Active [On the Border of the See and Widersia, as Far South of Clockhaven as the River Goes] - The Phantasmagoria Opens

[Maxxob]

Decimus Valerius

Spoiler: Minions

Titles: [Human - Mundane], [Native], [Military Cadet E] - Widersia - Color #a13a3a
Language Keys: "..." - Common ; "[...]" - Terran

Mephisto IanThe170 Revi

Decimus gave the bouncer a long, appraising gaze, with an unchanged expression. The pair being accepted so easily, so eagerly into the bowels of sin could have brought up some questions of Beatrice’s true character. And, while the veteran soldier remained cautious as ever, he assumed there were enough eyes in Red Haven to have tracked the earlier trio, now pair, movements and actions.

The military man moved and kept himself rather comfortably in the establishment, the atmosphere of that den of damnation doing little to curb his steely resolve to get to the bottom of it. The familiar smell of tobacco reached his nostrils, making him take long drags of smoke of his own smoking pipe reflexively, the gray smoke leaving the left corner of his lips.

A thought, which he dared not utter, for it spoke of the highest treason, had been brewing into the very back of his mind and his stay in that place matured it more and more. Red Haven, and all its damned existence, was a result of the failed Widersian Democracy. How could a nation that was falling so easily to its base desires, allowing the rot to spread so openly, so unimpeded, hope to withstand against its bloodthirsty neighbors? Order had to be enforced, from the top to the base.

And, as he traversed through Black Goat, he let not its cheap calls and diversion rob his attention of the current task. His thoughts were only in finding out the puppeteer behind this sordid play and put an end to it.

The bizarre, eldritch and chimerical entrance of the wrong man brought a visible grimace in Decimus’ wisened face. Primal thoughts of violence, those born from when the eyes catch the sight of something the mind can’t readily comprehend, fight or flight instinct with only the first option thrumming with intensity were brought forth. The idea of a possible crime being committed by the veteran soldier, if violence was chosen as the first option, didn’t even cross his mind. Instead, it was the ineffectiveness shown back at the Ivory Keys which kept the cadet from drawing and firing then and there.

“Let’s approach that it, but keep your wits about you. Anything strange, run for the exit.” Strange? Weren’t things strange from the very moment he set foot in Red Haven? And seeing the surrounding crowd, bucking for the exit appeared to be nothing more than wishful thinking. Regardless, the job that needed to be done pressed the veteran soldier forward, pushing his way through the crowd.

 

[Revi]

Character: Lona Morgan
Titles: [Human - Mundane]
Language Keys: "..." – Common
Text Color: 00CED1
Mentions: Mephisto | Maxxob ​

---

Lona felt the weight of the city as they moved through Red Haven’s winding streets toward The Black Goat. The deeper they went, the more the air seemed to thicken, heavy with a sort of suffocating anticipation. She wasn’t blind to the eyes on them—hungry, empty stares following her and Decimus as they navigated through crowds that seemed to part for them without question, as though some unspoken force was clearing a path. The streets buzzed with life, but it was the wrong kind of life—artificial, fevered, stretched thin. Lights dripped their glow over the dark streets, staining the edges of her vision in lurid warm hues. She caught sight of darkened alleyways and shadowed corners where shapes seemed to move, always just out of focus. The lights couldn't banish the dark here—it only made the edges sharper.

"Feels like we’re walking into a trap," she muttered softly, mostly to herself, though she glanced at Decimus briefly.

Her voice wasn’t fearful, just wary—acknowledging what they both knew to be true.Her ordinarily quiet and careful steps fell in line with Decimus’ heavier, unyielding pace.
When they reached the bouncer at the doors of The Black Goat, Lona’s gaze lingered on his face just a moment too long. The grin. The skin. It wasn’t natural, wasn’t right. Her mouth pulled into a thin line, shoulders stiffening as she ducked her head and hurried past him, unwilling to speak, unwilling to meet his unblinking eyes again.

Inside was worse.

The smell hit her first—smoke, alcohol, and underneath it all, sweat—cloying and sickly sweet as if all the excess in the world had been bottled and spilt across the room. All of which seemed to mingle with the sharp sting of something darker and fouler that lived beneath it all. The music didn't just pulse—it thumped, a deep, predatory sound that seemed to nestle into her ribcage, making them feel too tight around her lungs and heart. Every sound and scent was too much—too alive, too raw. This place seemed to thrive on temptation and ruin, offering everything and promising nothing. Her gaze swept over the room. The shadows were thick here, and not all of them had faces. Shapes swam at the edges of her vision, lurking just beyond the pools of dim light, and the temptation to look, to see what watched her, gnawed at the edges of her resolve. She bit down on the feeling like a root she'd been told was poison: firm and unyielding. The trick to surviving in a place like this was simple: you kept walking. You didn't stop to talk. You didn't look too long.

It was almost comforting—this familiar dance of eyes forward, back straight, don't flinch—as if all those old instincts from her former life had decided to crawl out of the dark and wrap her shoulders like a heavy coat. She could hear them: the low voices, coaxing, beckoning. Hands brushing just at the edge of too close, fingers curling in the air just beside her elbow or the hem of her shirt. The words weren't new—soft and sticky-sweet, like overripe fruit. She'd heard them before, a lifetime ago.
"Stay awhile, beautiful. You don't have to leave."
Her jaw tightened, breath sharp in her throat. A flash of something old flickered in her mind—a long-lost memory of a place that had promised safety, joy, and belonging, only to swallow her whole. Laughter. Bourbon. A smile she thought meant love. Violence that had waited, patient, just beneath the surface. Lona shook her head, the memory dissipating like smoke.

Not here. Not now. Keep walking. Keep breathing.

The sudden silence hit her like a wall when the music cut off. Lona froze mid-step, her gaze jerking to the stage. The air shifted, folding in on itself like something was being summoned, something terrible that had always been there, waiting just outside their understanding. The first movement wasn't much—just shadows deepening, pooling—but then it began to take shape. It emerged like ink spilt into water, twisting and pooling into a form that almost resembled a man, if men could stretch and bend like reflections in cracked glass. His grin was endless, teeth like ivory daggers splitting through pale skin - joints bent the wrong way, limbs snapped back into place with wet pops. Its presence continued to press into every corner of the room. The crowd roared in delight as it began to laugh and dance.

This was their gauntlet.

The false bravado came rushing back, shaky but determined, like a torch clutched in the dark. She forced herself to stand straighter, shoulders squared as her gaze locked onto the thing on the stage. She wouldn't look away.

"This is him, isn't it?" Her voice was low, controlled, and just loud enough for Decimus to hear.

Lona's chest rose and fell, every breath drawn through her teeth as though she might choke on the smoke and tension pressing against her ribs. Her pulse thudded unevenly, loud in her ears—a beat at odds with the rolling thunder of the room, the crowd, and the thing on stage. The air buzzed, charged and alive, thick as molasses, and wrong.
Her hand slipped into her bag again, fingers curling around Crowley's bell's cold, metallic weight. The feel of it grounded her. It wasn't much—small, simple—but it was real. Real enough to hold onto when the world around her was blurring and twisting. She pulled it out, the bell catching a glint of light from the stage. She didn't think—couldn't afford to think. Instinct took over.

One beat.
Two.
And on the third, she rang it.
The clear note rang out, cutting through the air like a blade in her mind. Sharp, pure, and wholly out of place. It clashed with the beat of the music and the rhythm of the crowd, fracturing the dark harmony that had wrapped itself around her senses.

Dingg-diinnngg.

The sound thrummed against her ribs, vibrating through her chest louder than anything else in the room. Her heart seized as it struck.

Again. Her hand moved on its own, shaking but deliberate. She rang it a second time.

Dingg-diinnngg.

The note was fainter, lingering longer, like the echo of something dying—something being swept into silence. The music, the laughter, the roar of the crowd—all of it dulled at the edges like layers of cotton were being pressed against her ears. The room's assault began to fade. The pressure lightened, the unnatural rhythm faltering for just a moment.

One more. She rang it a third time, the beat following her heartbeat.

Dingg-diinnngg.

The dying peal rang longer, deeper, reverberating through her entire body. It felt final. Like a nail driven into wood, silencing everything—muting the chaos, smothering the smoke and sound until there was only the bell. Only her heartbeat, steadying beneath its tone. Lona's shoulders dropped, the weight pressing on her mind lessened, and she felt like herself for the first time since entering the Black Goat. Her pulse slowed, her thoughts clearing as though the fog in her head had been burned away. Her eyes flicked to the bell in her now still hand. She exhaled slowly, a shudder slipping free on the release. The room was still there, still dark and hungry, but now she could see it for what it was—without letting it swallow her whole.

"…Better."

She muttered the word, mostly to herself, and slipped the bell back into her pocket. Her fingers lingered against the cold metal for a moment longer as if thanking it for its small mercy. She had a choice to make, and she knew it. She'd promised to be of use, hadn't she? To see this through. Lona turned her head slightly toward Decimus again without breaking her focus on the stage, her voice soft but firm, edged with just a whisper of old steel.

"Whatever happens, I'm with you—"

Her dark eyes continued to watch the Wrong Man's impossible face, and the shadows seemed to deepen in response as if it knew. Or maybe.. it was just a trick of the light and her imagination.

 

[IanThe170]

Lialeth Vianno
​

Just as Lialeth was about to move, Crowley suddenly got her attention. The eerie silence was slowly disappearing with the noise of music suddenly being audible in the distance. Lialeth, whilst not making the full way there, did get closer, following Crowley to the window. It seems not only the silence, but grimness of the world was also slightly brightening. Although, she was slightly surprised by the fact that they finally learned where the girls were.

"Yes, somewhat. Certainly happened at a rather convenient time."

Lialeth could not help, but dislike that fact. If nothing else, she'd like to trust the bond between the girls and Crowley, so if nothing else they can confirm how the girls are. Regardless, the boldness of this was rather concerning. There was no way, whatever brought them here could feel that as well, if it's not it who is doing this to begin with.

"Yeah, we need to hurry, if we can." And as if blessed by the heavens in a hurry they were going indeed. "Oh, uhm, I hope I'm not too heavy for you."

Despite saying such, she would more than happily climb upon her steed. Whilst Crowley may have not been super fluffy, he was fluffy enough to grab hold of with one hand, whilst she could make use of her other hand to ruffle his head, perhaps even scratch behind the ears, given they wouldn't have too many twists and turns along the way. Good things truly do happen to people who do good.

Still, Lialeth ponered a bit on Decimus's robots moving towards the light. Wait, was this all simply poetic? Should they move towards the light or away? "Just- Just stop thinking Lialeth... I hope Decimus and Lona are at least having a better time right now." And so... Eventually Lialeth stopped thinking, instead choosing blind hope for now. They'll meet up with the girls, get out either through the light or mirror, get a Priest to un-curse them and all will be well.

 

[Mephisto]

​

---

Featuring:
| Revi | Maxxob |
As themselves

Countdown until the Night Parade: two days and two nights

Less than 60 hours remain
​

---

The Black Goat heaved with movement. The swirling vortex of activity between the parasitic music and dance drew those who peered into the darkness of the nightclub ever onward into what could only be described as madness. Lunatics took hold of the reins in the bleak midnight, driving the carriage ever onward. No matter where they looked or how much they desired certainty in the chaos, neither Decimus nor Lona could pinpoint a safe harbor. Men and women howled around them. Feet stomped in unison. Hands reached for the sky, pleading in a rolling sea of desperation and love. The toxic admiration they possessed for this thing on the stage cradled their hearts as a mother to her child.

They were enraptured by the momentum. Nothing could pull them from the warmth, the swaddling, suffocating embrace of a Patron who told them a great lie. He spoke it, he sang it, he offered it like an olive branch only for them to prick their fingers on dark thorns. By that point it was too late. Their souls were forsaken, forgotten into an endless column of suffering and torment. They bargained too greedily, asked for too much, and could not repay their debts. Their flesh moved, pinioned along limbs and faces. Not a one dropped the endless smile.

Not a one failed to embrace the music. Singing, laughing, dancing, howling until their heel-strikes chipped bone. Blowing, hurling, retching, jumping until their lungs burned and bled. And yet, the man on the stage did not stop. Though only a few moments had passed, they did so under the pretense of eternity. Mephisto, that was his name. Mephisto, that is who promised forever to countless people.

Only a few managed to find a way out of his deals. They were not here. These were the pulsating crowds of the slaves he collected, mere shadows of mortal souls permanently lost to the nothingness he embodied. Truly apathy, the lack of empathy, the lack of human attachment and passion. He desired only to break down flesh and bone. He drank blood and devoured both meat and marrow. Souls were what he taxed, what he repossessed upon failure to pay. He stood at many crossroads in many uncertain lives. He held contracts, penned his name countless times on innumerable parchments. Agreements for fame, fortune, freedom, all were honored to the fullest capacity his black heart could manage.

Squishing, splattering, the crowd churned before him. Perhaps Decimus could hear it. Perhaps Lona could understand it.

Their cheering and admiration was no longer palpable. Their faces, peeled back in grotesque smiles, were only in such a ghastly state thanks to various arrangements of patchwork stitches keeping their expressions painfully, agonizingly, frozen. Tears of joy became - if only for an instant - tears of abject sorrow. Some even intermingled with the wounds scarring near the eyes and bled down their cheeks in rolling streams of crimson. Their voices echoed beneath the din of the music. Mephisto heard them. He saw them. He looked at them in the eyes.

He laughed.

They begged. They begged and pleaded, bargained the souls they did not have anymore, and cried. Oh how they cried. Their miasma of suffering urged them towards the stage, something they could never climb. Their legs gave out. Their bodies followed. Their arms and hands flailed in futility. Ultimate pain for ultimate hubris. Mephisto snapped his jaws tight. Blood dripped from his lips as he continued to sing.

Something stopped him, if only for a brief instant. The crowd suddenly stood in bleak unison. Their previously pathetic display seemed to be immediately forgotten. Some still sobbed. The chiming of the bell did little to calm their shattered nerves, the fragments of consciousness trapped within prisons of pale flesh. Mephisto watched as the bells continued one after another. These were not the alarms of the clocktower, but rather the pleasant trills of a collar bell. A lost pet, searching for its lost masters, must have dropped it.

His dark eyes followed the hand clutching it like a pearl on a murderous night. His smile crackled as it widened.

"Why hello there~" he purred, standing at his full height and descending from the stage on a pair of uncannily-long legs.

These matched the proportions of his arms. Nothing about him seemed natural. Nothing in his frame screamed human, elf, or even Fae. His head - crowned by wide black antlers - tilted down as he observed the newcomers to the Goat. He smoothed his pinstripe suit with a few gestures. If they were listening closely, they would easily be able to catch the slow noise of him inhaling their scent.

They were sweet, they were youthful. Decimus possessed a leaner physique, his organs were embalmed in a coating of tobacco smoke. His blood would be earthy and dense. Lona was accustomed to the outdoors, and she would know his hungry gaze. He was amongst the most feared of the wandering spirits of the woods made manifest, a demon of the dark days of mankind's unsettling descent into witchcraft and black magic.

He was, without a doubt, a wendigo. He wore skin, he spoke with words, but he could not deceive her. The blood of a devil coursed through his veins.

"What have we here? A pair of new faces in town?"

He knew them. Of course he did. No one had to say a single word to him.

"Welcome to Red Haven! Have a drink on me. What are your names?"

​

---

Featuring:
| IanThe170 |
As herself

Countdown to the Night Parade: ???

Less than ??? remain

Crowley

Occupation: imaginary friend, soul guardian, and traveling companion to Alice and Lydia Morton

Height: 11" at the shoulder

Weight: 13 pounds

Languages: Common (spoken as "..."); Fae (spoken as "{...}")

Text Colors: #FDFD96
​

---

The jaguar carrying Lialeth moved as quickly and as smoothly as he could, making sure not to lose his friend along the way. He raced forward. As long as he felt her hands on his neck and behind his ear, everything was fine. Everything would turn out just fine. He panted as he rounded a corner. The streets were long, winding, almost as if they were moving through a dream. The pulsating noise behind them replaced the noise of his heartbeat in his sensitive ears. He couldn't visualize anything else except for that blinding adrenaline. He stopped at a crossroads.

There couldn't be a way back. Left, right, forward, they all felt the same. The light was just ahead, but any path they took could be the wrong one. He didn't think. He didn't have time. This could be their only chance. This was their only chance. He snarled and went, not heeding where he looked only where he felt. His legs carried them in a frenzy. His heart churned like a piston. The entirety of his body ran hot like an engine about to explode.

The music became louder. They were getting closer. The doors were open. He ran inside, his breathing shallow.

Crowley froze at the entrance to the bar. He dared not to say anything. He was afraid that if he did, they would disappear. There, at a table near the center stage, was Alice and Lydia Morton. They caught sight of Lialeth and Crowley, but stood up slowly. They seemed just as uneasy about the encounter as Crowley was. Alice, in particular, seemed uncharacteristically aloof. Her cheerful demeanor from the picture Lialeth was familiar with had faded into a protective and highly defensive persona she used as a shield. Lydia wielded a kitchen knife in her hand. Alice had a baseball bat, both of which were apparently scavenged from the bar itself.

They were in exactly what they were wearing on the crystal ball feed Mr. Limestone showed Lialeth and Decimus, though the desolate environment around them left them with limited options for hygiene. They were obviously very distraught and dirty.

"Who are you?!" Alice shouted at Lialeth. "Is... Is that really you, Crowley?"

"Yes it is! This is Lialeth, she's a friend!" Crowley changed back into his domesticated cat form, shrinking down with a sizzle. "Are you two okay?"

Lydia placed the knife on the table they were sitting at. "How'd you find us?"

Crowley sighed, unable to piece everything together in a concise way. He ended up looking at Lialeth with the very same question in his eyes and on his face. Despite everything that happened thus far, not even the enchanted cat could keep track.

"How did we find them?"

---

 

[Maxxob]

Decimus Valerius

Spoiler: Minions

Titles: [Human - Mundane], [Native], [Military Cadet E] - Widersia - Color #a13a3a
Language Keys: "..." - Common ; "[...]" - Terran

Mephisto IanThe170 Revi

The fact that a safe haven, or even an advantageous spot, couldn’t be found was accepted by Decimus rather quickly. And the euphoric menagerie around them? As much as the sight could have been alluring to some, the increasing zenith, which marched to its peak endlessly, created not a single thread of interest in the old soldier’s mind. Much on the contrary.

The losses of the past made enjoyment of any kind rather difficult. That, in addition to duty which molded and guided his every step forbid much. What was Decimus if not the uniform? If not his rank? Was there a person behind that battle-scarred, wisened shell? Did he even exist outside his obligations? Those were difficult questions to answer.

And maybe, by the scowl that had formed on his face, those facts must have crossed his mind. Coincidently, just in time to behold the pitiful, abhorrent display of the Black Goat shackled puppets. Even through it, his face remained unchanged. Maybe on his younger days, when his very essence was until untouched, there would be an urge. Urge to try and deliver each one of those present from their predicament. But time changed him and an idealist he was no more.

Instead, his attention was diverted to what, or who, actually mattered. The crowned wendigo was certainly quite the sight. And had been since first his presence had formally entered the space. But even in the situation they found themselves in, Decimus’ gaze remained steely, unwavering. Despite the odds.

“New indeed. I will return with quite the report about this place.” The elderly man said, his ashen eyes focusing on the pinstripes of the creature’s suit for a moment. “Thank you, but I don’t drink while on service.” A raised gloved hand, palm towards Mephisto, refused the generosity. “I’m Decimus Valerius. I take you are the owner of this establishment? What is your name?”

 

[Revi]

Character: Lona Morgan
Titles: [Human - Mundane]
Language Keys: "..." – Common
Text Color: 00CED1
Mentions: Mephisto | Maxxob​

---

Lona stood beside Decimus. Her fingers tightened reflexively around the bell in her hand, the faint vibration of its earlier chime lingering as though it were still calling out through the oppressive air of the Black Goat - even if it was only in her mind. The weight of Mephisto's gaze fell upon her like frost creeping over her skin. It wasn't fear she felt precise—no, this was something deeper, a primal instinct whispering that she stood in the presence of something utterly wrong.

Her false bravado wavered but didn't falter entirely. Years of forcing herself to stand tall in darker, more intimate battles made this second nature. She had learned to hide the cracks in her armour, to present a front that suggested she could withstand anything. The shrouded wounds of her past fortified her now. She knew this game. She had been prey before.

As Decimus addressed the wendigo, Lona kept her face neutral, but her dark eyes darted over Mephisto’s grotesque, elongated form. The sight was unnervingly familiar to the whispered myths of her childhood—cautionary tales told in the dim light of her old world. She saw the sharp hunger in his gaze, the knowing tilt of his head as he loomed over them. He was a predator dressed in civility, a monster wearing a well-fitted suit. But she was no stranger to monsters.

When Decimus spoke, calm and steady, she drew strength from his resolve. Then she heard him give his name, and her poker face slipped momentarily as her eyes widened - worrying about the implications of giving his name to one such as this. She swallowed before answering, her voice steady against the tide of temptation and despair clawing at her senses. "You can call me Red. It'll do well enough," she said, her voice carrying a casualness meant to mask any unease trying to simmer through her resolve. The sound of the nickname felt like armour, a shield between her true self and the wendigo's piercing scrutiny. She made a mental note: If Decimus had unwittingly bound himself by offering his name, she'd bargain for his freedom too... if it came to that...

"We're not here to drink.." She tilted her head, letting a feigned curiosity coat her tone. "Perhaps, though, you'd indulge us with a story? Something about how a Man, in his grief, agrees to become a smiling monster working for a Devil?" She kept her smile small, and her posture was cautious but not meek. It was a delicate balance—showing interest without being too eager, keeping her voice steady and even despite the erratic and maddening mass of the crowd around them.

Lona continued to feel the weight of the room around them, the oppressive air of the Goat pressing against her like a physical force. Her hand loosened around the bell, slipping it into her pouch. Her hand rested lightly against the side of her bag, her fingers brushing the keys' edges. One for her own haven, one for this twisted place. Which would fate demand she offer before this night ended? She steeled herself for the game ahead, knowing the stakes were nothing less than their souls.

 

[IanThe170]

Lialeth Vianno
​

It was a rather unique experience, riding on top of a big cat. She even wondered why horses were used, if the cats can be just as good, as far as she was concerned anyways. Despite the situation, they had to be optimistic at the very least, obtain and enjoy the little things on the journey, especially as they couldn't know if there'd be another moment to enjoy the simpler things.

It truly was a shame, though. The city looked so much more beautiful without the people here. Sure it was barren of any life seemingly, but in Lialeth's opinion, this was far more preferable to the natural state of the city and the people in it. The ride certainly gave her an outlook on the town as a whole.

As she was lost in her thoughts, it seems they had almost arrived to the light. So, the moment of truth..!

Although Lialeth for a moment considered jumping off as Crowley rushed into the bar, scared she might slam her head against the door frame if Crowley decided to make a jump, but decided against it and simply started petting him harder as they rushed through the door. And there they were. They had found the girls, at long last. Now it was a matter of actually doing something about their predicament.

She'd not actually get off of Crowley, however. She'd continue petting him, as if doing it on instinct, whilst enjoying her seat. it was short lived, unfortunately, and Lialeth slowly descended onto the floor, whilst petting the shapeshifting cat. She figured she may as well continue being on the floor, seeing the state her legs were in.

Still, judging by how the girls looked, it was hard to imagine they were here only for a short while. They hadn't been here long enough for their clothes to be particularly dirty or hygiene to be an actual issue yet, unless of course, there were circumstances in which one would have had to become dirty in this place. Although, for now, there were more pressing matters, namely...

"We followed the music and light. It suddenly appeared, do you have any idea what caused it? If you don't, it may be best to leave here, at least temporarily and perhaps even just going back to the exit mirror we found before. Whatever and whoever is in here, will most certainly come here too."

 

[Mephisto]

​

---

Featuring:
| Revi | Maxxob |
As themselves

Countdown until the Night Parade: two days and two nights

Less than 60 hours remain
​

---

"Decimus Valerius," he smiled.

His teeth were sharp. They were long. They were straight and crooked at the same time, pointed daggers set in his misshapen skull and held inside an uncanny thing such as his face by a pale sheet of skin. He watched them. He watched them both behind the veil of what would have otherwise been eyes. The beady red dots lying within the darkness betraying their presence suddenly popped as he was given the opportunity to share his own name. They expanded, widening as an owl in the dead of night upon finding suitable prey. He stared at them.

He stared at them and did not break eye contact. He would have done such horrible things to them if they were not wise to the fact that he loved conversation. This, perhaps out of sheer luck, was their saving grace. He plucked the glasses from Decimus's face, though his hand did not move. It clenched white-knuckled around the body of his catalyst, a staff - no, a cane. The tip of it was decorated in a brilliant red jewel. It stayed in the clutches of black iron pedestal, its grip maintained by limbs curling similarly to a dead spider. He tapped this jewel with his finger, curling the scarlet talon at the end of the digit and yet not even so much as scratching the gemstone.

He tilted his head, eyes still locked with Decimus - and then Lona. His Long Shadow appeared behind him, a mirror of his own body and yet completely swaddled in impermeable darkness. It wore a similarly permanent grin, smiling with such devious delight from behind glowing crimson features that it seemed more spirit than trick of the light. It cradled Decimus's glasses before gingerly placing them back in his hands. The demon before them had many tricks yet up his pinstriped sleeves.

"I'd be honored to tell you my name. What would good friends be if not familiar with each other, hmmm~?"

Without warning, he was behind them. He had his arms draped around either of them. There wasn't any indication that he moved. There were no footsteps. There was no change in atmosphere, no temperature, no anything. His fingers traced their jawbones, gripping their cheeks together simultaneously.

"And you're... Red? How quaint~" he teased Lona as he pulled away from forcing such an intimate embrace.

He stepped away slightly only to bend backwards towards them, his eyes pinpointing towards Lona like a rabid beast.

"You know how this game is played, don't you?!"

He laughed. Those words were only for her to hear. Decimus would only see the back of the devil's suit, at least until the instances converged. The Man with the Long Shadow turned his head slightly in Decimus's viewpoint. To Lona, he slithered and snapped his way into an upright position with several consecutive pops and cracks from what would have otherwise been a spine. He continued his smile towards them.

His cordial facade was very much still an obvious lie. Whatever else he told stories of remained to be seen.

"You want a story~? I'll tell you a story,"

He gave Lona a boop on her nose. He still glared at her with such an awful bloodlust barely contained by what amounted to a costume worn across his shoulders. He knew exactly where she was going with this, and he chose to flaunt his winnings like a grotesque trophy.

"Once upon a time... a man threw in his dice with the wrong crowd. He already lost so much throughout his life. He had nothing left to gamble away. So, he signed a contract for his soul. That's how it works here in Red Haven. You win some, you lose some - and sometimes, you lose everything,"

He swept his hand through the air, producing the very contract that Roger North signed. His name, written and sworn in blood, was plain to see right on the dotted line. He snatched it away once they got a good look at it, stuffing it back into his coat pocket.

"Such is the price when you're dealing with Patrons and souls. As for my name - it's a pleasure to meet you two. I'm... Mephisto~"

​

---

Featuring:
| IanThe170 |
As herself

Countdown to the Night Parade: ???

Less than ??? remain

Crowley

Occupation: imaginary friend, soul guardian, and traveling companion to Alice and Lydia Morton

Height: 11" at the shoulder

Weight: 13 pounds

Languages: Common (spoken as "..."); Fae (spoken as "{...}")

Text Colors: #FDFD96
​

---

Alice and Lydia looked at each other throughout Lialeth's explanation. Alice was the first one to respond.

"Well, it was weird at first. We were on our way to the Black Goat... at least the one of the other side. A shadow kidnapped us, but the weird thing is that it was... a person,"

Lydia sat down in one of the chairs. She held her head, trying to come to terms with everything that happened thus far. They had been here for an indeterminate amount of time. It passed differently, or at least she guessed that it did. Everything just hummed silently and had the drowned-out colors. She constantly got headaches. One brewed behind her eyes right now, and she groaned.

"He said his name was Smiling Jack, and that we needed to stay here for a while until things "blew over". I don't know what he meant but he sounded pretty serious," Lydia continued as Alice paused.

"I think he meant to help us but this is all just very confusing,"

Crowley found himself purring slightly against Lialeth's hand. He seemed content with just being near them. His usual temperament had settled into little more than a normal domesticated housecat. The girls were doing their best to try and put together an image of something useful, but their surroundings were bizarre enough to muddy their minds and dull their senses even with such limited exposure.

"I don't think leaving is the answer," Lydia commented on Lialeth's urging to hurry.

"We've tried leaving, believe us. This isn't a full copy of Red Haven. The terrain cuts off at a certain point, and the mirrors you're talking about are all random. There's no guarantee the one you went through is still open now,"

"Smiling Jack was worried about something, though," Alice walked around in a small circle.

"I'm tired of listening to that old jerk," Lydia grumbled.

"I just want to go home,"

"I do too, but he did this for a reason - otherwise we'd be dead or up for ransom. There's... not a ransom out yet, is there?" Alice asked Lialeth directly.

Crowley didn't much understand any of this, seemingly calmed down through a combination of his girls and Lialeth being a spectacular hand to rub against. He purred and yawned all at once, sighing into her soft skin.

"Does any of this sound like useful information?" Crowley looked towards Lialeth, not expecting much.

"They do tend to babble a lot..."

---

 

[Maxxob]

Decimus Valerius

Spoiler: Minions

Titles: [Human - Mundane], [Native], [Military Cadet E] - Widersia - Color #a13a3a
Language Keys: "..." - Common ; "[...]" - Terran

Mephisto IanThe170 Revi

Decimus stared right into the beady red dots which adorned Mephisto’s eyeholes, his ashen gaze steely and unwavering. When his glasses were plucked away from him, the white eyebrows would furrow momentarily, but thankfully those were for longer distances. And, even if they weren’t, it was unlikely that the veteran soldier would miss a target so close to him. In fact, the man’s, no, the creature’s mid-section appeared to be a rather interesting target.

During the whole theatrical introduction, one word came to the man’s mind: freak. Was he really that different from the Fae who committed all sorts of crimes with their ridiculous self notion of superiority? Hah, poppycock!

With his glasses being returned, the elderly human kept letting out a steady stream of smoke from his pipe, his mind attempting to carefully analyze when was the time for talking had ended, and it was time for something else entirely. For now, he would keep the decorum. “Can’t think that gaining the soul of someone that was in such a sorry state to begin with can be considered much of an achievement.” Decimus scoffed, a sly grin appeared on the corner of one of his lips, stretching his otherwise wisened skin.

Taking one step forward towards their host, and raising a single eyebrow, the Widersian cadet gaze took on a more appraising quality, a thousand-yard stare of someone who had seen, perhaps, a bit too much [Experienced]. “Ah, so you are exactly the man we were looking for. Not that there was any doubt to begin with.” His orbs would sweep around the room, catching the sight of the surrounding miserable wretch.

“We aren’t exactly interested in the welfare of the man who threw the dice, that would be beyond of the scope of why we are here.” Allowing for a pregnant pause, Decimus would take a step back, still not averting his gaze from the eldritch being. “We are however interested in two subjects of His Royal Majesty who happened to be kidnapped by that criminal, as well as Widersian Military property which he stole. As you can imagine, the second felony ends up being quite a grave one, quite curious, isn't it? And, considering his contract, you would be liable about his actions to some extent.” Decimus was going through a more direct route. And, taking yet another pause, he took a long drag of his smoking pipe, resuming after he was done. “But, where are my manners? The pleasure is all mine, and thanks for your hospitality.”

 

[Revi]

Character: Lona Morgan
Titles: [Human - Mundane]
Language Keys: "..." – Common
Text Color: 00CED1
Mentions: Maxxob | Mephisto
​

---

Mephisto's presence pulled at the edges of her senses, a dark gravity that threatened to snatch her thoughts if she let them wander. She didn't. Her eyes, though they met Mephisto's crimson orbs, seemed to look through him rather than at him, into him. Internally, she focused on the rhythm of her heartbeat - still mirroring the cadence of the bell ringing from a moment ago. Her muscles stiffened when his long, skeletal fingers traced her jaw, but her breathing remained steady.

"You know how this game is played, don't you?!"

She heard in her mind as he slithered and snapped away from her. Lona's gaze lingered on Mephisto, her expression carefully composed, masking the sharp edge of her thoughts. Her mind cut through the oppressive air with a clarity she held onto like a lifeline: "I've seen it played by people holding better hands."

He was hungry, ravenous. He'd always be hungry - nothing could ever satiate a creature like this.

The contract he produced held her attention for a moment, the sight of Roger North's blood-inked name briefly hardening her expression. The level of despair he must have plummeted to... feeling like nothing was left...

When Decimus spoke, his tone even and measured, Lona glanced at him, absorbing his calculated approach. His strategy was clear: frame the situation regarding jurisdiction and consequences. Clever, she thought. Whether or not such appeals would move a creature like Mephisto remained to be seen, but it bought them time. Time was a currency they'd have to spend wisely. Turning her attention back to the wendigo, Lona clasped her hands loosely in front of her, a ritual of composure. She replayed his words and Decimus' pointed response, parsing each detail for leverage. For now, she decided to follow the soldier's lead, keeping her own cards hidden, but her mind worked furiously to prepare her next move. She let Decimus' words settle into the smoky haze of the room, watching for the faintest ripple in the Patron's demeanour.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mephisto." Her slightly southern-tinged accent drew his name out. Instead of three sharp bulleted consonants, it drawled, a slightly elongated sound like wind rustling through reeds.

 

[IanThe170]

Lialeth Vianno
​

The conversation between the girls, and the cat, had begun, yet Lialeth was already slightly lost. The girls were apparently brought here as a means of protection. Whilst Lialeth could not comment on the safety of the place, she imagined this right here would actually make quite the safehouse. Infinite storage for whatever one may need, even if limited just to the city, or rather parts of it.

Lialeth was by no means a businesswoman, however... She could, in a way, feel the capitalism coursing through her veins in that instance. This was a gold mine as is. The logistics of this could make most business models an instant hit. Especially if time passed differently here. She truly did wonder how much thought was put into these plans and whatnot, since they could be used in much better ways than they are currently. Given that this was not a trafficking scheme of some sorts. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Lialeth did not have much time to think too much on the idea.

"If he truly wished to help you, it was most likely due to us being marked or cursed in some way... At least, as far I've understood it thus far..."

Still, the difference was quite stark. The Smiling Jack that she met and the one that the girls met seem like entirely different entities. Mainly due to the fact that the girls were capable of seeing a person in all that, seemingly. It talked to them. It warned them. It had a desire to help them. And the girls recognized all as such to boot. Honestly, what's next? Killer Carl is not actually a killer? There were enough plot twists for one day, yet they somehow did not seem to stop appearing. It was becoming a rather concerning issue at this point in time.

"Uhm, no, there is just a police report, as far as I recall... I came here after seeing a missing persons' poster about you two. And I do not believe there was a reward attached... Honestly speaking, we're most likely not getting any help from the police or local militia or whatever it may be in Red Haven."

Although, there was one specific thing that bothered Lialeth. She was not exactly someone who doubts others, but with how full her mind was full of useless thoughts, she simply asked with no real pretenses.

"So, why did you come back?"