[ WP ] You perform a ritual to summon a demon , but instead get a `` Demon in training '' .

After the murder of his brother, he had sought out for revenge. There were many ways he could achieve his goal, and he he had settled on summoning. Demon summoning, to be precise. He had practiced for ages: memorizing every line of the incantation and the order to sacrifice the materials in was exhausting work, but it was finally about to pay off. 
 
 The ritual began just like every other attempt. He started with the bronzed gecko powder ( three tablespoons placed in each section of the summoning-class alchemical runeplate ) and drank the vial of diluted pulseroot ( a highly lethal substance harvested only in the lowest levels of the Deepwoods ). He stepped back and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the hardest part of the summoning process. 
 
 After just under a minute had passed, the summoner returned to his runeplate for the final step. He was to sprinkle exactly seven grams of gold shavings into the central node of the runeplate. The gold needed to be applied in no more or less than forty-seven seconds, and during this period he was to recite the incantation. 
 
 `` Arengee, goveth yrnlaxa!'' The summoner cried, carefully dropping gold shavings to ensure that he would finish his task `` Irilauth, kynrakk bae manoth. Eyel mau! Eyyelnath! Soquna matuthe, epok maneldrah! Vergus, yunedunth, hweypherar. Hweypherar fatotha benovuth!'' 
 
 The chant was completed, but the gold was not fully applied. The summoner knew he had failed, but against all rules of summoning and magic, he still applied a drop of his own blood to bind the summoned to his being and complete the spell. Smoke filled the room almost instantly, billowing upwards from where the blood had struck the runeplate. He turned away, hacking and coughing as the smoke was dispelled. 
 
 The runeplate ignited, setting fire to the summoner's ancient tomes and notes on the summoning ritual. A disembodied voice echoed through the old shack. 
 
 `` AKHTOS, MUR EL TATACHI! YOU MEDDLE IN FORCES FAR BEYOND WHAT YOUR SIMPLE MIND COULD COMPREHEND, MORTAL!'' 
 
 A violent wind picked up, throwing what few notes ripped pages had survived the blaze tumbling through the air. The door was ripped off of its hinges and sent spiraling off into the forest. The summoner was trembling. He knew the creatures that inhabited the Rift were powerful, but this was unlike anything he had seen before. 
 
 `` POTHA MUROKH BIN! WE HAVE CHOSEN TO BE MERCIFUL, MORTAL. YOUR PAYMENT WAS INADEQUATE, AND YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT WE DID NOT STRIKE YOU DOWN IMMEDIATELY.'' 
 
 The wind died down, and the flames were extinguished. The last of the smoke cleared away, and the summoner turned back to the shattered remains of what was once his runeplate. In its place stood a tall, dark skinned figure. 
 
 The summoner's jaw dropped. `` Are- are you the demon I summoned?'' He stuttered. 
 
 The figure's eyes began to glow red. `` We hashrana do not prefer the term'demon.' It compares us to far lesser beings. But yes, I am what one would call a demon.'' 
 
 `` Good. I need your help. You must curse my brother's murderer.'' 
 
 `` I am not skilled in the realm of curses, mortal,'' the hashran replied. `` I am not trained in many areas of magic.'' 
 
 `` Please!'' The summoner pleaded. `` You have to do something!'' 
 
 `` Very well,'' the hashran said. `` I will do what I can.'' 
 
 `` Oh, thank you,'' the summoner gasped. `` I do n't think I can thank you enough!'' 
 
 The hashran grinned. `` There, this seems like the perfect choice!'' 
 
 `` What is it?'' 
 
 `` Every pair of shoes he wears will be too big on his left foot and too small on his right!'' 
 
 `` That is... pathetic!'' The summoner shouted. `` Ca n't you come up with a real curse?'' 
 
 `` Very well. What about this one? Once a day he'll trip on his own feet and fall on his face.'' 
 
 `` No, I mean a real curse! With actual negative and harmful effects!'' 
 
 `` Then I have one more curse for you.'' 
 
 `` Get on with it then.'' 
 
 `` He will shrink an inch shorter every time a butterfly lands on his nose.'' 
 
 The summoner sighed. `` Fine, I'll take all of them.'' 
 
 `` That will cost extra.'' 
 
 `` Then I'll just take the shoes one.'' 
 
 `` If you wish,'' the hashran said, and in a puff of smoke he was gone. That night, the summoner went to bed disappointed, knowing he would never get the revenge he wanted
