Pantacosm: An Imps Tale

Pantacosm is a city on the Edge. The edge of what no one can quite say, though reality would be a good start. The microworld floated on the edge of the known planes like a drop of water clinging to a leaf after a brief rain. Its inhabitants were the lost, exiled (both self imposed and unwilling), the out of place, and the strange. There were your standard fair of the Cognizana species, Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and the like, the more exotic goblins, merfolk and some beast peoples, but even these mortals were barely a third of the city's inhabitants.
Greater beings, Devils and Demons, Angels and Jinn, Twifolk and all sorts of monsters lived, worked and thrived in Pantacosm. A homeland to none, but a home to all who passed its gates.

It was night in Pantacosm, though this wasn't strictly true. There was no natural weather in this plane, nothing to differentiate time or any kind of change. As such the Municipal council usually put into their employ some powerful being to bring light and to steward some kind of moon. The current "Sun" was a celestial named Wolnliel, a former servant of Sultanis. Even the fiendish residents had to admit that his sun was very even temperature and pleasant color. It was under the false shade of night that a humanoid creature skulked along an alley in part of town known as Little Pandemonium. It stood about six inches tall and was was covered in dull spines colored red, though this changed to a pale pink at the spines' points. A pair of small wings were on its back and a almost scorpion like tail dragged behind it. Two short horns adorned its forehead above eyes like embers. Over its shoulder was a messenger bag sized for it, with a faded logo.
As it creeped along, a scratching sound came from above him as a horrific creature bounded down the wall from a nearby roof top. It was a minor devil with the body of a tomcat, but a python like snake sprouting from where the head should be.
It hissed at the small creature "Little impssss shouldn't be walking alone at night."
Before it could even lunge the imp with the messenger bag dashed forward and then slide beneath its belly. This caused the longnecked devil to tangle itself as it tried to catch its spiney prey. The imp had no time to appreciate his handy work as he continued his sprint around the corner and without much time to think jumped down a storm grate. He was able to use his wings to slow his fall, but still fell harder than he wished. As he stood up and dusted himself off and looked up at the sky through the grate. "No respect for the honest working stiff." He spat.
Normally he wouldn't run messages at night, too risky for someone small like him. Even here in the sewer he had to be wary of the rats. In the material plane, the mere presence of a fiend, even a small one, would send most animals running scared. Rats in Pantacosm were different. Something about the natural mutation from the combined magical energies of so many different kinds of powerful beings. These rats didn't fear much that was their size, even going after larger creatures like dogs and cats. Aside from rats there wasn't else much to worry about down here. It was dry, and the imp didn't worry about any sudden rains. The naiads charged with rainmaking had been mired in a labor dispute with the town council for several weeks now. A few fiends had been contracted in the mean time, but all they could summon up was a rain of amphibians and rodentia.
The risks tonight though were worth it, urgent messages meant a pretty large bonus' and even though it included dodging beasts of all kind. His boss had seemed particularly pleased to be giving him the job. Maybe things would finally be turning around for him, finally he would be able to live, not just scrap by. He wandered along the dry sewer until he found a ladder and a sign indicating the location. The manhole lead up to an intersection of Dis Street and Scarlet Lane. Not exactly where he wanted to be, but fairly close. He carefully climbed his way up the ladder and then squeezed under the rusted disc of metal, and started up Dis Street.
Nothing much of consequence happened, and the imp arrived at Bolgia Plaza. He was now in the posher part of Little Pandemonium, where there was less risk of being scarfed up by some rogue devil. He quickly scanned the shops around the edge and found what he was looking for. Sandwiched between a Dress Shop and a Book Store was narrow storefront with a sign that read "Sinjin Notary and Contracts."
Doors were a difficulty for small creatures, so after knocking and waiting, the Imp jumped up and squeezed through the letter box. The priority was delivery, and he wasn't going to wait too long in the dark empty market square. He pushed through and landed on his feet in an empty front office. Up a hallway that lead from this room he saw light spilling out of a slightly ajar door.
Making sure he looked presentable the imp entered the lamp lit room. Sitting behind a writing desk reading and making marks in a large leger was a mostly human looking woman, probably in her late middle age with black hair streaked with silver. It was tied back revealing a forehead with two prominent, but not ostentatious, red horns with a slight upward curve, each about half a foot in length. Her skin was dark and ruddy, though in the lamplight it was difficult to tell. The imp scampered up the side of the desk and presented himself to the scrivener.
She noticed the imp, and her face wasn't surprised, more amused. She lowered her spectacles to look at the intruder. The imp bowed and spoke. His voice was clear, though slightly squeakier than was tolerable for long times. His words were spoken as if he had said them a thousand times, and no thought was needed any longer. "Khevinevel Bilinderbor Xisafasix, of P&D Immediate Courier Service, with a private message to be delivered to Lamez T' Sinjin of Sinjin and Associates, 27 Bolgia Plaza."
"I am she." Said the Sinjin.
"The message has been prepaid, are you prepared to receive the message?" Khevinevel asked.
"Yes then," Sinjin replied nodding.
Khevinevel reached into his bag and withdrew a small scroll. He unfurled the scroll and then pulled out a stamp, and applied it to a stamp mark already present on the parchment. The stamp on the paper faded, and the paper began to shimmer and grow until it was full size. Sinjin picked up the parchment and began to read it, mumbling as she did so.
"To the office of...transerfer of contract... cost to be paid as per standard writer."
As she read Khevinevel saw her chuckle, and then laugh out loud. "Do you know what this is?" She asked him.
The imp shook his head.
"Its a document transfering your contract to my firm's holding. They had you deliver your own termination notice." She laughed again.
He felt his heart drop. "They-They can't let me go, I have a contract!" He exclaimed.
"Yes you do, and now the contract is with me," Sinjin replied calmly.
"What for!" Said Khevinevel, still in shock.
"Reason for your transfer? It doesn't say, you know how petty devils can be. Anyway, I don't need an imp right now, but I have several clients who would love to have your contract." She opened a drawer on the desk and pulled out a small leatherbound book and opened it to a bookmarked place. "I don't suppose you'd want to work at Therma Sento, the Spa over in Paradis, Its run by a very fun Demon and Angel couple?"
Khevinevel still processing mumbled "I don't think so, I'm not so good around water."
"Fair enough, do you have any experience as a Familiar?" She asked flipping a page.
"Not really, mostly I've worked as a messanger, general errand imp."
“Well, it would put you on the Material Plane, lots of travel, a chance to see the world.” Sinjin continued. "You would be working for a Jinn, the one who runs the museum.”
“I suppose I could.” Khevinevel responded. Even in Sheol, the Hell of Devils, he had been a messanger, created for a middling devil who had got themselves killed in a skirmish with some demons. Before being snatched up himself he had slipped a bribe to a border guard and fled the lower planes entirely, and ended up in Pantacosm about a decade ago, where he had signed onto a 100 year and one day contract in exchange for a place to stay. His greatest fear was being sent back to the lower planes, and so losing his job was something of an nightmare. Working for a jinn was not ideal, they were unpredictable like Demons, but at least not so obviously evil. Not wanting any insecurity, Khevinevel made a decision. “Yes, I can do that.”
Sinjin nodded, “Excellent, I’ll write up the addendum to the contract, I’ll just need you to sign something in a moment.” She opened yet another drawer, pulled out a parchment, wrote a couple of lines on it, and then snapped her fingers, adding it on to the end of the other paper that Khevinevel had devlivered. She then turned it around and proffered an ink bottle. “Sign at the bottom.”
The Imp dipped his tail into the ink and signed in very poor script his full name. In his head suddenly popped the image of an address in town that he had never been to.
364 Ifrit Street. It appeared as a large ornate house in the style of somekind of desert temple, complete with a dome, and white bricks. A fountain featuring a few dancing naiads was in the front garden surrounded by a sand garden.
This was typical of magically binding contracts. He now knew exactly how to get to his destination, no matter how many times it happened though, it was still disorienting. “So that’s it then?” He asked Sinjin.
“Well yes, you are on a trial period, after which you can be transferred back to me or kept on. I’d probably cancel your residency contract and you’d be sent back to Sheol, so I’d make yourself useful, if I was you. By the way your new employer is named Malek.” Khevinevel nodded, and then made his exit.
Sinjin shook her head and chuckled. She had been trying to find someone to fill the Malek contract for a while now. As far as masters go, even by Pantacosm standards, Malek was odd. He was fascinated by the things of the Mortals and constantly schemed and worked to aquire rare and powerful items. His Museum was extremely cluttered and filled with all manner objects.
Khevinvel walked under the elaborate gate and passed the fountain. Light was beginning to break as Wolnliel carried the large orb of light into its morning position. The nervous imp knocked on the large imposing doors of the museum.
A loud voice came all around “WE ARE NOT ACCEPTING GUESTS AT THIS TIME, PLEASE INQUIRE AT A LATER DATE AND TIME.”
Khevinevel jumped at the sound and looked to find where it was coming from. After seeing no one, he spoke out “I’m not a guest, I’m the new Familiar from Sinjin’s”
“AH” the voice spoke again “THE INTERN, LET ME OPEN THE DOOR, FOLLOW THE SIGNS TO THE ARCHIVE, I AM THERE AT THE MOMENT” The voice stopped, and there was no sound except for the gurgling fountain, and then a boom as the impressive doors began to grind open.
The doors revealved a corridor flanked by tapestries and paintings of battle scenes and landscapes. This then lead to a large room under the dome. This large rooms was dominated by a large empty stand in the center, and had several passages leading off of it, the one opposite of the entrance was labled archives. Khevinevel marveled at the interior and then proceeded towards the archives.
The passage was blocked by a curtain that the imp was short enough to bend under. The room was immense and crowded, full of shelves filled with what could by politely called artifacts, and accurately called junk. Khevinevel heard a loud crash followed by cursing. He sprinted towards the sound.
A large man, not fat or particularly muscley, just big, was picking up a the pieces of a shattered clay item of some sort. He was so engrossed by the procedure that he did not notice Khevinevel approach.
The Imp coughed after a moment and the man looked up. He stood at his full height of seven feet and looked down with a big grin. He had brown skin, hair styled up, not for a certain look it seemed, but just to keep it clear of his face, and bright eyes with red irises. He was dressed in a neutral robe that was not cut to add or detract from his figure, simply to rest on his frame.
“So,” he boomed, “You’re the new one. Its about time that Sinjin sent someone over, its been too long since I put up the contract with that old Succubus. Still I suppose in this economy after all.” His voice was cheery and loud, even though he didn’t seem to be yelling or magically enhancing his voice.
Not knowing how to respond to that statement, Khevinevel ignored it. “I am Khevinevel Bilinderbor Xisafasix,” he paused and then added, “I’m an imp.”
“I can see that, I am Malek Uthman, and this...” He gestured proudly, “Is my museum. XXXX, Im hoping that you can help me expand my collection here. I’ve been in need of an agent to work with one of my collectors on the material plane. Do you have any experience working with mortals?” Malek asked, putting the pottery fragments on a workbench.
“Not really, at least not live mortals.”
“Well, I’m not in the soul corrupting business, its all purely material here, you just need to be able to help my collecter go about their work, and keep tabs on the items they gather."
"So I'm an accountant?"