Cinder Imp

Lore

Cinderimps are minor infernal entities, born from the residue of broken pacts, charred manuscripts, and the emotional static of grudge-laced spellwork. They often arrive uninvited—drawn to weakened wards, dying flames, or places where argument and arcane residue mix. Most warlocks don’t summon them deliberately. Some simply find one sitting on the hearth one morning, grinning and smoldering gently.

Roughly the size of a housecat and shaped like a soot-black goblin twisted by heat, Cinderimps are semi-corporeal, flickering between ash and ember. Their wings are mostly decorative. They perch on hot surfaces, mutter incessantly, and take petty delight in making simple tasks difficult. A summoner will find them excellent at locating dry kindling and stirring cauldrons—but equally likely to swap spell components or "accidentally" ignite important notes.

Though weak, they are not without tactical value. Their breath—more a blast of ash than fire—can choke or obscure in confined spaces, giving quick-thinking casters a moment’s advantage. A skilled warlock can use a Cinderimp to test wards, bait traps, or act as a literal distraction. However, they should never be trusted unsupervised. Cinderimps respond to tone more than command, and delight in technical obedience with chaotic interpretation.

Infernal scholars classify them as detritus demons—more nuisance than threat, but prolific. Their presence is often a symptom of larger demonic activity: where one imp lingers, greater corruption may follow. Some demons even tolerate them as parasites, in exchange for warmth and attention. It's not uncommon to find Cinderimps roosting in the craters left by higher demon manifestations, absorbing ambient spite like lizards on a hot stone.

Folklore about Cinderimps spans many regions. Common motifs include missing socks, mysteriously burnt stew, and arguments that begin with no known cause. In some frontier villages, they are feared and warded against; in others, they are bribed with small offerings—charcoal, lard, or gossip—in exchange for a warmer hearth. A few stories even paint them as accidental heroes, guarding infants from frost or alarming entire households before a fire could take hold.

From a warlock’s perspective, Cinderimps are a liability with the potential for rare usefulness. They are bound easily but obey poorly. They crave chaos, warmth, and attention—more akin to demonic ferrets than useful minions. Still, their resilience and tendency to survive what they shouldn’t has earned them a place, however begrudging, in the annals of infernal utility. To the average spellbinder, they are pests. To the reckless, they are companions. To demons of higher order, they are tolerated echoes of lower fire—occasionally amusing, mostly ignored.

Cinderimps have no formal rank within the infernal hierarchy, yet they often linger near more structured demon types—especially Flamebound, Vicekin, or Ashborn entities. Their presence is tolerated in the way one might tolerate the sound of dripping water: annoying, but not worth addressing. Some mid-tier demons find them mildly entertaining and will use them as messengers or living incense, if only to watch them puff indignantly at the assignment. Others treat them with disdain, often resulting in singed whiskers or minor curses scrawled in soot.

They show a peculiar avoidance of Celestials, often hissing or vanishing outright in their presence. Against other archetypes—Undead, Elementals, or Beasts—they behave like theatrical observers, watching with fascination, commentary, and no sense of self-preservation. Though not aggressive toward other imps, they will compete for warm territory and attention. And when clustered together, Cinderimps form noisy, sputtering “hearth colonies” prone to spontaneous mischief. No one knows if they communicate, but they certainly conspire.

They are, above all else, persistent.