The Internal Affairs

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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


The expressions of the half drow as he went briefly through the content of the book were a rollercoaster of emotions that varied from the "what the Hell" to the "I can't believe I'm really reading this". Nonetheless, he finally reached for what he had been looking for to begin with, the note slipping from between the pages and to his hand as he got to the end of the book.

He frowned deeply as his eyes skimmed through the ingredient list and procedure, his attention eventually settling on the intricate sigil illustrated, only to be then stolen by the last -or, well, second to last- sentence written on the bottom.

Alecto was the deviless he had seen in his visions, not to mention the same creature the dark around the cage associated with the actual arrest of Maraphiel.
Summon her? In a prison?
His gaze fell again on the sigil, intently, and he started giving it even more consideration, reading through every layer and embedded spell the drawing implied.

He had no reason to lie to himself, the Fury wasn't an ally of his. Actually, she was currently pretty much an enemy, given that she was probably the one behind the current hunt on his person. However, summoning and trapping her was one heavy statement to make, and he was too paranoid to make that kind of statements without having a clear plan in mind.
Also, if the vision was to be trusted, that brachina was currently keeping Maraphiel trapped in spite of the ongoing trial. How likely would it be that, if he really managed to trap her in turn, he might end up being pulled into that mess as an accessory to evasion?

He went to drop on the chair behind his desk and sighed heavily.

Nonsense. I am but a mere mortal, what a shame would it be for them to even consider I might have succeeded in such an endeavour...?

Even in his mind, the sarcasm was dripping.
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

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Slayer of Love
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Posted by Slayer of Love »


"This is not her! What is the meaning of this?"

"The accused is gone!"

"You mean the accused has fled!"

"Impossible. No devil can break out of these bindings."

"The guards better have an explanation for this."

"::::: Bring in the guards ::::: "

What remains of the four osyluths charged with guarding the pit Maraphiel disappeared from is teleported in the middle of the hall. It looks as though they finished each other off with their own barbed scourges. The last one that made it hung himself upside down on his whip and finished himself off.

"Mind control. Fits her preferred method of avoiding combat."

"Why would she put that carcass in her place? Only someone who wants her humiliated would do something like that"

"Clearly the traitor did it to mock our justice and feign an abduction!"

"And how do you suppose, milord, she did all that from inside of the pit?"

"Why don't you tell me, milord. She is your agent. Is this how Canians work around justice of this court?!"

"Why don't you tell me, castellan. It is your pit."

"WHAT are you suggesting, marquis?!"


"::::: Enough ::::: "


Tacitae does not take half-measures. Soon as the dread being in charge of this jury speaks it, a number of infernal enforces: barbazus, osyluths and hamatulae coordinated by brachinae in characteristic patent leather uniforms; barge in the hall and surround everyone: judges, lawyers, scribes, guards, everyone.


"::::: The hearing is suspended. All will remain within the premises, pending investigation. ::::: "



* * *


The sigil is rather unconventional, nothing like usual demonologist's arsenal. The old, crude seals and runes do not resemble immediately anything used by modern arcanists, but bear a certain similarity to some obscure dialects in which magic was written down in tablets of ancient civilisations. Rhistel is able to read the incantation to say, but it sounds like gibberish, though that is not uncommon in the study of forgotten magic. To Rhistel it does however sound vaguely like certain proto-netherese arcane languages, putting it somewhere in the range of 50,000-100,000 years old.

Though it is far from complete understanding, cross-referencing the sigil's drawing with sources in these forgotten tongues Rhistel can make some general sense out of it and identify three main parts of the drawing.

First, the numerous inscriptions around the seals, is concerned with explicitly identifying, finding and linking to one, particular devil.

Second, the smaller, lower seal, is focused on drawing the devil into the place of summoning, where the evil spirit is not able to resist the lure of the dark deeds commited in course of the ritual and is forced to appear.

Third, the larger, upper seal, is focused on binding the devil. It does not appear to work like typical conjuring rings used to constrain the summoned fiend's movement. Rather, somehow it shatters the devil's defenses, violently and painfully, rendering her suspectible to be subjugated by the summoner's will. An experienced mage would expect this exercise to require a large amount of willpower and mental discipline, which could be one of the reasons Maraphiel chose Rhistel for this over some infernal minion.
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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


Image

Oily rain tapped and rolled down the half drow waxed heavy cloak as he lazily walked down Duskgate Road, his mood matching the weather while he mulled over the current matters.

The careful study of the ritual didn't really make him any more optimistic about that all: he had a plan, a plan that was surely going to work for him, and this setback just added a complication he didn't know what to do with. Not to mention that the lack of a binding ring in that ritual was annoyingly suspicious. He didn't like the idea of being forced to keep the deviless around, even if he had to agree that having her bound in a single place was also not ideal.

Perhaps he could simply have her hand over Maraphiel and then send her back...

He sighed and rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face.
Truth be told, he hated all of that, but at the point he was right now his best option was to see the plan through to the end... even if it had stopped being just -his- plan long before it even started, apparently.


He took a sharp turn right into Saint's Boulevard, and then yet another in Revel Road, the stride of someone with a destination in mind while in truth he was just walking in circles.
He had already outsourced the task of finding the additional materials needed for the ritual -or at least, most of them- to the only kind of servant he could trust at this time, all he had to do was wait for everything to be ready.


Last edited by Serena on Mon Nov 23, 2020 5:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


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Summons, Sacrifices and Sundries
All your Needs for a Perfect Ritual
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

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Slayer of Love
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Posted by Slayer of Love »


The deviless has never quite understood what the panicked, silent screaming from inside of the soul gems was all about. Behind the prismatic walls there is no warmth nor cold and no single soul to be a distraction. With enough willpower one could bend this reality into one's own paradise. To her though it is an ideal place to focus on meditation, on pursuit of inward perfection - or at least her vision of it.

There are traces of residual raw soulstuff, likely the remains of spirits imprisoned here previously. Maraphiel invites them in. Tastes them. Distant echoes of past dread, rage and emptiness come forward strongly. Behind them, in the middle, anguish, hopelessness and pain of loneliness. A rich though very subtle variety of guilt, greed, jealousy, surrender, remorse in the finish. It all would make a great gin, she reckons, before consuming it all. Not out of hunger. The extreme empath would prefer to savour the remnants of spirits that dwelled here and their emotion longer, enjoying the substitute for company, but so much energy should not go to waste. Even if it's not enough to break free of the crystal cage, she is going to need every bit of power she can muster. Besides, these absorbed echoes, devoid of origin, meaning and purpose, they will obviously feel so much better within her.

Maraphiel is not entirely wrong. Some time in, the crystal vial is open and she is released. Anticipating this moment, she gathers all her power to strike like thunder from heavens as soon as it is open. All the mighty, divine wrath and untamed conviction burn in a blinding light, conjured to smite her captor in one glorious blow. Ground quakes violently, air hisses overcharged, heat emanates furiously... and then, it just powers down, like an engine that's used up all its fuel, and nothing happens.

Alecto knows better than to allow her prisoner a window of opportunity. Soon as Maraphiel is released, her magic is dampened by a warded forcefield between them.

Dim, red, ambient light with no discernable source illumuinates the rocky cavern reinforced with thick, metallic bars forged into the floor, ceiling and walls. Through them one can hear irregular, rumbling, heavy thuds, as though an avalanche or some meteor shower was laying waste on the surface.


"Always underestimating your foes. I warned you once this would be your downfall."

"My, my, sister... Just when I thought your ...comedic... failure of a prosecution could not get any more laughable, your prank of a coup took it to ... an entirely new level of humour..."

"You've got a big mouth for someone I could simply vanquish. Or maybe give away for demons to have their fun with you."

"Mmm.. you could... but you won't."

Alecto bursts in cold, vicious laughter.

"aaHahahaha, ha, hahah! ... Please. You really think I wouldn't?"

"It's not that you wouldn't, it's just... that you care more for yourself, than for your ...hate... for me, and that's not how you're going to get your ... value... is it... Besides, let's face it, cheesecake, you're just too ...weak... to pull a stunt like that. You're a tool, Alecto ... clearly... it must have been spawned through some other devil's scheme."

"Or I could just hear you SQUEAL like the golden hog you are!"

That instant Alecto draws a hideous scourge, ended with silver plated spikes, blessed saw wheels and actually live, ravenous, electric snakes. Furious she gives Maraphiel a cruel beating with it. That bloody, self-righteous, always groundlessly favoured, groundlessly entitled, insufferably swaggering, rotting, fallen golden wench! Even now, scragged, dragged and bellied, she remains defiant. Why won't she just accept Alecto's victory, why won't she acknowledge her strength?! Even now, defeated, hopeless and on her knees, she knows what strings to pull to irritate Alecto. Only after venting some of that contempt, the red skinned captor realises that she was provoked into it, and ceases the battering.

"Don't hurt me, please!"

Maraphiel cries out with feeble trembling in the voice. Convicingly so, at least to someone that wouldn't know even that to be an act.

"I'm not falling for that again."

"Aww... I thought we were just...warming up.... sure, go ahead and kill the climax."

"I know that only makes you stronger. But, I have also learned your weakness."

"Chocolate is a strength, Alecto, not a weakness."

"Soon the court martial jury will meet and declare you a fugitive. You will lose all your rights and favour. At that point I could even release you, because shamed, disinherited and hunted you won't be able to do much about it. It would please me enough to have you live such an existence. Unfortunately for you, some devils have much bigger plans for you, Maraphiel.

Or you talk and I drop the charges. Start with the details of Initiative Yod-Lamed-Resh-Tav-Bet."


"Aah... so that is my ...bargaining chip... good... And yours? Empty promises? Imagined weaknesses? Delusions of being able to influence the court's verdict?"

"Heh. You kind of caught me bluffing, I haven't got any of that indeed. Your old friends, however, do..."

Alecto produces a scroll and rolls it out before Maraphiel. On it an infernal contract between her, and marchioness Enepsigos - officially, one of Maraphiel's supporters - to change her vote on delivery of Maraphiel to Malbolge. For the first time throughout the months of imprisonment, interrogation and torture, Maraphiel loses the cheek and appears worried. For the first time, her support from higher up devils is jeopardised, but that is not the source of her upset - that's the rules of the game. The outstanding debt with Glasya's courtiers is.

"I will leave you to think about it."
Last edited by Slayer of Love on Tue Dec 08, 2020 6:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


Why did he trust her?
He actually had asked himself this question more than once, during the years.
If he really prided himself on being an arrogant prick who thought himself better than everyone else knowing better, why did he trust her? To the point of considering a ritual he couldn't still fully understand?

The truth was, he didn't, really.
He didn't generally trust her.

He trusted her to not directly endanger his existence, at the current time.
He trusted her to still find it convenient for him to be able to carry out their agreements, for now.
He trusted her to have some degree of interest in his wellbeing, as long as their agreements stood.
And he trusted her to care about her own wellbeing enough to have come up with a plan that wasn't going to blow up in their faces, at this current time.

Actually, that was still a great deal of trust to put in a being, but he somehow could get behind it. Maybe because it was based on logic and not on sentiments, he didn't feel like he was fooling himself. He didn’t have any real expectations, besides for the Brachina to be as smart as he thought.



On the stone of the altar, the snowy creature struggled against its muzzle and binds, and the half drow finally abandoned his thoughts long enough to give it a brief glance of cold understanding.
"For what it’s worth, I’m not enjoying it either," he stated idly, as he went to set aside the mortar.
He never liked horses, in none of their shapes, even if he wasn’t able to explain why. He didn’t like them alive, he didn’t like them dead, with wings or with horns… He couldn’t wait for that part to be over, so he could just get rid of it.

There was more struggling from the beast as he approached, the old dagger in his hand catching a ray of light from the window and giving a muted shine.
He didn’t have much time to spare at this point, most of the gears had already been set in motion and he had but a few hours to make sure everything was ready: his secretary had already been instructed to arrange for a sedan chair to pick him up back at the Hall right before peak - the famous meeting ha was expecting having been anticipated without prior notice and moved to a different, unmentioned location. He never used sedan chairs if he could help it, but this time being able to hide behind the heavy curtains while he was allegedly traveling through the city and toward some specific portal was the best way he had to keep any pursuers’ attention on him, especially if they didn’t know the destination already. Of course he wasn’t planning to stay in there the whole time, but no one had to know that in advance. He only needed a small advantage to be already on location, for when they finally would catch up.

He moved his gaze on the altar and tsked in contempt at the intricate grooves that ran along the stone and ended in a small hollow in what was clearly an overly complicated blood gathering system. Drama and theatricality over practicality, not to mention the blood gone to waste if he decided to have it flow through all those useless channels. Besides, he wasn’t a charlatan with an audience to appease: this is why he had his own graduated cylinder instead.

He carefully chose the spot where he was going to open the cut and looked back at the evidently furious -and probably panicked- unicorn one more time.
"If you move and I happen to drop the container you’ll have to stay here even longer, so I’ll leave it to you how you want to go about it," he stated rather matter of factly before proceeding to draw the point of the blade through the white coat, painting a red streak through it.

Not much time to waste, he was awaited elsewhere, afterall.
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

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Slayer of Love
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Posted by Slayer of Love »


"Warding against magic was but minor setback, for our most powerful and indeed feared tool and weapon remained once more at our disposal. The tongue. We thought the simplest solution to this predicament would be to lure in the guards and, whether: by swaying the sentry with sweet play on ever prevalent greed and irresistable temptation of dark desires, or provoking them into mistake through watering the gloomy seeds of angst and loathing; challenge the meager cage we were daringly thrown inside of. The guards chosen for a task of keeping this cell would very likely be swiftly disposed of, for as soon as Alecto finishes her transaction they would become loose ends to be tied, and it would be a simple task of making them realise such an outcome and propose an alternative.

As we soon, neither surprisingly nor disappointingly, found out, Alecto has prevented a possibility like this and many others from materialisation, which was a thing to be cherished despite the drawback it caused. For to have a foolhardy, blundering buffoon for a once student and now challenger would pain us more than all of her at best unoriginal attempts at hurting us combined.

The moment Alecto left these confines our corporeal form slammed clamorously against the ceiling with a collosal force and was left hovering weightless for a moment whilst the walls around spun violently jolted to a nauseating angular momentum. A hollow, deafening blast swerved the spiralling trajectory and with an overwhelming brunt crashed the body against the walls. Volatile series of subsequent stunning revolutions hurled our shell ricocheting ferociously, fissuring and spluttering over the rocks that made the gruesome confines. Through some time the tremendous blows shattered completely the meek meatbag despite its crying out involuntarily a spasmatic crescendo of abhorrently pathetic sounds of struggling physicality. Even when the tangible remains dispersed into smithereens and all that was left of the form was the true - the incorporeal, the divine root, the essence of the spirit, it too kept being crashed into copper bars laced with impassable gold and reinforced with sinister wardings, bouncing off them just like anything tangible would.

Though the excruciating pain numbed the mind and dulled the senses, occluding any perception but that of its own remorseless rending, tearing and squashing, we remained conscious and it was through that pain that we were able to reject the falsely anchored truths of materiality and achieve clarity transcending these truths into revelations and wisdoms beyond the extent of mere matter, space and time. Into the true, supernal nature innate to the unhallowed realm of belief whose hungering dimensions curl sickly around dreams most coveted, drawn unknowingly to the dimension's unrelishing allure in spite its riling depravity and repulsive atrocity. Into the harrowing currents of memories molded into the timeless land that is not land, but seeping, bubbling, slobbering pool of malformed, baleful thoughts that were all that remained from thousands of once souls. Our magnificent, unforgiving home.

We auscultated the unuttered whispers echoing distortedly from within the very hideous dimension and it unravelled before us agonised screeches of illimitable vastness of petitioners' memories, crying panickedly their last lament before relentless excruciarchs and hungry, twisted, toothless mouths culled what remained of their indviduality. We sensed the echoes of unmeasured ire of devils sentenced to end pitifully within this realm, their essences cursing exorbitantly their last adversary as they were devoured, absorbed and made one with the hungry, sacrilegious soil where dissolved, blurred and blended together they live as sickly multitude of sinister echoes. We heard the loudest of them, late ruler of the realm, engulfed to the very core by the dreary, greedy degeneration of the land to which they were thrown barbarously by an incantation of might so powerful it could slay even a god, but not without days of torrential seizures disfiguring them in fashion deplorably unspekable even to one such as us; magic so obscene that had it been conjured in Heavens instead, it would cast impermeable darkness over an entire layer of the paradise. Far beneath these sensations we felt a cold darker, and purer, and older even than Nessus itself, ominous and ill-boding in fashion so fraudulent, so twisted and so deeply upsetting that the Dark Prince himself commanded to bury it beneath for eternity and ward off from the immensity of the 'verse behind timeless seals.

By then we had no slightest doubt the prison was in the sixth Hell of Malboge, likely somewhere next to the layer's border, where Glasya's new order has not yet managed to fully convert the boundless slope that was once the scene for roaring concertos of avalanches, menacing the entire layer with bombardment of boulders, crushed remains of structures, endless debris and unfortunate, flightless sods, from which only the copper fortresses deep in the caverns beneath the surface were safe from. It must be that this prison is carved within one of these still falling boulders. Ancient magic kept it from crumbling, and no spirit, not even that of Hell - especially that of Hell - ever wandered in the vicinity.

This realisation brought in us memories of our own from whence we served the court of the Sixth Circle, from times even before the Reckoning when he who is now by many called the rabble of devilkin reigned in the sixth pit, and in these old times mere utterance of his name, Moloch, would make entire hordes of foul Tanar'ri cower like meager, vulnerable lillies amidst the eye of a thundering, earth shuttering hail cyclone. We were not pleased with the abominable grotesque begotten in obligation to then feared viceroy, one his court demanded in lieu of what they truly wanted from us but could not extract. Could it be that it is the Queen of Erinyes who will now want to void the old deal and take from us what no devil has taken? If anyone in Hell short of the Dark Prince himself would dare challenge the will of Lord of No Mercy that would be Glasya.

We are not concerned for survival for what we know, what we have seen and lived, no one has ever witnessed and came back to tell the tale, and in no time and beyond any Baatezu will, lest their eyes burn in divine embers and their essence is vanquished from existence. It is for this blasphemous gleam of the unattainable that the lords of Hell will not allow us to be sent into Oblivion beyond existence and eternity.

We have laid an uncounted amount of contingency plans for eventualities like this. Yet from 'tween the confines of the prison, enveloped in a looming atmosphere of murky uncertainty, there is no telling which of them have already been neutralised by our challenger, nor which withered on their own for lack of my presence to mind them; nor whether it'll be two hours or two hundred thousand years before there surfaces one of the circumstances to set in motion the intricate chains of the design. In the least, it shall put their soundness to the ultimate test. However, there is not much time before we find ourselves in dire, malbogian clutches and slipping out of them will be bordering on impossible."



Maraphiel muses to herself as she strategises for developments to come, and, laboriously tries to focus enough sorcerous energy to overload the wards that lock her within - to no avail thus far and, by the looks of it, neither in the time she has.



* * *



Soon as Rhistel's sedan leaves the confines of the Hall of Records into the Sigil streets, just opposite the portal to Minauros opens. Nobody comes in or out and it could be that it was a coincidence, perhaps someone with a key happening to pass next to it opening it unintentionally, but behind the broken reflection of the door between realms there is a set of eyes watching attentively. The journey through Sigil then goes without blockage or incidents, though a few weirdly suspicious looks from bypassers crawl on the entourage on its way, like Xret'cal'viek Maral'chanarek known from his utter disgust and disinterest for mortal affairs taking a long while to watch them, some people with glowing eyes acidentally bumping into the side of the sedan and having a long peek inside, or even some imp flying above it a while before it lands on some roofs nearby and disappears from sight.
Last edited by Slayer of Love on Fri Dec 04, 2020 6:24 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


The sedan had been clearly ordered to take a long route for whatever the destination was, the choice of streets seeming specifically aimed at sticking as much as possible to the most populated areas, probably making it even easier to follow unnoticed for those interested. However, all the ones trying to have a look behind the drawn curtains, would have been faced with a peculiar but probably not unexpected sight: a dark, foggy mass seemed to fill the entirety of the small cabin, making it impossible to tell who, or what, was actually in there unless the curious eye was bold enough to step inside and past the confines of the obvious sanctum spell.
The bearers would have endured the accidental bumping with just a few irritated grunts toward the offenders, and the curtains of the sedan would have been opened more than a couple times from the inside, the passenger clearly interested in seeing what was going on from behind the arcane concealment; only for the second half of the commute, and probably on request of their client, the bearers seemed to hasten their pace, purposely avoiding overcrowded streets as to stop incurring in any kind of setbacks or further encounters until they arrived to their destination.
They finally stopped in an alley in the Lower Ward, alongside a nondescript wall almost completely covered in razorvine, and only there the figure of the half-drow stepped out of the cabin, using the sedan as a cover as he stood in the shadow of the building. Barely a word accompanied the handing out of an additional payment to the lead bearer, which waited in position a moment longer as the passenger eventually made to step toward the wall, where a portal opened on what looked like a countryside landscape. Only once the portal was closed again behind the half drow, the sedan chair moved away and resumed its trip, almost looking like they had still a passenger to take to some destination.



- - - - -


Image

He waited in the hall of the abandoned mansion, idly looking out of the slightly unhinged, heavy door that rested open over the small courtyard in front of the stone building he had chosen for that "meeting" to go down.

He had left the sedan chair sometimes in the middle of the commute, leaving his simulacrum to pose as himself when it came to show his pursuers which portal to take, and instructing it to use a teleport to point them at the correct destination once it was outside of the Cage. Whether they saw behind the deception or not, he was sure they would still check that lead, being it the only one he had left behind, still, that little ruse had given him just enough time to arrive on the spot earlier to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and to hide the mansion’s state of abandonment under a mirage spell that would give it the lively look anyone would expect from it. He didn’t expect that to fool them for too long, but it probably was enough to draw them near: he had seen their tactics at the tower, they would immediately realize the stone wall -that he had specifically created to protect the mansion- had only one access on the front, and the trees in the courtyard were going to be a hindrance to anyone trying to have a clear view from above, just like the stone pillars he had added were going to make any evasive maneuver less immediate.
They would need to enter through the main arch, and he was going to be right in front of them, to make sure they would charge right into where he needed them. Hell, he was even going to pretend to start casting a teleport to flee, in case they’d feel like dimensional locking the area for him and save him the trouble...


The idea he might be overthinking crossed his mind, once or twice, it was one of his problems, afterall... but this time, he wasn't dealing with people. Mortal minds worked differently, and he wasn't absolutely certain psychology might apply on fiends just as well.
Still he had been running until then, trying to get them accustomed to it, hopefully pushing them to consider him a target who would, in all situations, flee rather than fight.
So that when the fight would come, as unfair and dirty it was going to be, they would not be expecting it.
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

Plays: Aidan Rhistel - Factor and Law Representative of the Fated
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Slayer of Love
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Posted by Slayer of Love »


Thick stench of burning, fermentation and sulfur hit Bezugash's nozdrils when he slams the door of the infernal den open with a vigorous kick. The place is filled with fiendish crowd's lively chatter. Coarse hollering and chortling of monstrous grunts, rattling of booze glasses, metallic chains and casino chips, braggings and hagglings of conies and gamblers, yelping of slaves, and entertainers' playing dark, minor violin notes of a morbid yet strangely relaxing lounge tune. All of that rumble comes to a sudden halt when Bezugash screams a stern slating at his subordinates louder than all of the commotion's noises combined.

"ALL RIGHT YOU MISERABLE GATHRA-FACED MONGRELS OF A HOMELESS HELL HOUND AND ONE LEGGED HAG! The chance to correct your pitiful failure you begged for like carrion crawling maggots has come! We have first hand tip off of your escaped mortal's location. Gear your maelphant dung brainboxes up, we're setting off immediately!"

The hellknights mobilise no time when the rest of the patrons return to their off-duty activities. They are in a rush not just because of their rigid discipline, mending their failure is a matter of their twisted honour. Soon the infernal scourge is dispatched to haunt the planes again, and Bezugash briefs his damned cavalliers on the way.

"Walled mansion in the outlands. Limited airborne availability. Defenses unknown. This time, quiet approach and d-lock the place before engagement. Kerubal, Hashmenesh - frontal charge, lances, Morgion, Abraxas - flanks, swords, Marcellus - distraction and capture tactics, bombs, nets, darts, whips, Kristobal - backs and reinforcement, lance, myself - air support and spotting. Clear?"

"Same rules of engagement?"

"I DO NOT RECALL LETTING YOU SPEAK CORPORAL!!!!!

Same, don't mind if the target dies but keep him ressurectable. We're near. Get in positions!"

The squad surrounds Rhistel's facility and having detected no soul but his they begin the assault. First two blast through the front door, secure the position inside. Flankers circle around to cut off the retreat. Bombs go in flying, shattering windows and exploding in choking, poisonous smoke. The commander having fired the wand of locking descends from above to support his troops. In just few moments the accursed cavarly converge around Rhistel.
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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


He had watched the small contingent arrive, tension building inside him despite his best attempts at keeping it at bay: he was aware there were too many things that could go wrong, and his mind all of a sudden decided to go through them all before he
They are circling the external walls
could stop it. He always knew there was the chance he could actually get killed, but did he really -understand- what it meant? Even the best among the worst scenarios was
Two are approaching the gate
going to still cause him an immense loss, was he really ready for that? And what about the worst scenario? He knew well what one of those Hellfire lances could do, he could not
The area is locked
allow himself to die that way, it was out of discussion. Neither were they going to catch him alive, for what was worth. But he
Explosions from the sides, they are coming here
hadn't been planning all those days for a defeat, had he? It was not the right time to low key panic, it was time to
Get in position
get in position, now.

Gaze stuck on the objectively terrifying scene, the half drow hastily retreated toward the back of the hall, right as the first couple of them barged in through the door, followed by the others. It was matter of an instant: the heel of his boot hit the indentation he had made on the floor to mark the start of the safe area just at the same time the first knight hit the trigger he had set.
He held his breath.



The strange patterns the nightmare's smoke assumed in a perimeter around them was the first tale-telling detail, but probably too subtle to be noticed in the amount of time they had. It was when one of the horses slammed full force against the invisible cage that what had just happened became obvious.
Then, just as planned, the Symbols came alive under their feet in a quick, organized cascade that spread systematically from a single point of origin, the floor lighting up with an intricate net of runes as their power was activated: Pain, Fear, Weakness, Stunning, Insanity, Pain, Weakness- again and again in an excruciating repetition.
And in the commotion that followed, a shape that had rested motionless in a darker corner until then made to stir and stand with soft metallic sounds until its height almost doubled. The ground trembled lightly as it took two step forward, towering between the horsemen: a huge suit of armor of dark iron, a sword locked in the grip of one of its hands and a blue light shining from behind its helm where eyes should have been.

Outside of the cage, the half drow took only a brief second to observe the results of his trap. He knew he couldn't allow them time to think.

"Thank you for meeting me on such a short notice," he said eventually, hands slowly rising as necromantic energies started condensing around him, "I have time to talk now.”
At the same time, the light inside the helm of the iron golem became red.
It raised his sword.
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

Plays: Aidan Rhistel - Factor and Law Representative of the Fated
Feel free to reach to me IC for enlisting or general faction rp
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