Sigil: City of Doors

Name: Akalabeth, The Burning Drought, Daughter of Want, She Who Loveth Strife, Fire Unsatisfied and Thirsting Vessel, 'Murder the Gods and Topple Their Thrones'.
Aliases: Beth, Bethany, Sweet Whisper
Gender: Female
Race: Succubus
Age: Young, for a demon. But let's not ruin the moment with specifics.
Profession: Provocateur
Faction: Sensate (and covert member of the Gehennan Society of Pain)
Accent: A curious and strong combination of styles that those in the know -- particularly Anarchists -- might recognize as being common in the Bastion of Last Hope, the gate-fortress in Othrys the plane of betrayers in Carceri.

Height: Tall
Weight: Hourglass
Body build: Perfect
Skin type: Slightly red-tinted, hot to the touch and subversively scented.
Hair style: Wild.
Colouring:
Hair: Hot pink.
Eyes: Burning crimson.
Skin: Lightly red-tinted.
Scars: The right side of Bethany's face has suffered extreme damage, her soft flesh burned to cracked, black-red cinders. The left side of her profile remains eerily untouched, the contrast unnerving, and ever more poignant as her dual nature shows itself more and more.
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Philosophy: "Burn and the world burns with you."
Deity/Beliefs: Word in the darker corners of Broken Reach is that Sweet Whisper ran out on Malcanthet, fearing the Queen's wrath after her long absence with nothing to show for it, the loss of her 'bodyguard' and half of her beauty. Quieter, more cautious word amongst those who watch is that in a fit of near-suicidal misery, she sold herself to the Queen's broken rival, Lynkhab, Lady of Regrets, she who is Desire and Despair. Yet the succubi's haunted mood seems to have lifted, lately, her tongue sharpening and her eyes regaining some measure of their old fire. And it makes one wonder, in those horrid depths, what she's really playing at.

Personality:
Party Girl Love her. Hate her. The one thing you can be sure of is that you will never be bored.
Outgoing Bethany isn't shy unless she knows that's what reels you in. She puts herself center stage and makes her friends and enemies in short order.
Bitch All's fair in love, war, and both at once.
Sadomasochist Always get as good as you give.
Chaot Never plan.
Unstable Everything has a breaking point.
Contradictory "I am a creature of half-truths. Never one thing, nor the other. Neither. Both."
Subtle No one would ever accuse Bethany of being subtle. She's *that good* at it.
Patient The longer you play with your food, the sweeter that first, exquisite taste.
Ravenous She can't change what she is.

Gear: Bethany owns a variety of outfits to cater to any occasion (or body,) mainly favoring red silk or black leather. Nothing abnormal so far, unless you count that staff of hers with the eye that darts around, blinking frantically, as though the thing were alive and long since driven insane. Or the Vrock "Chamberlain" that followed her around, vigorously protecting her from bodily threats while observing her actions just a little too carefully... Though nobody's seen that berk for awhile. Dark is, he got sick of her and of Malcanthet both, and sold his charge out for a better future.
Jewelry: Plenty. Wanna see?
Habbits/hobbies: Beth enjoys finding out what makes people tick. Testing their limits and seeing what kind of music they make when their hearts are struck in just the right way. She provokes people, manipulating those she can wrap around her little finger and goading those she can't until they break. She's powerfully drawn to strong emotion, especially anger or deep sorrow, which is like chocolate-covered aphrodisiac to her. She snorts hatred like a powdered drug and drinks grief like wine. And it's never enough. The burning heart is never sated. The gnawing hunger never stops.
General Health: Her body remains perfect, but some sicknesses are invisible to the naked eye.

Favorite Drink(s): Bethany has a long and varied drinks list, her poison of choice being the infamous Red Screamer. Here are the ones we know of so far:
Red Screamer A red, simmering concoction that really does scream as it's drunk. Nobody's quite sure if the liquid is sentient, mimicking the noise through some alchemical process, or simply echoing the sound of some agonizing horror its contents once suffered.
Planar Pale Ale A cult favorite, religious fanatics from a far-flung sect devoted to Gibbeth willingly perish in the production of this blue-white booze. Unspeakable patterns swirl upon its surface, and if observed too long the unwary may find themselves slowly driven mad, unable to look away. Close your eyes and tip it back.
Slaad Stout The favored drink of Chaos. The liquid refuses to conform to any particular color or shape, writhing, imploding and exploding constantly. Contained within a specially designed Klein bottle, making drinking it difficult for the clueless. Drinking it is somewhat like being punched in the stomach by an ongoing nuclear reaction. ((RP Note: Slaad Stout is damaging, even potentially lethal to creatures of Law. It has no ill effect on those simply of lawful alignment, but creatures from Lawful planes had best take precautions if challenged to try some.))
Void Pure negative energy, with a twist. Called Inky Void if it contains black lotus, Howling Void if it contains Liquid Pain. Weirdly fizzy.
Gatehouse Green A drink so apathetic it barely exists. The liquor comes out as a heavy vapor, ephemeral and pointless. Opinion is divided amongst Bleakers as to whether the drink is a poignant statement or an annoying insult.
Crushing Regret A shot-glass full of a distilled and fermented mold that grows on the underbellies of ships that regularly pass through the Styx. A palate cleanser. Kind of an everything cleanser. Get one if you need to sober up in a hurry and don't mind forgetting the last thirty minutes of your life.

Weaknesses:
Perilous Secrets Too many loose ends.
Reckless Come onnnn. Do it. What's the worst that could happen?
Love The cruelest poison of all.
Lynkhab's Kiss "You won't be needing this, succubus. I think I'll hold onto it for you."

Wossup cutter, pull up a box -- no, not that one, a diff'rent one. Nah, not that one neither -- alright look why dont yer just sorta squat there a bit. Aye, good. Me an' Ark here was just talkin' about some of the barmy shite yer gets out there in the 'verse. Fer example, get this, right? There's this one sort o' Mimic what makes itself look like a pair o' pants, right, like actual pants what you wear, and then lies around all day hopin' you'll put 'em on so it can eat yer? An' I was just now sayin' to Ark that, hoy, maybe thats what Succubusses revolved from. Hahaha!

...What? Beth? Well ain't that a coincidence! Ark, this poor hopeless sod knows Beth! Haha, oh, aye, I knows, I knows.

Ha ha!

Two 'undred jink or I walk.

Pleasure doin' business. Right; first things first, cutter. Rule one: It's a Demon. Rule two: It's a sodding Demon. Don't you never forget that mate, I don't care how nice she is to yer or how dumb she makes you fink she is or how nice an' soft her jubblies are when she stuffs yer face into 'em: It's a Demon. An' sure, you fink, "Well, Demon, that don't mean nuffing in the Cage, throw a egg you'll hit fifty of 'em, they wipe their bums just like regular blokes!" Or else maybe yer one of them pergressive sods what gets offended 'cos I said "Demon" instead'a "Tanar'ri," in which case you can pike the 'ells off you daft berk. Aye, aye, aye, demons everywhere an' outer fings crawlin' around the Bazaar wearin' hats, an' talkin' cubes askin' if you know where the local cube bar is an' slummin' gods talkin' drek cos they don't know they ain't never gettin' outta here yet; Cage is full o' pandimensional riff-raff, but guess what? That don't change lickety split, cutter. It's a Demon. Black Chaot through an' through. Demons. Are. Bad. And lemme tell yer somefing: It is bloody obnoxious that I hafta spell that out for people.

Oh yeah, Beth's nice though. Throws the best parties. Got some nice stuff in the Sensorium too, if yer inna that sorta fing. Ark, get us anuvva round! This sod's payin'.

What I like about Beth is, she's gotta sense of humor. An' I doesn't just mean she knows how to have a laugh when she's got a Deva stuffed inna birdcage and is force-feedin' it crackers, all the Suckyerbusses is like that. I mean she knows how to take a joke. That's rare.

There was this one time down in the Anthill after-hours, me an Rollo an ol' Pete was doin' some private business inna dark alley type of affair. Lady's Word, can't say too much. Anyway, she's out plyin' her trade, an' we all know it's her 'cos of the way she walks, et setera et setera. She don't hide from her mates unless she's playin' a prank, lets you know it's her even if she's on the hunt. You'll see what I mean.

So she's made 'erself look human, maybe sixteen or somefing -- blonde hair, white Fairysilk dress wiv a split down the side so you doesn't have to imagine what her bum looks like so much -- an' she's doin' that fing where she's all scared and timid wiv them big doe-eyes, 'cos she's sniffed out this one basher she's had her eye on, right sod he was too. Knuckles like Nifelheim tombstones. Makes sure he sees her an' follows her down th' next alley. Nice an' dark.

Basher grabs her like "Allo love, out fer a bit of a stroll is we?" and Beth is playin it up, goin' "Oh please good sir unhand me, for I is right confused. I was but in my dung-covered hut in Toril eatin' potatoes an' slowly dyin' of boredom as all good folk does in Toril, when of a sudden I walked inna privvy and found my pert female self in this strange an' barmy flopheap. I is just a poor lissome backring lass wiv huge tits what couldn't possibly fight back if someone was to take advantage of me an' my aforementioned tits, like right now in this here alley fer example."

So the basher does more or less what yer'd expect; hits her inna gut, grabs her hair an drags her onna ground before rippin' her dress open. Basher gives us a look, points his chivvy at us and growls "you berks didn't see nuffing," and I put up me hands like "no trouble here mate" cos I know what's goin' to happen and to be straight, cutter, I ain't no hero anyhoo. So he rips up her silky underfings an' she's all squirmin' an squeakin' like "Please no not my precious virginity!" an' Pete... Scrag me, Pete starts bloody laughin. He can't hold it in no more, he just starts snickering, loud enough to hear, an' I mean yer can't blame him, 'cos Beth's had more pikes up her than a Red Death rack. So of course then I starts laughin' too, hissin' shut yer daft box you silly bloody sod yer gunna get us scrubbed, and Beth is glarin' at us like you utter little turds don't you pikin' rust this up for me! and then -- rule o' threes -- Rollo spits out 'is drink cacklin' an' we all just loses it. So we're all three of us just laughin' like Pandy-addled twats, and then Beth, bless her black little heart, she caves in and starts laughin' too. And this big ugly berk holdin' her down is all "what the sod is so pikin' sodsdamned funny?" an' she wraps 'er legs around him, locks lips an' gives him the punchline.

So she didn't get 'er soul like she wanted, but she did suck the ugly bastard dry, so that's somefing, an' afterward we helped dump what was left of the stiff, cos we felt sorta bad even though it were funny as all get out. But at the time she just wipes her mouth, changes back to her real self and walks over dryin' a sulfurous tear from her eye, an' we all has a good, long laugh together. Great days.

So anyway, that's the story of how Pete lost 'is eye.