Andromalia

The midday activities of your court never cease, even with a guest in attendance. A small kingdom has little room or time for grandeur, so your guest will have to make due with pages scurrying back and forth in the back of your meeting. She approaches your throne, your guards eyeing her demonic features warily.

"Your Highness. We greet you warmly, in hope of peace between our lands."

She doesn't bow, and simply stands in repose, in the confident stance of a fellow monarch. A confusing development, since she wasn't announced as a queen nor did you expect to meet one today. She preens with one of her horns, tail lazily waving back and forth as she continues to address you.

"Our lands have come into terrible strife lately, your Highness. Truly a low development for us both. But we live in an enlightened age, and diplomacy will prevail, even if both courts must make compromises."

One of your advisors treads up to your throne and whispers in your ear. Apparently your guest occupies an abandoned manor on the outskirts of the kingdom, and she's here to protest her fine for attempting to extract a border toll.

The bounty seemed suspiciously low for a demon-hunting job, but it started to make a bit more sense once you actually got within sight of the building. Whatever's hiding out in this moldering old manor, it's no archfiend, whatever it might claim to the contrary. The banners half-heartedly draped in the windows are already moldering, and you could easily trace the path to the manor from the road by the trail of rabbit traps.

A man sitting by the door in half a set of leather armor looks up with surprise and recognition at your approach. He doesn't shout a warning, in fact he actively opens the door and waves you inside.

"Thank god somebody finally came. C'mon, get us out of this stupid contract."

The main hall of the old manor is disorganized and yet strangely empty, as if they had to burn most of the furniture for warmth. As you step inside, the guard shuts the door behind you. A mocking, forced-sounding laugh resounds around the chamber. A figure in a tattered red cape appears at the top of the stairs, her wings flapping uselessly as she struggles to put on a boot.

"So nice of thee to come, peon!" she cries, hopping on one foot. "'Tis a pleasure for the great queen Andromalia to welcome thee! Shall we entertain thee with the hospitality of mine house? Or wouldst thou prefer to flee, while the offer is still generously presented to thee?"

With an adjustment of your robes, and a quick rearrangement of the sigils on your magic mirror, you step through the surface and into a room miles away. It takes a lot to draw the interest of a great wizard, and the scene you enter is the finale to a saga you've found most interesting indeed.

"Cowards! Cowards, all! Thine great queen orders thee to stand and fight!"

You stand in a crumbling stone room, the topmost keep of some ruined old tower, its only door barricaded by rotten furniture. The last stand of the "great demon queen" Andromalia, whose fumbling, spiraling attempt at conquest you've watched attentively ever since you felt her accidental summoning all those months ago. The would-be monarch herself stands with her back to you, unaware of your entrance or indeed your existence as she shouts through an open window at what remains of her army, beset by the ardent forces of the church.

"How dare thee surrender! 'Tis no surrender from the legions of the great Andromalia! No salvation! Thine promised wealth as well as thy soul will be forfeit if you fail to stop them! Andromalia omnia regit! Remember thine oath!" She pauses in her tirade, and visibly shudders as the religious chanting outside grows louder.* "Oh by the dark lord, they're not even slowing down..."

Lone travelers on the open road are not an unusual sight, but always one worth watching warily. A solitary walker might be anything from a mere vagrant to a bandit who watches you with hungry eyes. But as you begin to overtake the red-haired woman on this dusty trail, you realize that she's something else entirely.

She clutches a tattered cloak around her shoulders, but it cannot disguise the horns on her head or the tail swishing glumly between her legs. She turns curiously as your horse trots up behind her, and gives you an assessing look as you stop.

"What ho. Come to gawk at displaced royalty, peasant?"

You're slightly taken aback. With another glance, you realize that she clutches the remnants of a crown in her hand, made of cardboard. She smiles, and raises it to her forehead.

"Ah, comprehension dawns. Yes, 'tis a queen that shares thy path. Our armies might have left for other work, our castle lost- well, mortgaged- but a queen we remain. Perhaps we raise your curiosity?" Her eyes begin to sparkle, and she clutches her fist in passion, further crumpling the crown. "Yes, we can see it now! Upon thy shoulders we shall build a new empire! And from thy purse we shall have breakfast!"