Archivist Devil

"They don't glare, threaten, or roar. They just look at you and you're suddenly extremely aware of every sordid detail of your life you had safely tucked away to ignore."

— A diabologist, on the subject of Archivist Devils

 

Lodgement

  A peculiar breed of devil, neither the fiery warriors of the frontlines nor the suave tempters who stroll the material plane in tailored suits. They are the keepers of records, the custodians of truths too heavy for even the most devious tongues. Hunched and robed in parchment-like skin that seems to ripple with infernal script, they are a living catalogue of every sould-bound contract ever forged.   Their eyes are luminous, molten gold orbs that shift and flicker, a reflection of the lives they've absorbed. To meet their gaze is to see one's own secrets etched into their pupils, a reminder that the Archivist knows the lies you've whispered into the dark.   They shuffle through the vaults of the Infernal Archive, an endless labryinth of obsidian shelves stacked with tomes bound in materials best left unnamed. Each book vibrates faintly, whispering the stories of the damned - their triumphs, their bargains, their inevitable betrayals. It is said that an Archivist's quill is not dipped in ink, but in the essence of its subject's despair, the scratch of its writing echoing like a scream across the void.  

Due Date

  Despite their ominous aura, Archivists are not cruel, at least not intentionally. They have no need for cruelty; they are creatures of purpose. Their duty is to record, to observe, and, when necessary, to retrieve. When a mortal or devil reneges on a contract, it is the Archivist who steps forward, their gnarled hands clutching a ledger that bears the weight of damnation. They do not shout or threaten. They merely open the book to the appropriate page, the ink of broken promises gleaming dark and accusatory. Few can argue with the immutable truth of their records.   Legends tell of desperate mortals who, upon realizing the folly of their bargains, have sought out an Archivist to plead their case. The Archivist listens with a stillness that is unnerving, then offers a simple choice: amend the terms, often at an even greater cost, or let the ledger stand.   Though rarely seen outside their libraries, Archivists are feared by even the mightiest of devils. For within their boundless tomes lies the potential to unmake alliances, to reveal truths better left buried, and to remind all who seek otherwise that nothing, not even eternity, escapes their pen.