Team Designation: Demonbait, A Feast of Souls Tour

Threat Level: Beta

Expanded Membership Details:


Chowder (410 points)
[Hunts as a team]


Distortion (350 points)
[Hunts as a team]


Incubus (470 points)
[Hunts as a team]


Riff (350 points)
[Hunts as a team]

Roadies from Hell

Roadies from Hell (250 points)
[Hunts as a team]


Major Adversaries:

Band of Heroes

Order of Truth



Base of Operations:




A Feast of Souls Tour Bus

Distortion-Lead Guitar
Incubus-Vocals (Team Leader)
Riff-Bass Guitar
Roadies from Hell-They are Roadies, from Hell
Flames danced around the hellish theater like dancers in a mosh pit. The damned moaned and screamed along with the music. On a stone stage, Demonbait played. Belting out the tunes was the Adonis of the group, the damned moaned over his teasing, was the winged demon known far as wide as Incubus. The complete opposite of Incubus was the putrid demon known as Chowder who banged the drums like a berserker foaming at the mouth. His four arms seemed to blur as his sticks pounded out the beat. Not far from Chowder stood the almost skeletal demon known as Riff played the bass. Long scraggly hair covered the demons entire head covering his face, with only two glowing coals for eye, peeping out from all that hair that reached to his waist. Completing the band was Distortion, who was hard to look at because the demon was constantly chancing shape and throwing off painful cords.

Incubus had finished the last verse of their last tune with a howl that seemed to shake the entire tableau. The damned quaked in the resonance of his singing. Sweat poured down Incubuses chest like blood. With a flick of a taloned hand Incubus flicked a drop of sweat into the pit. The damned swarmed for the drop tearing one another in their effort to be the one to claim their reward. The lucky one was torn to pieces. This was just another concert in Hell.

Riff, pulled out a mangled cigarette from out of his mass of tangles and bent over lighting it in the eternal flames.

“Satan, that was a good jam,” said the demon.

“Yess,” lisped Distortion, his voice sounding like fingers scraping down a chalkboard.

“But to play in front of a captive audience like this lacks a little something.”

All the demons turned to look towards Distortion, but as usual where people thought the demon was were usually wrong.

“Too right,” said Chowder coming out from behind the drum set reaching down snagging one of the damned and proceeded to munch on a limb.

Incubus watched his mates, or at least the ones he could, and looked thoughtful.

“You know,” said Incubus his words like honey, and all the other demons followed his voice like lambs to the slaughter, “I agree with you guys. However, like these damned, we to can’t go traipsing among the mortals, corrupting, devouring, and deceiving, as we’d like. This is our fate.”

“Heavy,” said Chowder.

“Got that right,” said Riff, smoke coming from the tangle of curls.

“Yes,” lamented Distortion from somewhere far away or somewhere nearby, “to sing and play for mortals to their damnation. Ah such ecstasy, such a feast of souls. All for our taking.”

It was the sound of the lighted match that seemed to echo across existence that got the attention of the gathered demons. All turned as a group like a bunch of fish on a line towards the figure that casually seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Leaning a little forward as if to guard his cigar from a nonexistent breeze the figure lit the cigar and puffed several times to get the stogie properly lit. Straightening up the demons saw the rumpled suit, and the fedora that hide his face. Billowing clouds of noxious smoke came from the cigar mostly obscuring his face.

“Ya don’t say,” said the figure almost friendly, almost threatening.

“A feast of souls ya be hungering for eh?” said the figure.

Chowder couldn’t help but nod his porcine head, acidic drool pouring down his chest.

“Yess,” screamed Distortion somewhat loudly, somewhat softly.

The figure turned his shaded face exactly to where Distortion stood. This figure would never be fool by that demons parlor tricks.

“Right,” said Riff, whose smoke seemed paltry compared to the figure before them, “we are strong and they are weak.” With a wave of his face he encompassed all the damned souls.

“To right,” said Incubus who came forward to stand almost face to face with the figure in the rumpled suit. So close as to plant a kiss upon the hidden face.

It was with a start, that Incubus finally recognized the figure before him. Or was it more likely that the figure allowed him to be recognized. With a jolt Incubus was prostrating himself before the figure. The other demons were quick to copy their leads move and were down on the ground.

“Mr. Scratch,” moaned Incubus. He and the other demons quaked in their subservience.

Ignoring the demons before him, Mr. Scratch seemed to ponder what the demons had said.

“This is doable my fine fiends,” said Mr. Scratch, “Doable indeed.”

There is a new band touring the world. Their brand of music makes the girls weep, and if some of them later kill themselves, certainly the band isn’t to blame. And if some of the boys get a little crazy and a little violent can you really blame the music? Demonbait certain has made a stir in the music world seemingly come out of nowhere, a feast of souls indeed.
Area of Operations
A Feast of Souls Tour, coming to a city near you. Appearing out of the darkness of night the Demonbait tour bus comes belching brimstone wherever a concert is planned. No one knows exactly where such a performance is going to be. Flyers appear as if by magic on poles around a town, and word of mouth does the rest. Soon a tour bus of the blackest black with the words Demonbait and A Feast of Souls Tour painted on the sides will come into town. And when the feast is over, the tour bus disappears once again; in it’s wake corruption, violence, and debauchery.
Demonbait, through its demonic music seeks to corrupt today’s youth. Their shows are always spectacles that teenagers seem to be drawn to like moths to the flame. The demons corrupt, and feast upon all the souls they can reach. Demonbait also stir discord that always leads to violence. They are gladly funneling souls to Mr. Scratch. When Mr. Scratch is happy the tour goes on and on.
Demonbait is known by the Goth subculture as one of the greatest of the Death Metal bands. Punk, alternative, and heavy metal audiophiles find a similar feeling in the music of Demonbait. The band puts on the wildest, and most outrageous shows ever. The audience thinks that all the demonic themes are nothing but stage dressing, but in fact it is all real, deadly real.

Religious leaders have always condemned Demonbait, as the corrupters of youth. However, the rebellious youth of today has always turned a deaf ear to what their religious leaders have to say. Demonbait always seems to appeal to individuals as if Demonbait were singing just for them. And if a few audience members disappear after the concert, maybe it could just be put down that they became runaways. The truth of what happens is more terrible that what most would think.