The Seeping Sovereign, The Pitiless, The Desiccated

Planar tanar’ri lord of diplomacy, strategy [he/him] / CE

Lair: Abyss / Pazunia / Shullen-Gat & Chasm of Foresaken Hearts

Baltazo, that self-aggrandizing, opportunistic blob of a demon lord, always with his nose, or whatever it is that he has on that ugly face of his, in someone else’s business. I can paint a pretty bleak picture for you, sure as Sigil’s the centre. 

There he is, lounging in Shullen-Gat, every nook and cranny of that fortress is dripping with history, the remnants of a qlippoth foundry giving it an air of deep, ageless malevolence. Now, imagine this corpulent demon, grotesquely grey and skin popping like a bubbling stew. The berk wears a shabby general’s uniform, that quite frankly, looks like he’s been poured into it. The thing is practically bursting at the seams, with medals and ribbons that look more like child’s play than honourable decorations; a parody of grandeur draped over a being at least as despicable as the rest of the tanar’ri.

And in this fortress built upon ancient secrets and hidden necromantic mysteries, the bloke puffs himself up with his newfound knowledge, dabbling in forces most beings wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. It’s a wonder the place ain’t collapsed in on itself with all the malevolent energies swirling around that kip.

Baltazo, mind you, is no fresh face to the planes; he’s got a history stained with the blood of countless conflicts in the Blood War, victories that left him swollen with pride, and a hunger for more. Now, he’s Fraz-Urb’luu’s lapdog, or perhaps his watchdog would be more accurate, diligently overseeing that rotting gateway to Hollow’s Heart, and acting as the gatekeeper to a land of deception and betrayal. But there are whispers, quiet murmurings in the dark corners of Sigil, that the overgrown toad harbours ambitions, and contains barely-hidden resentments bubbling under that popping, fizzling skin of his.

But we know the score here; this is the Abyss, and loyalty is as rare as a clean street in Sigil. Baltazo might play the faithful servant for now, overseeing his master’s domain from that fortress of sorrow and decay, but make no mistake, in the twisted corridors of Sullen-Gat, plots are hatched and dark alliances formed. He ain’t an addle-cove; while he plays the loyal servant, there’s a labyrinthine mind behind that grotesque visage, a mind that churns with plans as dark and murky as the River Styx.

So if you find yourself walking the dark and ominous corridors of that forsaken fortress, surrounded by relics of ancient evils and the tangible sense of dark secrets whispered in your ear, remember that Baltazo is a creature of the Abyss, a being forged in the crucible of deceit and betrayal, as changeable as the planes themselves. Take care, berk, for the Palace of 1001 Closets is a place where darkness reigns, a place of shifting allegiances and hidden dangers, where nothing is as it seems and the very walls breathe with malice and spite. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and Baltazo’s got his eyes on a much larger prize, the cunning sod. Just remember, in the Abyss, it’s every demon for himself.

Canonical Source: Fiendish Codex 1 [3] p115 (brief description), expanded by Jon Winter-Holt,

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