"Yes. Even those, I guess."
Ieridenth grinned broadly and sat on his desk. He leaned forward, his face near to Velentham's. "Don't you know that is such a coincidence that I could cloak us as those beasts to get us to the first portal. If you could use your magic..."
"And what happens when we get out, idiot? Where do you think we can go? I can't do what my father did, so-"
"What does that matter?" Ieridenth soothed. "If we can get to the Outlands, we can do wherever we want. Stay in Torch, or move to other places. Sigil is right up the spire-"
"I know," Velentham spat.
"Then, what would you have? Here, or freedom?"
Ieridenth smiled, a look of gracious magnanimity infiltrating his every feature. He held to the hope that the desire to be free of this place would course through Velentham's heart - and he wasn't disappointed. "So," Velentham said quietly, "You disguise us as insects and get us to the portals. I read them and unlock them, and lead us out to Torch?"
"Yes."
"So I do all the work."
Ieridenth felt the cold chill of hatred run through him for a moment before he smiled again. The arrogance of this one was unparalleled.
"Without me you would have no hope of finding the portals. I feel that is beyond equal in our escape."
"And what of your - men?"
"Those of simple minds must fend for themselves, right? After all, they are not Celestial as we are. Hell is not a proper home for our greatness. Wouldn't you agree?"
"And what if we must fight?"
"Then we must. Once in Torch, we can part ways, or, if you'd like, you could hire my services."
"What need would I possibly have of you?"
"One never knows when my special talents will come in handy."
