Velentham let out a scream of agony as the trident ripped through his thigh, spearing him to the ground. The huge Mezzoloth clicked its pinchers together in its humming, buzzing speech, which Velentham could not understand. "Hnnzzzz'nkot Hnzzz'k'nat!" He reached down, his hand shaking, gripping the trident weakly. His vision was white, though the Mezzoloth stood in black contrast. It was how he saw this world. It drained him.
There had been a battle between Velentham, left standing on a rock, gaping at his new home, and the myriad of Mezzoloths that flew to him on the attack. He had blasted a few of them into oblivion, his Celestial nature kicking in, slaying them until he began to wear down. Then, in the awkward gravity, Velentham lost his footing. He had rolled "down" a flat piece of land, unable to stop until he gripped a stone that jutted from the ground. Then... this.
He looked up, seeing the Mezzoloths flutter down from the skies like a plague of locusts, their thick, squat bodies buzzing as they hit the ground. "Mmmmzakt Nninnzzz'tok," said one. And another lifted his trident high, aiming for Velentham's skull. His end at the hands of insect demons.
Velentham closed his eyes and heard the sizzle of super heated air and the crackle of splitting carapaces. He opened his eyes again and saw a man of his height, cloaked heavily beneath a brown robe, shooting magic in beams so wide the insects burst, spreading green ropy goop on the rocky ground. "Get up," came the raspy voice. "Now."
Velentham rose and the man nodded. He grabbed Velentham by the arm as the Mezzoloths began to swarm in the skies for another attack. He tossed down a vial, smashing it to release a swirl of purple smoke. Velentham could barely hear the man chanting a spell over the din of hundreds of buzzing curses. He felt himself sucked through a vortex, and in the cool air of wherever he was, Velentham blacked out
