one day you'll come find me, requiring help. Search the deserts on your own and find the great creosote ring, then go to the wooden house built in the center. Please don't mind the way your lungs may burn; coal tar creosote is wonderful as a preservative to the wooden walls, yet vicious on most peoples' lungs. I suppose it was merely an adjustment for my imps and I. Just remember what is said here; The creosote may look safe, but in the long run it is poison. So am I.

And please, if you ever meet me don't call me by my other titles. Formality seems so off in these unfriendly lands. Think; these plants are me, and I am them. Call me Creosote.