Within the infernal realm of Minauros, mortals are generally rather low on the food chain. Fiends wander through the dismal swamps who would happily sate their hungers, both of the normal and far more disturbing sorts, upon any non-baatezu who they might stumble across.
But to those who know the proper invocations, the correct paths, and have detailed lore upon how the hellish inhabitants of the place act, a way can be found to a place few fiends go, and even those rare beings go there not there to find battle or victims, but rather a moment's solace. A lake, although none would willingly drink the Styx-fed waters within.
Upon the shore of it on this day, a sight rarely seen within the hells, as an unclothed figure can be seen kneeling in the muck at the lake's edge, chanting softly in an archaic version of the infernal tongue, as she has been for hours. Spatters of slime mar the shine of skin dampened from exertion, droplets of moisture flicking from the ends of sweat-slicked hair as she sways.
There is a purpose to this. In time, a tear in reality forms atop the surface of the lake's shallows, wisps of vaporous blackness flowing from within and lightly stroking the body of the conjuress, and as the first of them touches her, her body goes still, eyes rolling back to show only whites... an odd appearance, given the conversational tone of her voice immediately thereafter.
"Yes, yes... no.
"No, Unhath, I have not. I have been trapped in Sigil, and...
"Yes, I have the book! I did not come here to be berated, I...
"Yes, I said Sigil, and I meant Sigil. What does...
"Of course. Things happen in broad daylight that would bring execution in Luskan, and you know...
"For the sake of our Lord, yes! I have already found...
"Indeed, souls as well. One even half-way there. I do be prepared, but as much as it galls me, I must ask your advice. No, stop laughing or...
"Or... or nothing, Coiled Mistress. I misspoke. But...
"Yes, down to brass tacks. A battle seems to be nascent, and I must know if my choice of sides to support is acceptible.
"What? No, nothing so grand as that. Hobgoblins and orcs."
For the next few minutes, she simply nods, as if taking instruction. Finally, the rip seals itself, the ephemeral pseudopods vanish, and the conjuress rises, heedless of her state, and begins to make her way back towards the known Sigilian portal. Still, a tremulous smile formed on her lips as a realization of today's actions came to her. She was no longer lost, unknown to both allies and foes. For better or for worse, the Crimson Conjuress had finally come to Sigil.
A Walking Study in Demonology
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*Cotillion
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- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
White robes fluttering in a charnel wind, Rhethys stands atop a tall hillock, her form outlined against a colorless sky. To her sides stand two large beasts, an oversized wolf with the glowing red eyes and horned of the fiendishly touched, and a large hunting cat that seems to flicker in and out of sight. Both are alert, tensing when one of the undead upon the plain below nears their mistress' position, but even zombies have enough rudimentary intellect left over from life to recognize certain annihilation when they see it.
Also upon the hillock is a different form, this of a large serpent, its red-and-black color scheme muted here in the Gray Wastes, but the vermillion shimmer in its eyes somehow managing to bypass this effect. Such may have something to do with the fact that the snake is speaking.
"Two years in that pestilent desert city and nothing more than promises and a few odd shadow-attuned devices, yet you expect me to believe that less than one month in the City of Doors has borne fruit?" The words are hissing and sibilant, forced into the odd sound by the shape of the creature's mouth and its lack of a voicebox, but in the tone can be heard the inflection of what would unmistakably be a female voice.
"A different place, a different situation." The conjuress stares off at the vanishing horizon, eyes avoiding those of the serpent, but her stance shows an obvious awareness of its presence. "Padasha was tainted by the Shadow, Calimshan as a while by the efreeti and djinni of ages past, and those minds with the potential we seek had already been subverted by the time I arrived. Sigil, on the other hand, is a veritable smorgasbord, to use a barbaric term. Jaded outlooks mix with childlike naivete, stunning beauty with bestial ferocity... and let us not forget the issue of blood, either. It mixes here in the most delightful ways."
"That, I believe." The serpent sways slightly, its gaze turning to follow Rhethys' own for a moment. "And I look forward to seeing it for myself. You'll bring her to this place, where I can ride one of my puppets and meet this one. See her. Touch her. And you will pray that I am not disappointed, pet, or Crimson will be descriptive of more than your hair and your silly unique spells."
The threat inherent in the serpent's offhand comment draws a hint of nervousness, the conjuress biting at her lower lip for a moment before turning to finally meet eyes with the reptile. "You know I do not believe her ready to deal directly with you, Mistress Unhath. But as you command, so shall it be." She does not look away until the form of the snake quavers and vanishes, leaving a faint shadowy impression of a considerably larger serpentine form with additional limbs in its wake, and the faint sound of cruel laughter.
Also upon the hillock is a different form, this of a large serpent, its red-and-black color scheme muted here in the Gray Wastes, but the vermillion shimmer in its eyes somehow managing to bypass this effect. Such may have something to do with the fact that the snake is speaking.
"Two years in that pestilent desert city and nothing more than promises and a few odd shadow-attuned devices, yet you expect me to believe that less than one month in the City of Doors has borne fruit?" The words are hissing and sibilant, forced into the odd sound by the shape of the creature's mouth and its lack of a voicebox, but in the tone can be heard the inflection of what would unmistakably be a female voice.
"A different place, a different situation." The conjuress stares off at the vanishing horizon, eyes avoiding those of the serpent, but her stance shows an obvious awareness of its presence. "Padasha was tainted by the Shadow, Calimshan as a while by the efreeti and djinni of ages past, and those minds with the potential we seek had already been subverted by the time I arrived. Sigil, on the other hand, is a veritable smorgasbord, to use a barbaric term. Jaded outlooks mix with childlike naivete, stunning beauty with bestial ferocity... and let us not forget the issue of blood, either. It mixes here in the most delightful ways."
"That, I believe." The serpent sways slightly, its gaze turning to follow Rhethys' own for a moment. "And I look forward to seeing it for myself. You'll bring her to this place, where I can ride one of my puppets and meet this one. See her. Touch her. And you will pray that I am not disappointed, pet, or Crimson will be descriptive of more than your hair and your silly unique spells."
The threat inherent in the serpent's offhand comment draws a hint of nervousness, the conjuress biting at her lower lip for a moment before turning to finally meet eyes with the reptile. "You know I do not believe her ready to deal directly with you, Mistress Unhath. But as you command, so shall it be." She does not look away until the form of the snake quavers and vanishes, leaving a faint shadowy impression of a considerably larger serpentine form with additional limbs in its wake, and the faint sound of cruel laughter.
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*Cotillion
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
It was dark.
The flash of light bursting from the gloves in apocolyptic fury, that was the last light she could truly recall, the last living memory. A few other remembrances from after that, yes, but more dreamlike than anything: floating above a pile of disintigrating ashes for a moment's time, the slow sensation of travel through a tunnel of darkness, a barely-remembered conversation of stilted words with someone... her employer? Her murderer? It did not matter, because all was darkness, and her mind split in twain.
The conscious, beating itself against non-existing walls, shouting out voicelessly for an answer to questions, why am I here?, what is this place?, and where are my promised rewards?. The weak, mortal, almost primitive mind that viewed the world without layers of subtlety.
And the unconscious, understanding the reason for Hildmor's use of a Soul Bind to maintain her existence short of the afterlife. Understanding that the vial of her blood still existed, and it was only a matter of waiting until her body would be returned, light with it.
But also with its own set of worries, as the spell's uses were normally not so benign, and this particular soul made this gem quite valuable to the right potential buyer.
Within the locked case upon the upper shelf, the black sapphire sat silently.
The flash of light bursting from the gloves in apocolyptic fury, that was the last light she could truly recall, the last living memory. A few other remembrances from after that, yes, but more dreamlike than anything: floating above a pile of disintigrating ashes for a moment's time, the slow sensation of travel through a tunnel of darkness, a barely-remembered conversation of stilted words with someone... her employer? Her murderer? It did not matter, because all was darkness, and her mind split in twain.
The conscious, beating itself against non-existing walls, shouting out voicelessly for an answer to questions, why am I here?, what is this place?, and where are my promised rewards?. The weak, mortal, almost primitive mind that viewed the world without layers of subtlety.
And the unconscious, understanding the reason for Hildmor's use of a Soul Bind to maintain her existence short of the afterlife. Understanding that the vial of her blood still existed, and it was only a matter of waiting until her body would be returned, light with it.
But also with its own set of worries, as the spell's uses were normally not so benign, and this particular soul made this gem quite valuable to the right potential buyer.
Within the locked case upon the upper shelf, the black sapphire sat silently.
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*Cotillion
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
From a distance, it would not seem nearly as odd. A limping figure in white wearing a turban, leaning heavily on an ornate staff as it makes its way through the wide ways of the Clerk's Ward, companions bracing it on all four sides.
It is only as the eye moves closer that the strangeness is revealed, the figure not nearly as decrepit as one would expect, but rather a surprisingly attractive woman in her late twenties, dress cut to show off supple arms and well-muscled legs, yet every step betrays a tremble of weakness and pain, evinced moreso by the gritting of teeth in a harsh grimace with each step.
Before the figure, a humanoid demon swathed in black leathers, fading from sight as shadows fall over it before reappearing in more well-lit expanses. Few in Sigil would recognize this creature as a Kelvezu, but those who would know to give quite a wide berth to this strange procession.
To the left, a lissome succubus looks ready to catch the limping form should it falter, light touches to the arm as if to reassure with its presence. On her right, strides a goat-horned bulezau, its ranseur in hand in spite of Harmonium regulations, challenge shining from its eyes.
Finally, behind walks a hulking figure, a hezrou, albeit oddly missing its usual accompaniment of foul fog, but whose snarling gaze and clenched fists give no doubt as to what would pass should the staff-bearing woman's progress be hindered.
As the gaudy tents of the Bazaar are gimpsed ahead, the woman turns, producing a wand and murmuring its word of command, a ward of invisibility enveloping three of her companions in turn, while the Kelvezu simply steps into a deeper pool of shadows and vanishes. Seemingly alone afterwards, she limps her way into the market, eyes fixed on the route to Khazeet's. Of her demonic companions... there is no sign.
It is only as the eye moves closer that the strangeness is revealed, the figure not nearly as decrepit as one would expect, but rather a surprisingly attractive woman in her late twenties, dress cut to show off supple arms and well-muscled legs, yet every step betrays a tremble of weakness and pain, evinced moreso by the gritting of teeth in a harsh grimace with each step.
Before the figure, a humanoid demon swathed in black leathers, fading from sight as shadows fall over it before reappearing in more well-lit expanses. Few in Sigil would recognize this creature as a Kelvezu, but those who would know to give quite a wide berth to this strange procession.
To the left, a lissome succubus looks ready to catch the limping form should it falter, light touches to the arm as if to reassure with its presence. On her right, strides a goat-horned bulezau, its ranseur in hand in spite of Harmonium regulations, challenge shining from its eyes.
Finally, behind walks a hulking figure, a hezrou, albeit oddly missing its usual accompaniment of foul fog, but whose snarling gaze and clenched fists give no doubt as to what would pass should the staff-bearing woman's progress be hindered.
As the gaudy tents of the Bazaar are gimpsed ahead, the woman turns, producing a wand and murmuring its word of command, a ward of invisibility enveloping three of her companions in turn, while the Kelvezu simply steps into a deeper pool of shadows and vanishes. Seemingly alone afterwards, she limps her way into the market, eyes fixed on the route to Khazeet's. Of her demonic companions... there is no sign.
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*Cotillion
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Hands lightly gripping a balustrade of stone, the figure stands upon a balcony set atop one of the higher limbs of the Host Tower of the Arcane. Short red hair blows in the cool autumn wind, while steam rises from its bare skin, the heat of exertion slow to fade even in temperatures that would cause most residents of the city hundreds of feet below to don coats.
"It do be good to be back, yes. The intrigues do seem so petty in comparison." Her back arches as she stretches, a crooked smile crossing her lips.
"Then stay, Crimson. You'd be doing the Brotherhood, not to mention the one we serve, much good with your presence here instead of running about in realms of myth." A black-gloved hand comes to rest on her shoulder as the deep, rumbling voice sounds. "The Chair of Conjuration has remained empty, after all."
"No offense to you, my former master," Rhethys says while laughing softly, "but my horizons do be broadened. I had to be certain, returning here, to this... to you." She steops back lean against the black-clad form of her companion, seeming almost petite against the tall, robed figure. "Not to say I'll never return, but... it's the difference between mere life and immortality, between a whispered rumor and true knowledge. I do be closer to the source, closer to eternity in Sigil."
"Is that it, then. Simply thinking about your destiny, and not merchant mages, blue demonbloods, cryptic bards and tiefling assassins?" He chuckles as his fingertips lightly stroke the skin of her flank.
The sorceress spins in his grasp, going up on tiptoe to plant a feather-light kiss on the tip of the man's chin. "They've been worthwhile, yes... but I have grander plans for the Cage. I will need to return sooner than later... but mayhap there do still be time for more... dalliances before I depart." Her hand snakes inside his robe to the accompaniment of teasing laughter, before a whispered word envelops both their figures within velvety shadow. A moment later, the darkness dissipates, leaving the balcony clear but for the chill wind.
"It do be good to be back, yes. The intrigues do seem so petty in comparison." Her back arches as she stretches, a crooked smile crossing her lips.
"Then stay, Crimson. You'd be doing the Brotherhood, not to mention the one we serve, much good with your presence here instead of running about in realms of myth." A black-gloved hand comes to rest on her shoulder as the deep, rumbling voice sounds. "The Chair of Conjuration has remained empty, after all."
"No offense to you, my former master," Rhethys says while laughing softly, "but my horizons do be broadened. I had to be certain, returning here, to this... to you." She steops back lean against the black-clad form of her companion, seeming almost petite against the tall, robed figure. "Not to say I'll never return, but... it's the difference between mere life and immortality, between a whispered rumor and true knowledge. I do be closer to the source, closer to eternity in Sigil."
"Is that it, then. Simply thinking about your destiny, and not merchant mages, blue demonbloods, cryptic bards and tiefling assassins?" He chuckles as his fingertips lightly stroke the skin of her flank.
The sorceress spins in his grasp, going up on tiptoe to plant a feather-light kiss on the tip of the man's chin. "They've been worthwhile, yes... but I have grander plans for the Cage. I will need to return sooner than later... but mayhap there do still be time for more... dalliances before I depart." Her hand snakes inside his robe to the accompaniment of teasing laughter, before a whispered word envelops both their figures within velvety shadow. A moment later, the darkness dissipates, leaving the balcony clear but for the chill wind.
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*Cotillion
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
An empty suite of rooms, divested of its usual complement of scrolls, tomes, and the accoutrements of summonning, sits where once the Chair of Conjuration of the Arcane Brotherhood made her Residence. Magic circles inscribed upon the floor and disturbingly large cages lining the walls of some room give some clue to its former use and occupant, but for now only dust and the faint sulferous residue of a recently cast Gate spell would greet visitors.
It would, of course, be quite some time before any other member of the Brotherhood would dare to claim these rooms. After all, one would never know if the conjuress and her horde of tame demons might decide to return...
It would, of course, be quite some time before any other member of the Brotherhood would dare to claim these rooms. After all, one would never know if the conjuress and her horde of tame demons might decide to return...