Lord of the Second
Archduke of Dis, Unseen One, Prince of Shades, Great Caesar of the Black Iron Prison
Aliases: Dis, Ghede, Donn
AoC: Cities, Civilizations, Walls, Boundaries, Bondage, Temptation, Pain
Allies: Mephistopheles, Old Reg, the Daghda
Rivals: Belial, Beelzebub, Bel
Subordinates: The Iron Dukes: Saminga, Bitru, Bouge, Merodezch, Lilis, Biffant, Titivilus, Arioch, Alocer, Proserpina, the enforcers of Dis
a child in the darkThe fiend known as the Donn was a warlord of Agas, Lord of the Evil Eye and general of the armies of Dis. The Donn, he of iron hooves and helm, did well for his master until he was cast into the Styx by the bony tentacles and steely mandibles of an Ancient.
Amnesiac, lost, the former warrior came to a hut in the center of a great ring of mountains, in which dwelled a hag-like creature who was both one and three.
"A lost daevaling," she murmured, "Or should I say baatezu? And what brings you here so far from your fellows?"
"I don't know," rasped the Donn. "I have no memories."
"No memories! How could such a thing happen? Perhaps enemies have stolen them from you?" the hag-thing suggested.
The Donn shuddered. "That must be it," he admitted.
"Poor thing," the hag clucked. "And how will you protect yourself? With that iron helm?"
The Donn's hands went to his helmet protectively.
"But it didn't protect you in the past, did it, precious? Perhaps you need two helms."
The Donn looked at his hostess dubiously.
The elderly creature pointed at a squirming chitonous animal underneath a rock. "The k'tron isn't harmed by hellhounds, by g'nurt, or by orogs. Not only is its armor hard, but maddening as well; entrancing its predators with its complexities."
She snapped her fingers, bringing the Donn back to his senses.
"Do you see?"
Today, Dispater is tall and sophisticated looking, dressed in a formal suit; he has two pit fiend horns, a thin tail and a hoof, but looks mostly human.
Dispater is one of the oldest of archdevilkind. It seemed as if one of the pit fiends had set up shop Hell's second circle and created a thriving city and mercantile empire before pit fiends had even been created.
Dis is a terrifying place filled with gloomy towers and iron walls as hot as death.
Dispater's tribe buys and sells treasure and souls. Unlike Mammon's rhyming servants, the inhabitants of Dis feel no need to hoard their winnings: their only goal is status for its own sake.
Dispater, Lord of Iron specializes in the concepts of boundaries and borders, corrupting the segregated inhabitants of cities especially, driving his law deep in their hearts and watching it spread, hopefully dragging the whole burg into his layer.
Dispater allies himself with his fellow sophisticates Mammon and Mephistopheles, and they've been known to share a drink from time to time.
Dispater prefers rum, mixed with something that once screamed.
His servants include Baron Saminga, the baatezu lord of Undeath, and Arioch, the Avenger of Dis.
The emnity between Dispater and Beelzebub is not only racial -- Dispater is a native of Baator, while Beelzebub was once an archon and therefore, in the mind of the Prince of Shades, less fit to rule -- but philosophical. Beelzebub values perfection more than anything, while Dispater favors a messier and more complex form of order, where walls are more important than what lies between. The city of Malagard the Slug Archduke built is a masterpiece of straight lines and ideal ergonamic design, while sprawling Dis has no apparent rhyme or reason, with buildings appearing and disappearing seemingly at random. The fact is, Dispater uses his architecture like a complex shifting puzzle to manipulate and control its inhabitants without their even being fully aware of it, while Baalzebul wants his populace to act as an unchanging whole. He can't stand what he sees as Dispater's willful embrace of the flawed and profane.
The priests of the Blind One get their spells from the Daghda, the chief of the Celtic gods. It seems a bargain was made between the two long ago during a time when the Celtic pantheon risked being absorbed into that of the Romans in Arcadia. Dispater's powers ensured that the Celts would never be imprisoned by cities or their builders. In exchange, the Daghda grants spells to Dispater's priests and delivers the Horned King a periodic tithe of Celtic souls.
Lugh stood in Seven-Hills, the gatetown to Baator, and chanted:
"Hai! Father Dis! Unseen One! Prince of Shades! Master of Cities! Hear the voice of your son! Father Dis! First of the horned kings of the netherworld! Harken!"
There was a rumble in the depths of the land and a sudden metallic reek. The buildings of Seven-Hills began to twist and fold together. Higher they grew, amid the screams of the tortured inhabitants within.
The figure of the City eyed the Bright God Lugh through eyes that were window slits.
"I hear," it rumbled. "What is your desire?"
"Father Dis!" cried Lugh. "Across the worlds the Romans conquer and the Gauls die. Across the worlds cities are built where once there were plains and forests. Across the worlds the shrines of the Celts are being reconcencrated in the name of the gods of Rome! he free tribes are ensnared by the Black Iron Prison of Empire. They are yours, are they not?"
Dispater's windows narrowed further. "At present, the gods of Rome are their own," it admitted, "but their expansion would give me added strength."
Lugh said, "Father Dis! Master of Iron! We need your ancient wisdom. Only you can save us! Protect us from the Romans, Rich One, and we will pay you back in kind. As long as Tir na nOg is free, we grant you tithe of Celtic souls equal to those the Romans might have given you. We will grant your priests miracles in place of those the Romans may have given them. We offer you security in place of doubt, a sure thing!"
Dispater's face appeared to consider for a moment, and then with a sound like the rending of iron bars a scarlet figure appeared, with hooves, tail and a trumpet.
"I am Titivulus," the figure said as it opproached. "If you would sign here, we can do business. With us on your side, there will always be Celts."
The weight of the awful pact was so great that it resounded like a vast drum, catching the city of Seven-Hills and dragging it down into the cauldron that was the gate between Baator and the Land in that age.
The power of Dispater spread across the Land, reaching the realm of Samhain in Tir na nOg. The Iron Dukes built fortresses there, and bred tieflings and built walls in an attempt to carry off more of the plane. Across the worlds, the Celts thrived, building cities and defending themselves with elegant cruelty.
The Tuatha de Danaan held a council to decide what could be done. With reluctance, they went outside their family for help once again, this time speaking to the Olympians and the Aesir, who were also threatened by the Romans. A daring plan was hatched:
A completely artificial pantheon would be created, which would drive worship away from Dispater and toward themselves. Hades, Orcus, Zeus and Thor, among others, would masquerade as new gods and servitor entities. Dispater's power and that of the Romans would dwindle and the Celts would be redeemed.
Surprisingly, it worked. For the time, Dispater had been outwitted, though the Celts were still bound to honor the tithe and the rest of the agreement. Still, it wasn't till the death of Orcus that Dispater's power began to wax once more.