Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
[Content Goes Here Later]
-
This section is for roleplays only.
ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.
Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
Streets of Pandemonium
- Thread starter Grey
- Start date
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Mr. Shine's Office is remarkably austere - for Pride. Ivory-coloured walls with gold edging, bright white light from tiny Demons trapped in glass globes, cases full of books, and memory stones, and more arcane data storage.
There are five seats of varying size, all upholstered in red leather (the source is probably best not contemplated too closely), and his assistant, a lithe Greed Demon of feminine aspect with long, tapered blades for feet, has asked you to wait to be seen.
There are five seats of varying size, all upholstered in red leather (the source is probably best not contemplated too closely), and his assistant, a lithe Greed Demon of feminine aspect with long, tapered blades for feet, has asked you to wait to be seen.
Silvertongued
Yes, this is dog
Fulmin
A cloud of smoke wafted from where Fulmin was seated, gently drifting from the end of his pipe, or billowing forth in twin plumes from the Wrathlings nostrils.
He was waiting. In a brief moment of personal clarity, he realised he wasn't very good at it. This sudden flash of introspection was due to a number of things.
First and foremost, the boredom was a major factor. He had come to Shine's with a a taste of hearsay, rumors of fights and good times, or at the very least, carnage and pillaged goods. But when he had stepped into the office, the warrior did not expect this long of... nothing. No fights, no food, no interest, just... waiting.
Another strong contribution was the rising flame of irritation gathering in his belly. Irritation not at anyone or anything in particular, simply the irritation at the continued existence of everything around him that was part and parcel of his kinds very being. It was a mere ember at the moment, but Fulmin knew with enough time and no satiation, it would rise up through his gorge and consume him, and most likely everything else in the immediate vicinity.
Though the primary reason why he was certain waiting was not one of his strengths, was that he was seriously considering how long it would take him to kill everyone sharing the room with him. In particular, it was when he was calculating how many times he'd have to bludgeon the assistant with one of these chairs before one of them broke that Fulmin concluded, that yes indeed, waiting was not for him.
The wandering warrior waited nonetheless. Perhaps for not long more, one way or another, but the promise of good times ahead were enough to restrain him for the moment.
He leaned back in his chair, sending a ring of smoke spiraling through the air with one open mouthed puff. Perhaps if he beat her flat enough, he could use her as a bludgeon sharp enough to skewer everyone else...
A cloud of smoke wafted from where Fulmin was seated, gently drifting from the end of his pipe, or billowing forth in twin plumes from the Wrathlings nostrils.
He was waiting. In a brief moment of personal clarity, he realised he wasn't very good at it. This sudden flash of introspection was due to a number of things.
First and foremost, the boredom was a major factor. He had come to Shine's with a a taste of hearsay, rumors of fights and good times, or at the very least, carnage and pillaged goods. But when he had stepped into the office, the warrior did not expect this long of... nothing. No fights, no food, no interest, just... waiting.
Another strong contribution was the rising flame of irritation gathering in his belly. Irritation not at anyone or anything in particular, simply the irritation at the continued existence of everything around him that was part and parcel of his kinds very being. It was a mere ember at the moment, but Fulmin knew with enough time and no satiation, it would rise up through his gorge and consume him, and most likely everything else in the immediate vicinity.
Though the primary reason why he was certain waiting was not one of his strengths, was that he was seriously considering how long it would take him to kill everyone sharing the room with him. In particular, it was when he was calculating how many times he'd have to bludgeon the assistant with one of these chairs before one of them broke that Fulmin concluded, that yes indeed, waiting was not for him.
The wandering warrior waited nonetheless. Perhaps for not long more, one way or another, but the promise of good times ahead were enough to restrain him for the moment.
He leaned back in his chair, sending a ring of smoke spiraling through the air with one open mouthed puff. Perhaps if he beat her flat enough, he could use her as a bludgeon sharp enough to skewer everyone else...
PixelWitch
The Blanket Hermit.
Zenith
This decor. It cried out for colour.
That at least was his first and immediate thought upon entering.
He was an odd sight, a shard of living sky, wandering around, like a window onto open air that leaded to nowhere. Currently he was the pale grey blue of early morning, dotted with sun rise flecked ochre clouds.
He bows to his fellow Prideling amiably, but says nothing to the humanoid volcano cloud smoldering in the seat across from him. He'll introduce himself to me.
He strides across the white tiles, making no sound at his footfalls, and takes a seat a few down alongside the Wrathful, his weight not even registering on the leather fabric. He could wait. Patience was a virtue of all great artists.
This decor. It cried out for colour.
That at least was his first and immediate thought upon entering.
He was an odd sight, a shard of living sky, wandering around, like a window onto open air that leaded to nowhere. Currently he was the pale grey blue of early morning, dotted with sun rise flecked ochre clouds.
He bows to his fellow Prideling amiably, but says nothing to the humanoid volcano cloud smoldering in the seat across from him. He'll introduce himself to me.
He strides across the white tiles, making no sound at his footfalls, and takes a seat a few down alongside the Wrathful, his weight not even registering on the leather fabric. He could wait. Patience was a virtue of all great artists.
Nine
The Shadow of Garser
Visynaea
She certainly is a vision. Visynaea eyed Shine's assistant up and down as she was walked into the waiting area. As the Greed demon turned to walk out of the room, having gestured to the chairs before her, Visynaea took the liberty of tracing a remarkably sharp fingernail along the Greed demons' chest when she passed, leaving a small and stinging memory of her lingering in the assistant's mind.
Visynaea cast her eyes lazily across the room, taking stock of the other two waiting there with her. The first, a scraggly looking demon, likely of Wrath, seemed to be stewing violently within. He's sick of waiting. The second, an odd looking demon seemingly composed of crystallized essence of the sky itself, was seated next to the Wrath demon. His posture and appearance were clear indicators of a demon of Pride. It took no insight to know that he would expect others to introduce themselves to him.
Her body swayed rhythmically as Visynaea strode past the both of them and took a seat on the other side of the Wrathful one. She turned, snaking her arm across the back of the Wrath demon's chair and leaned forward over his lap, to address the Pride demon. She extended her hand toward him daintily, "Visynaea. Please call me Syn." Her posture dripped sexuality, her generous chest thrust out as she arched her back. Her bare shoulder brushed the heated chest of the Wrath demon.
She couldn't help but smirk somewhat as she held out her hand. This will be fun.
She certainly is a vision. Visynaea eyed Shine's assistant up and down as she was walked into the waiting area. As the Greed demon turned to walk out of the room, having gestured to the chairs before her, Visynaea took the liberty of tracing a remarkably sharp fingernail along the Greed demons' chest when she passed, leaving a small and stinging memory of her lingering in the assistant's mind.
Visynaea cast her eyes lazily across the room, taking stock of the other two waiting there with her. The first, a scraggly looking demon, likely of Wrath, seemed to be stewing violently within. He's sick of waiting. The second, an odd looking demon seemingly composed of crystallized essence of the sky itself, was seated next to the Wrath demon. His posture and appearance were clear indicators of a demon of Pride. It took no insight to know that he would expect others to introduce themselves to him.
Her body swayed rhythmically as Visynaea strode past the both of them and took a seat on the other side of the Wrathful one. She turned, snaking her arm across the back of the Wrath demon's chair and leaned forward over his lap, to address the Pride demon. She extended her hand toward him daintily, "Visynaea. Please call me Syn." Her posture dripped sexuality, her generous chest thrust out as she arched her back. Her bare shoulder brushed the heated chest of the Wrath demon.
She couldn't help but smirk somewhat as she held out her hand. This will be fun.
Silvertongued
Yes, this is dog
Fulmin
The presence of the Lustling intruded on Fulmin's space like a strong breeze to smoggy street, carrying deliciously heady scents of flesh with it. His nostrils flared as he drew it in, eyes drinking up the form before him, feeling the startling soft flesh of shoulder press against his chest like a burning brand. Despite the woman's lack of weaponry or warrior's stance, a predatory grin still etched itself across the Wrathling's face.
She could be fun.
His vision flickered over to the other, the Prideful to whom she was introducing herself. Not a warrior either, by any sense of the word, but undoubtedly martial in some sort or another. If things didn't work out here, perhaps a duel and a reward could be savored afterward instead. Maybe even a fine meal to go with it.
Fulmin ran a black tongue over sharp teeth, tracing along under thin lips, and took another pensive pull on his pipe.
All sorts a' possibilities...
The presence of the Lustling intruded on Fulmin's space like a strong breeze to smoggy street, carrying deliciously heady scents of flesh with it. His nostrils flared as he drew it in, eyes drinking up the form before him, feeling the startling soft flesh of shoulder press against his chest like a burning brand. Despite the woman's lack of weaponry or warrior's stance, a predatory grin still etched itself across the Wrathling's face.
She could be fun.
His vision flickered over to the other, the Prideful to whom she was introducing herself. Not a warrior either, by any sense of the word, but undoubtedly martial in some sort or another. If things didn't work out here, perhaps a duel and a reward could be savored afterward instead. Maybe even a fine meal to go with it.
Fulmin ran a black tongue over sharp teeth, tracing along under thin lips, and took another pensive pull on his pipe.
All sorts a' possibilities...
Sir Raime
King of Celephaïs
Mandias
Mandias prowled along the bookcases, inspecting each of the tomes hungrily. All in all, they were remarkably well-kept. This Shine clearly was no novice; he understood with clarity the value of information better than most of the creatures Mandias had come across in his existence.
His eyes briefly darted back and forth between the bookcases and Shine’s assistant, switching between analysis of the former and the latter. Bladed feet, notably efficient and practical for close combat. Mandias made a mental note to try his hand at incorporating such a design into his next project. Inspiration could be found in all things.
He silently refused to be seated, for doing so could put him in a position that would leave him more vulnerable to ambush. Efficiency and frugality over comfort, such was the motto he lived by, one made evident by the state of his clothing.
His contemplations on the efficacy of retractable blades installed in armor were interrupted the eye-searing sight of what appeared to be a chunk of daybreak that got lost and wandered its way into Hell.
“Pridelings.” Mandias grumbled under his breath. Much too extravagant for his tastes. The demon of Pride’s steps were light and silent, a phenomenon that hinted at something much deadlier under the surface. This creature was akin to a venomous cephalopod, one that brightly displayed its lethality with showy rings and colors.
Wisps of smoke from the Wrathling’s pipe lazily drifted by, reminding Mandias of the rich smog of the factories and rendering plants as his forked tongue flitted in and out of his mouth.
Mandias prowled along the bookcases, inspecting each of the tomes hungrily. All in all, they were remarkably well-kept. This Shine clearly was no novice; he understood with clarity the value of information better than most of the creatures Mandias had come across in his existence.
His eyes briefly darted back and forth between the bookcases and Shine’s assistant, switching between analysis of the former and the latter. Bladed feet, notably efficient and practical for close combat. Mandias made a mental note to try his hand at incorporating such a design into his next project. Inspiration could be found in all things.
He silently refused to be seated, for doing so could put him in a position that would leave him more vulnerable to ambush. Efficiency and frugality over comfort, such was the motto he lived by, one made evident by the state of his clothing.
His contemplations on the efficacy of retractable blades installed in armor were interrupted the eye-searing sight of what appeared to be a chunk of daybreak that got lost and wandered its way into Hell.
“Pridelings.” Mandias grumbled under his breath. Much too extravagant for his tastes. The demon of Pride’s steps were light and silent, a phenomenon that hinted at something much deadlier under the surface. This creature was akin to a venomous cephalopod, one that brightly displayed its lethality with showy rings and colors.
Wisps of smoke from the Wrathling’s pipe lazily drifted by, reminding Mandias of the rich smog of the factories and rendering plants as his forked tongue flitted in and out of his mouth.
Last edited by a moderator:
Cirno
Sleepwalking Fairy
Posarios
Posarios made to slip into office unseen but was momentarily blinded just past the threshold. She blinked and stopped, her swaying hair unfurling against the corners of wide mouth as she averted her gaze from the daybreak demon of Pride. She schooled her wide mouth simpering smile for the others, taking in an appreciative sniff of the smoky scent of Wrath and a note of... Ah. Her eyes lingered upon a most appealing form of Lust.
Since the scaled one continued to prowl, Posarios glided to the larger one of the remaining two seats.
Posarios made to slip into office unseen but was momentarily blinded just past the threshold. She blinked and stopped, her swaying hair unfurling against the corners of wide mouth as she averted her gaze from the daybreak demon of Pride. She schooled her wide mouth simpering smile for the others, taking in an appreciative sniff of the smoky scent of Wrath and a note of... Ah. Her eyes lingered upon a most appealing form of Lust.
Since the scaled one continued to prowl, Posarios glided to the larger one of the remaining two seats.
Last edited by a moderator:
SephirothSage
Eldritch Abomination
Aleksandros
And amongst the Demons, a man sits in a chair near the corner, smoking a pipe. He has his back to the wall; making absolutely sure that nothing is behind him of the demonic variety. Intense violet eyes peer from a wizened old face; wrinkles and laugh lines adorning an ancient human face with a harshly angular, firm cast to it. His nose is half cut away, and his eyes have a certain flame that burns behind them- but he still seems so very unimposing beside all the unnatural demons beside him in the room. He's unsure why he was called here- but he presumes it has something to do with the way Hell is run, and him being a new arrival so to speak.
He's clad in blue robes with purple lining and runes woven into the fabric- the robe seeming to shimmer with his every movement. They are worn over a shining silvery metal breasplate; gleaming like the moon upon his chest with the runes carved into it crackling and shining like countless diamonds embedded into the metal; and before the mere hides of the demons present, it may as well be a normal suit of iron. His hands are hidden behind rough leather gloves, and around his neck hangs a beautiful golden pendant worked with images of the sun, and flames licking around that golden disc- magic woven into that, as well; it shines faintly in the lighting of the room- and if nothing else, the gold of his rings and pendant complement the decor. Perhaps the old man is a part of the decor? Though... the beautiful silver sword at his hip says that is unlikely...
Regardless- he puffs on his pipe, the wooden relic quite possibly the only thing on the mans body not heavily enchanted. He takes a long, smooth drag, and lowers it from his lips as he runs a hand through his beard thoughtfully- eyes roaming over the assorted demons present. He makes no worded comment- and instead more of a sound escapes his lips, along with the puff of smoke.
"Hrmph."
And amongst the Demons, a man sits in a chair near the corner, smoking a pipe. He has his back to the wall; making absolutely sure that nothing is behind him of the demonic variety. Intense violet eyes peer from a wizened old face; wrinkles and laugh lines adorning an ancient human face with a harshly angular, firm cast to it. His nose is half cut away, and his eyes have a certain flame that burns behind them- but he still seems so very unimposing beside all the unnatural demons beside him in the room. He's unsure why he was called here- but he presumes it has something to do with the way Hell is run, and him being a new arrival so to speak.
He's clad in blue robes with purple lining and runes woven into the fabric- the robe seeming to shimmer with his every movement. They are worn over a shining silvery metal breasplate; gleaming like the moon upon his chest with the runes carved into it crackling and shining like countless diamonds embedded into the metal; and before the mere hides of the demons present, it may as well be a normal suit of iron. His hands are hidden behind rough leather gloves, and around his neck hangs a beautiful golden pendant worked with images of the sun, and flames licking around that golden disc- magic woven into that, as well; it shines faintly in the lighting of the room- and if nothing else, the gold of his rings and pendant complement the decor. Perhaps the old man is a part of the decor? Though... the beautiful silver sword at his hip says that is unlikely...
Regardless- he puffs on his pipe, the wooden relic quite possibly the only thing on the mans body not heavily enchanted. He takes a long, smooth drag, and lowers it from his lips as he runs a hand through his beard thoughtfully- eyes roaming over the assorted demons present. He makes no worded comment- and instead more of a sound escapes his lips, along with the puff of smoke.
"Hrmph."
PixelWitch
The Blanket Hermit.
Zenith
A hand came into his field of vision, and the skyling turned, crystalline brow raised.
"Visynaea. Please call me Syn,"
He looked at the awkward pose she had pulled to get to him. Across the lap of the wrathling, and unnecessarily over pronouced.
I like the motion, but it's too forced, there most be flow, fluidity. Too much... effort involved.
Syn. Sin. How fitting. And how... droll. Also fitting.
"Zenith," he responds, clasping her hand gently. His touch is curiously cold, like the sharp breeze of open air after the confines of a stuffy room.
A hand came into his field of vision, and the skyling turned, crystalline brow raised.
"Visynaea. Please call me Syn,"
He looked at the awkward pose she had pulled to get to him. Across the lap of the wrathling, and unnecessarily over pronouced.
I like the motion, but it's too forced, there most be flow, fluidity. Too much... effort involved.
Syn. Sin. How fitting. And how... droll. Also fitting.
"Zenith," he responds, clasping her hand gently. His touch is curiously cold, like the sharp breeze of open air after the confines of a stuffy room.
AllHailDago
Rough Tough Creampuff
Khaziir
Khaziir stood in a corner of the office, hands concealed beneath a cloak of flowing silk. One might ask how a seemingly poor demon such as Khaziir would get a hold of a nice cloak like that. One might also find themselves with a bullet to the back of the head in a abandoned alleyway. One makes ones own decisions after all.
The cloak was billowy, making for gender identification quite difficult. In fact when one spent a moment looking closely you'd realize the cloak wasn't actually silk, and it seemed to move by itself. As he shifted his hand the cloak seemed to expand and contract, rivulets of ice and water forming interesting shapes in mid air. A cloak of captured ice storms, making Khaziirs true height, weight, and shape seem mutable.
With the hood up and the reflective smiling child mask it'd be difficult to get any sort of reading from Khaziir. Which was exactly the preferred, intended effect. Khaziir didn't like dying demons to know what Khaziir looked like, let alone living ones. The demons in the room with Khaziir seemed to radiate one type of danger or another. Which meant if Khaziir had been invited, and they had too, an assumption that they were approximate equals was a sensible thought.
Khaziir didn't like that, fair isn't acceptable. If you were in a fair fight, someone had made a mistake. Khaziir turned an eye to an apparent lust demoness. She wouldn't pose a direct threat like a few others, probably, but manipulating others to kill fir you is just as dangerous. Khaziirs eyes drifted again behind the mask, thank goodness for it being like a one way mirror, stopping on a demon sitting in a chair, back against the wall. Smart, dangerous, efficient. Everyone here was one of the three.
Khaziir had to remain wary. Hopefully this would become a room of allies. There were enough targets on Khaziir as is.
Khaziir stood in a corner of the office, hands concealed beneath a cloak of flowing silk. One might ask how a seemingly poor demon such as Khaziir would get a hold of a nice cloak like that. One might also find themselves with a bullet to the back of the head in a abandoned alleyway. One makes ones own decisions after all.
The cloak was billowy, making for gender identification quite difficult. In fact when one spent a moment looking closely you'd realize the cloak wasn't actually silk, and it seemed to move by itself. As he shifted his hand the cloak seemed to expand and contract, rivulets of ice and water forming interesting shapes in mid air. A cloak of captured ice storms, making Khaziirs true height, weight, and shape seem mutable.
With the hood up and the reflective smiling child mask it'd be difficult to get any sort of reading from Khaziir. Which was exactly the preferred, intended effect. Khaziir didn't like dying demons to know what Khaziir looked like, let alone living ones. The demons in the room with Khaziir seemed to radiate one type of danger or another. Which meant if Khaziir had been invited, and they had too, an assumption that they were approximate equals was a sensible thought.
Khaziir didn't like that, fair isn't acceptable. If you were in a fair fight, someone had made a mistake. Khaziir turned an eye to an apparent lust demoness. She wouldn't pose a direct threat like a few others, probably, but manipulating others to kill fir you is just as dangerous. Khaziirs eyes drifted again behind the mask, thank goodness for it being like a one way mirror, stopping on a demon sitting in a chair, back against the wall. Smart, dangerous, efficient. Everyone here was one of the three.
Khaziir had to remain wary. Hopefully this would become a room of allies. There were enough targets on Khaziir as is.
Aldur
Memory Dealer
Drusa
There it was. The door to Mr. Shine's office opened slowly, creaking as it did, making Drusa's arrival worthy of attention. While she might not have enjoyed more eyes analyzing her, she figured that if either the door didn't make noise, she'd still be looked at by every creature inside. Speaking of which, an array of demons occupied the room. They were of all shapes and sizes though one, in particular, catched her eye. It held the form of an attractive woman, not much older than Drusa herself. All the other demons showed themselves as no more than twisted humanoids, monstrous even. Yet, in the young apprentice's eyes, she looked like a human. Intriguing. She thought. Hopefully, her eyes weren't caught peering in the demon's direction.
Drusa noticed her mentor, Aleksandros, who had his back turned to the wall, smoking his pipe. She paced towards him and took a seat that was close to his. He was, perhaps the shiniest thing in the office, with all his trinkets and ornaments decorating not only his outfit, but the entire room, somehow.
Upon seating down, she gave him a curious look. She asked herself what they were doing in this place, as the only humans. They've been in Hell for roughly one week. Drusa remained content on her seat, not uttering a word. The reason had multiple other reasons, such as not breaking this deafening silence.
There it was. The door to Mr. Shine's office opened slowly, creaking as it did, making Drusa's arrival worthy of attention. While she might not have enjoyed more eyes analyzing her, she figured that if either the door didn't make noise, she'd still be looked at by every creature inside. Speaking of which, an array of demons occupied the room. They were of all shapes and sizes though one, in particular, catched her eye. It held the form of an attractive woman, not much older than Drusa herself. All the other demons showed themselves as no more than twisted humanoids, monstrous even. Yet, in the young apprentice's eyes, she looked like a human. Intriguing. She thought. Hopefully, her eyes weren't caught peering in the demon's direction.
Drusa noticed her mentor, Aleksandros, who had his back turned to the wall, smoking his pipe. She paced towards him and took a seat that was close to his. He was, perhaps the shiniest thing in the office, with all his trinkets and ornaments decorating not only his outfit, but the entire room, somehow.
Upon seating down, she gave him a curious look. She asked herself what they were doing in this place, as the only humans. They've been in Hell for roughly one week. Drusa remained content on her seat, not uttering a word. The reason had multiple other reasons, such as not breaking this deafening silence.
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
As soon as the newcomer takes a seat - one which you are quite sure was not there previously, but the point of transition between nothing and something was seemingly too subtle to catch - the secretary looks up from her baroque typewriter.
"Mr. Shine will see you now."
A door opens, onto a cozy little office somewhere higher in the building. The walls are windows with great views of the canals and Spire.
There are seats enough for you all on one side of a large, white desk. Shine is standing with his back to you.
Tall, lithe, in what appears to be a fine black suit. No hair, and longer horns then usual curving back from his brow. On closer inspection, his skin isn't gold, but dusted with the stuff like makeup.
"Please," he says in a mellifluous voice, gesturing with one elegant hand. "Be seated."
"Mr. Shine will see you now."
A door opens, onto a cozy little office somewhere higher in the building. The walls are windows with great views of the canals and Spire.
There are seats enough for you all on one side of a large, white desk. Shine is standing with his back to you.
Tall, lithe, in what appears to be a fine black suit. No hair, and longer horns then usual curving back from his brow. On closer inspection, his skin isn't gold, but dusted with the stuff like makeup.
"Please," he says in a mellifluous voice, gesturing with one elegant hand. "Be seated."
SephirothSage
Eldritch Abomination
Aleksandros sighs as his apprentice enters- gently nodding his head in recognition as the younger magus enters and seats herself. He notes her eyes briefly pausing on the Demon of lust- and harumphs audibly as he takes a long drag on his pipe, before pulling it from his lips to murmur in his apprentices ear.
"Don't let your guard down near any of 'em. No matter how they look."
It's a simple and short warning- but very accurate, in his mind- even as he moves to stand; a chuckle escaping his lips. "And of course, soon as my apprentice arrives, we have to move... Mrph. No respect for the elderly, these folk..." He grunts softly, a bemused twinkle in his eye as his robes shift about him while he stands, his breastplate glimmering faintly. He rises, and stands without aid of any stave or walking stick; surprisingly spry for a mortal of his extreme age, as he shifts into the next room, and once more sits near the edge- so that he doesn't find himself pinned between two demons, heaven forbid. His caution is evident in his every movement, and his eyes gleam faintly as they wander the crowd with suspicion and caution- before he turns them to Mister Shine.
"I don't suppose you could inform us as to the reason behind this meeting? I was not informed as to why my presence was being requested."
"Don't let your guard down near any of 'em. No matter how they look."
It's a simple and short warning- but very accurate, in his mind- even as he moves to stand; a chuckle escaping his lips. "And of course, soon as my apprentice arrives, we have to move... Mrph. No respect for the elderly, these folk..." He grunts softly, a bemused twinkle in his eye as his robes shift about him while he stands, his breastplate glimmering faintly. He rises, and stands without aid of any stave or walking stick; surprisingly spry for a mortal of his extreme age, as he shifts into the next room, and once more sits near the edge- so that he doesn't find himself pinned between two demons, heaven forbid. His caution is evident in his every movement, and his eyes gleam faintly as they wander the crowd with suspicion and caution- before he turns them to Mister Shine.
"I don't suppose you could inform us as to the reason behind this meeting? I was not informed as to why my presence was being requested."
Cirno
Sleepwalking Fairy
Posarios
She drew in the smoke from the strange one's pipe and found it not to her taste. If the creature was a magus, she could not discern which Circle he was associated with. But his young associate, haah. Little mystery. But was she there before? She exhaled, smile widening.
At the secretary's announcement, Posarios rose from her chair to immediately follow the odd pair. It would be easier to avoid looking upon Zenith this way. Her hair coiled itself into a professional bun as she politely dipped her head towards Mr. Shine. As the old one spoke, she drifted back to drape an arm over a high-backed chair, choosing to stand.
She drew in the smoke from the strange one's pipe and found it not to her taste. If the creature was a magus, she could not discern which Circle he was associated with. But his young associate, haah. Little mystery. But was she there before? She exhaled, smile widening.
At the secretary's announcement, Posarios rose from her chair to immediately follow the odd pair. It would be easier to avoid looking upon Zenith this way. Her hair coiled itself into a professional bun as she politely dipped her head towards Mr. Shine. As the old one spoke, she drifted back to drape an arm over a high-backed chair, choosing to stand.
Silvertongued
Yes, this is dog
Fulmin
Seating himself in a deep slouch, legs spread, and Lightning laid across his knees, Fulmin cast glance towards the bearded one and nodded in agreement.
"Gotta agree with the beard there. I heard there'd be somethin' in it for me, but so far all I've seen is a waitin' room and a buncha no fanged rabble. You best be tellin' me you got something more than that, Mister Shine, 'else I'mma be taking my business elsewhere,"
Seating himself in a deep slouch, legs spread, and Lightning laid across his knees, Fulmin cast glance towards the bearded one and nodded in agreement.
"Gotta agree with the beard there. I heard there'd be somethin' in it for me, but so far all I've seen is a waitin' room and a buncha no fanged rabble. You best be tellin' me you got something more than that, Mister Shine, 'else I'mma be taking my business elsewhere,"
Sir Raime
King of Celephaïs
Mandias
Having slithered into Shine's office, Mandias silently refused to seat himself. One must stay vigilant in their efforts to stay safe if they are to see good results, after all. The Wrathling's comments ruffled his scales a bit; he certainly possessed fangs. That may have been more true in a literal sense than a metaphorical one, but Mandias felt both applied to him.
His slitted eyes glowed a beady orange as they almost immediately became glued to the sword in the Wrathling's possession. What mysteries did it hide? Mandias began to mentally compile estimations of the weapon's length, width and other assorted measurements while simultaneously contemplating what materials he should acquire to build a sword of his own...or perhaps a shield? Sword breakers? Boots? Animated armor? One could never have enough tools, he surmised. Mandias lowered the tip of Sandscar and made a minuscule scratch on the floor to test the integrity of the construction. A deliberate yawn proved the acoustics of the room to be satisfactory as well; this truly was a functional facility if nothing else. The glimmering gold motif the owner seemed to pursue grated on Mandias' nerves slightly. Gold may have been fine and all as treasure, but Mandias found his hunger roused more easily by visualizing the metallurgy thereof and its applications for enchanted weaponry.
Having slithered into Shine's office, Mandias silently refused to seat himself. One must stay vigilant in their efforts to stay safe if they are to see good results, after all. The Wrathling's comments ruffled his scales a bit; he certainly possessed fangs. That may have been more true in a literal sense than a metaphorical one, but Mandias felt both applied to him.
His slitted eyes glowed a beady orange as they almost immediately became glued to the sword in the Wrathling's possession. What mysteries did it hide? Mandias began to mentally compile estimations of the weapon's length, width and other assorted measurements while simultaneously contemplating what materials he should acquire to build a sword of his own...or perhaps a shield? Sword breakers? Boots? Animated armor? One could never have enough tools, he surmised. Mandias lowered the tip of Sandscar and made a minuscule scratch on the floor to test the integrity of the construction. A deliberate yawn proved the acoustics of the room to be satisfactory as well; this truly was a functional facility if nothing else. The glimmering gold motif the owner seemed to pursue grated on Mandias' nerves slightly. Gold may have been fine and all as treasure, but Mandias found his hunger roused more easily by visualizing the metallurgy thereof and its applications for enchanted weaponry.
Nine
The Shadow of Garser
Visynaea
Visynaea rose gracefully with the rest of those whom Mr. Shine had gathered and followed them into the next chamber. Her eyes flitted from one to the other quickly, sizing them up and taking in each form carefully and methodically. As the group spread once again to the clustered seats, she allowed herself to brush against several of them, relishing how each interacted with her skin differently. The warmth of the wrathling sent a chill through her. The cold, hard exterior of the prideling felt exciting and strong. The slick texture of the demon of greed left her skin cold and damp feeling. Dwelling within her thoughts, Visynaea sat towards the center of the row of seats, draping herself over the chair as if a queen and laying her head back somewhat. Her eyes caught those of the mage and she sent him a smoldering glance, a subtle smirk settling into the corner of her lips. She looked forward, for the first time, at their host and stared at his elegant, golden form. As the mage and the wrathling made their petitions known, she simply raised an eyebrow into a coy little expression and smiled at Mr. Shine, waiting in silence for his response.
Visynaea rose gracefully with the rest of those whom Mr. Shine had gathered and followed them into the next chamber. Her eyes flitted from one to the other quickly, sizing them up and taking in each form carefully and methodically. As the group spread once again to the clustered seats, she allowed herself to brush against several of them, relishing how each interacted with her skin differently. The warmth of the wrathling sent a chill through her. The cold, hard exterior of the prideling felt exciting and strong. The slick texture of the demon of greed left her skin cold and damp feeling. Dwelling within her thoughts, Visynaea sat towards the center of the row of seats, draping herself over the chair as if a queen and laying her head back somewhat. Her eyes caught those of the mage and she sent him a smoldering glance, a subtle smirk settling into the corner of her lips. She looked forward, for the first time, at their host and stared at his elegant, golden form. As the mage and the wrathling made their petitions known, she simply raised an eyebrow into a coy little expression and smiled at Mr. Shine, waiting in silence for his response.
PixelWitch
The Blanket Hermit.
Zenith
Up from one seat and into another.
The pomp and ceremony of something so simple as seeing a client was something he had always enjoyed. He was used to it. The languid pace as which anyone he had ever worked with did business suited him.
This was no different.
What was everyone in such a hurry for? So irritable and jittery and petulant. The surly nature certainly suited the Wrathling, but the others? Why so over-excitable. No one was going anywhere.
Why would you want to escape a Prideling's presence anyway? There's nothing better to see out there...
His response is little more than a soft giggle, watching the others skitter frantically form one room to another, whereas he takes his time. The rest of the rabble can lead. The best in an entourage always came last afterall.
Up from one seat and into another.
The pomp and ceremony of something so simple as seeing a client was something he had always enjoyed. He was used to it. The languid pace as which anyone he had ever worked with did business suited him.
This was no different.
What was everyone in such a hurry for? So irritable and jittery and petulant. The surly nature certainly suited the Wrathling, but the others? Why so over-excitable. No one was going anywhere.
Why would you want to escape a Prideling's presence anyway? There's nothing better to see out there...
His response is little more than a soft giggle, watching the others skitter frantically form one room to another, whereas he takes his time. The rest of the rabble can lead. The best in an entourage always came last afterall.
Aldur
Memory Dealer
Drusa
Amazing how they needed to move to another room, that one being the real office. Going through the glass walls that lead to the upper chamber Drusa looked outside. She couldn't help but feel that Hell had its charm, as insane as that sounded. She followed her mentor, eventually arriving in Mr. Shine's office. There was the man himself, or demon, not bothering to look at them. He was thinner than most of what she'd seen in terms of devilish entities.
Once inside, Drusa took a seat, not uttering a word. She didn't feel like it was necessary. Confirming it, Aleksandros spoke, hopefully, on behalf of both of them, demanding to be told the reasons behind this meeting's existence. The Wrath Demon was agreeing with Drusa's teacher, threatening that he would take his business elsewhere if this Mr. Shine was not going to explain himself. She frowned subtly at the demon's remark regarding dental add-ons. Of course, she could grow fangs if she really wanted to, but this didn't seem like the case. The apprentice redirected her gaze towards Shine, whose gilded skin stood out, awaiting a response.
Amazing how they needed to move to another room, that one being the real office. Going through the glass walls that lead to the upper chamber Drusa looked outside. She couldn't help but feel that Hell had its charm, as insane as that sounded. She followed her mentor, eventually arriving in Mr. Shine's office. There was the man himself, or demon, not bothering to look at them. He was thinner than most of what she'd seen in terms of devilish entities.
Once inside, Drusa took a seat, not uttering a word. She didn't feel like it was necessary. Confirming it, Aleksandros spoke, hopefully, on behalf of both of them, demanding to be told the reasons behind this meeting's existence. The Wrath Demon was agreeing with Drusa's teacher, threatening that he would take his business elsewhere if this Mr. Shine was not going to explain himself. She frowned subtly at the demon's remark regarding dental add-ons. Of course, she could grow fangs if she really wanted to, but this didn't seem like the case. The apprentice redirected her gaze towards Shine, whose gilded skin stood out, awaiting a response.
Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Shine turns - his eyes are hidden behind smoked glass and his smile is a dagger's edge.
"First, allow me to congratulate you all. Especially you, Magi Eximius and Septima." He says, pacing idly behind his desk.
"Escaping your erstwhile masters, surviving the streets... Impressive. Therefore, I offer an exchange - you work for me, and I shall ensure you receive Citizenship. Freedom."
He draws a sheaf of paper from inside his suit jacket, spreads it neatly across the desk. Flowing script covers each page.
"A temporary contract."
"First, allow me to congratulate you all. Especially you, Magi Eximius and Septima." He says, pacing idly behind his desk.
"Escaping your erstwhile masters, surviving the streets... Impressive. Therefore, I offer an exchange - you work for me, and I shall ensure you receive Citizenship. Freedom."
He draws a sheaf of paper from inside his suit jacket, spreads it neatly across the desk. Flowing script covers each page.
"A temporary contract."
Silvertongued
Yes, this is dog
Fulmin
There's a snort from the Wrathling, the sound dripping with derision.
"Freedom? Workin' under you? Don't sound like freedom to me,"
Fulmin bares his teeth in sneer, smoke seeping through the cracks in his grin.
"'Course, I couldn't give two red shits if I'm free or not, so long as you gimme somethin' good to do. None a' that namby pamby roughin' up dogshit, I mean a challenge! I want champions to crush, not maggots. You let me slake my thirst for fightin', eat my fill a' food, rut when the need takes me..."
Lightning's still sheathed tip hits the floor, hard enough to crack the marble, and Fulmin leans out of his chair, leering at the Prideling.
"You let me do all this in quality or quantity, and I'll put my name on your paper, freedom or no. You understand me Shiny?"
There's a snort from the Wrathling, the sound dripping with derision.
"Freedom? Workin' under you? Don't sound like freedom to me,"
Fulmin bares his teeth in sneer, smoke seeping through the cracks in his grin.
"'Course, I couldn't give two red shits if I'm free or not, so long as you gimme somethin' good to do. None a' that namby pamby roughin' up dogshit, I mean a challenge! I want champions to crush, not maggots. You let me slake my thirst for fightin', eat my fill a' food, rut when the need takes me..."
Lightning's still sheathed tip hits the floor, hard enough to crack the marble, and Fulmin leans out of his chair, leering at the Prideling.
"You let me do all this in quality or quantity, and I'll put my name on your paper, freedom or no. You understand me Shiny?"
Sir Raime
King of Celephaïs
Mandias
Citizenship. Ascension from the paltry status of Rabble. An opportunity to break free of his current restraints and grow ever closer to the awe-inspiring glory he craved.
But this was Hell, and these things always had a catch. Nonetheless, it was a ticket to freedom and realizing his potential.
Mandias scoffed at the Wrathling's bestial monologue and slithered to the desk, eyeballing the contract carefully.
"What sort of work are we looking at?" He rasped, his voice every bit as rough and jagged as his thorny visage.
Citizenship. Ascension from the paltry status of Rabble. An opportunity to break free of his current restraints and grow ever closer to the awe-inspiring glory he craved.
But this was Hell, and these things always had a catch. Nonetheless, it was a ticket to freedom and realizing his potential.
Mandias scoffed at the Wrathling's bestial monologue and slithered to the desk, eyeballing the contract carefully.
"What sort of work are we looking at?" He rasped, his voice every bit as rough and jagged as his thorny visage.
Nine
The Shadow of Garser
Visynaea
A contract... Visynaea had seen her fair share of contracts and known the burden of being treated as property, as a tool. She had no interest in pursuing another lifetime of service, obliged to fulfill the command of another. Her eyes smoldered involuntarily at the thought of such a life.
And yet... As she cast a glance about the room, taking in the others' expressions as Shine laid out his paperwork, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to this than simple service. Perhaps this was an agreement that could be manipulated into a mutually beneficial arrangement. Citizenship was wonderful, yes, but certainly not enough. Visynaea's expression relaxed and her eyelids dropped somewhat as she settled back again, electing silence and waiting to hear more.
A contract... Visynaea had seen her fair share of contracts and known the burden of being treated as property, as a tool. She had no interest in pursuing another lifetime of service, obliged to fulfill the command of another. Her eyes smoldered involuntarily at the thought of such a life.
And yet... As she cast a glance about the room, taking in the others' expressions as Shine laid out his paperwork, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to this than simple service. Perhaps this was an agreement that could be manipulated into a mutually beneficial arrangement. Citizenship was wonderful, yes, but certainly not enough. Visynaea's expression relaxed and her eyelids dropped somewhat as she settled back again, electing silence and waiting to hear more.
Cirno
Sleepwalking Fairy
Posarios
Her eyes being empty sockets, Posarios elects to indicate her interest by gliding forward, although she doesn't cut in between the robed Wrathling negotiating with Mr. Shine. Her gaze roves over the pages, lingering on the terms that differ between them. Locating the one with her own name in gleaming script, she inclines her head towards their potential employer and points at the contract with a slender finger, making a silent request for permission to lift it from the desk.
Her eyes being empty sockets, Posarios elects to indicate her interest by gliding forward, although she doesn't cut in between the robed Wrathling negotiating with Mr. Shine. Her gaze roves over the pages, lingering on the terms that differ between them. Locating the one with her own name in gleaming script, she inclines her head towards their potential employer and points at the contract with a slender finger, making a silent request for permission to lift it from the desk.
Users who are viewing this thread
Similar threads
