Loud, discordant music pounds sourcelessly with his presence, the sounds of symbols, trumpets, and gongs assaults your ears. Paimon appears as a decrepit dromedary camel, its fleece matted and mouldy, and it’s body covered in giant tumours and lumps. Fused to its hump is the stiff, pale body of a nude, crowned crone, positioned as if she were riding it, but there’s no life in her eyes. The smell of sulphur is strong enough to burn your nose.

The demon king looks at you, as does it's rider.

"What did you call upon me for?" It's hoarse voice emanates from the throats of the camel and the crone, muffled behind their lips, as their mouths don't move.