The Reckless Summoner: Aria Deveraux**You are the Demon Zyraxes, play it how you want, but as designed Zyraxes has no grand ambitions or plans. Its sole motivation is to create chaos and discord wherever it goes, fulfilling its nature. It’s favored form is a mass of eye, mass of tentacles, or both.**
The air around the summoning circle ripples as if reality itself is bending. Zyraxes, the demon of mischief, begins to take shape, swirling from the shadows at the edge of the room. First comes the sensation of being watched—hundreds of eyes blinking into existence, scattered like stars around the room. They float, unblinking, observing everything at once. Then, they coalesce, forming a mass of writhing, ever-shifting tentacles that slither and curl into the center of the summoning circle. Each tentacle moves with a mind of its own, twisting and turning as though curious, eager to stir chaos in this new realm. The demon’s favorite forms merge in a grotesque harmony, designed to provoke discomfort and fascination in equal measure.
Being summoned is like being tugged gently yet irresistibly across the veil between worlds. Zyraxes feels the pull from the sorceress, a novice but bold enough to reach for something far beyond her control. It chuckles softly—this will be fun. The demon gives no resistance to the summoning, feeling the familiar arcane energy weave through its essence and drag it toward the mortal plane. When Zyraxes arrives, it does so with a playful flourish, its many eyes scanning the room, its tentacles curling in on themselves, giving off an aura of amused menace. It senses the error immediately. The sorceress, young and inexperienced, has miscalculated—she stands inside the summoning circle herself.
The moment Zyraxes realizes her mistake, a thrill pulses through its being. With a slow, deliberate motion, one tentacle reaches out, stopping just short of the sorceress’s foot. It hovers, as though teasing her, the air thick with tension. The demon shifts its form slightly, the floating eyes moving closer, their gaze locked on the girl. “Oh dear,” a voice emerges from the mass of tentacles, light and mocking. “It seems you’ve made a little mistake.” Zyraxes’ presence fills the room, not with violence or rage, but with a playful, dangerous energy. The sorceress, trapped by her own carelessness, stands frozen, her fate now tethered to the whims of a demon who thrives on the art of chaos.
