The Casino Of Souls

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

A figure walks with poise through the streets of Casino. He resembles a very tall human, but he's visibly... wrong. His limbs are just a little bit too long. His head is small in comparison to his tapered torso. He wears clothing typical of a circus ringmaster– a flannel shirt, frock coat, striped dress pants, tall pointed boots and an exceptionally tall and wide-brimmed top hat. His face is wreathed in shadows, but a bright, glowing smile burns through the darkness, stretching up underneath his hat. He carries a long, ivory cane with a curved handle which he taps methodically on the flagstones.

"Ahem." A voice pierces the dim light, echoing through the space. "I don't think you're supposed to be here." A jarring clattering and scraping accompanies the noise, as if it were forced out. The speaker: a tall figure, not quite as tall as the ringmaster, leaning against a wall. They wear midnight-black pants and a shirt, both faintly glittering with some sort of inlaid metal. Their body appears normal upon first sight, merely lean, but upon further inspection ---- only a skeleton wears these clothes. They appear mostly human, but their neck is elongated, curving upwards into the ghastly ivory of a deer skull. A singular scorch mark, circular in shape, marrs the creature's left cheek. It stands up and stands defiant, staring the other down. 

 The ringmaster looks down at the creature. "Is that so?" His mouth doesn't open as he speaks, rather flashes brighter on every syllable. He has a distinctly posh British accent. "I feel right at home, my good fellow."

“Hm.” The skeleton speaks in an accent directly opposing that of the ringmaster’s, a nasal Midwestern drawl. “Who might you be, then? What beastie or ghoulie—“ and here it recoils, wiggling its fingers devilishly: “—finds itself at home, here of all places? This is a home to no one, friend.”

 The ringmaster chuckles. "My name is Alastair Crowe, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He holds out a silken-gloved hand. "As for it being a home to no-one... I highly doubt that. In any case, this is hell, is it not? I fit right in."
The skeleton notes a number of much smaller humanoids gathering behind Alastair. Each of them wears some sort of metal cage around their head, a solid, childishly stylized mask obscuring their faces.

The skeleton's face whitens (as best as bone can) as he notes the others behind Alastair. "David," he says, taking Alastair's hand and giving it a soft shake, his grip much weaker than expected. "No last name. And your...friends?" 

 Alastair straightens, glancing behind him. "My little helpers. They used to put up sets and act in shows when I was still a ringmaster in the mortal world." His smile somehow manages to widen. 

"Heh. Very interesting, Alastair." David straightens, cracking his neck quickly. The bones rattle and click against each other, making a macabre sort of music. "Did they come with you?"

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

A figure walks with poise through the streets of Casino. He resembles a very tall human, but he's visibly... wrong. His limbs are just a little bit too long. His head is small in comparison to his tapered torso. He wears clothing typical of a circus ringmaster– a flannel shirt, frock coat, striped dress pants, tall pointed boots and an exceptionally tall and wide-brimmed top hat. His face is wreathed in shadows, but a bright, glowing smile burns through the darkness, stretching up underneath his hat. He carries a long, ivory cane with a curved handle which he taps methodically on the flagstones.

"Ahem." A voice pierces the dim light, echoing through the space. "I don't think you're supposed to be here." A jarring clattering and scraping accompanies the noise, as if it were forced out. The speaker: a tall figure, not quite as tall as the ringmaster, leaning against a wall. They wear midnight-black pants and a shirt, both faintly glittering with some sort of inlaid metal. Their body appears normal upon first sight, merely lean, but upon further inspection ---- only a skeleton wears these clothes. They appear mostly human, but their neck is elongated, curving upwards into the ghastly ivory of a deer skull. A singular scorch mark, circular in shape, marrs the creature's left cheek. It stands up and stands defiant, staring the other down. 

 The ringmaster looks down at the creature. "Is that so?" His mouth doesn't open as he speaks, rather flashes brighter on every syllable. He has a distinctly posh British accent. "I feel right at home, my good fellow."

“Hm.” The skeleton speaks in an accent directly opposing that of the ringmaster’s, a nasal Midwestern drawl. “Who might you be, then? What beastie or ghoulie—“ and here it recoils, wiggling its fingers devilishly: “—finds itself at home, here of all places? This is a home to no one, friend.”

 The ringmaster chuckles. "My name is Alastair Crowe, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He holds out a silken-gloved hand. "As for it being a home to no-one... I highly doubt that. In any case, this is hell, is it not? I fit right in."
The skeleton notes a number of much smaller humanoids gathering behind Alastair. Each of them wears some sort of metal cage around their head, a solid, childishly stylized mask obscuring their faces.

The skeleton's face whitens (as best as bone can) as he notes the others behind Alastair. "David," he says, taking Alastair's hand and giving it a soft shake, his grip much weaker than expected. "No last name. And your...friends?" 

 Alastair straightens, glancing behind him. "My little helpers. They used to put up sets and act in shows when I was still a ringmaster in the mortal world." His smile somehow manages to widen. 

"Heh. Very interesting, Alastair." David straightens, cracking his neck quickly. The bones rattle and click against each other, making a macabre sort of music. "Did they come with you?"

 "Indeed they did." Alastair replies, cocking his head. "Is there something wrong with that?" His grip tightens on the handle of his cane.

*gtg for a bit*

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

A figure walks with poise through the streets of Casino. He resembles a very tall human, but he's visibly... wrong. His limbs are just a little bit too long. His head is small in comparison to his tapered torso. He wears clothing typical of a circus ringmaster– a flannel shirt, frock coat, striped dress pants, tall pointed boots and an exceptionally tall and wide-brimmed top hat. His face is wreathed in shadows, but a bright, glowing smile burns through the darkness, stretching up underneath his hat. He carries a long, ivory cane with a curved handle which he taps methodically on the flagstones.

"Ahem." A voice pierces the dim light, echoing through the space. "I don't think you're supposed to be here." A jarring clattering and scraping accompanies the noise, as if it were forced out. The speaker: a tall figure, not quite as tall as the ringmaster, leaning against a wall. They wear midnight-black pants and a shirt, both faintly glittering with some sort of inlaid metal. Their body appears normal upon first sight, merely lean, but upon further inspection ---- only a skeleton wears these clothes. They appear mostly human, but their neck is elongated, curving upwards into the ghastly ivory of a deer skull. A singular scorch mark, circular in shape, marrs the creature's left cheek. It stands up and stands defiant, staring the other down. 

 The ringmaster looks down at the creature. "Is that so?" His mouth doesn't open as he speaks, rather flashes brighter on every syllable. He has a distinctly posh British accent. "I feel right at home, my good fellow."

“Hm.” The skeleton speaks in an accent directly opposing that of the ringmaster’s, a nasal Midwestern drawl. “Who might you be, then? What beastie or ghoulie—“ and here it recoils, wiggling its fingers devilishly: “—finds itself at home, here of all places? This is a home to no one, friend.”

 The ringmaster chuckles. "My name is Alastair Crowe, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He holds out a silken-gloved hand. "As for it being a home to no-one... I highly doubt that. In any case, this is hell, is it not? I fit right in."
The skeleton notes a number of much smaller humanoids gathering behind Alastair. Each of them wears some sort of metal cage around their head, a solid, childishly stylized mask obscuring their faces.

The skeleton's face whitens (as best as bone can) as he notes the others behind Alastair. "David," he says, taking Alastair's hand and giving it a soft shake, his grip much weaker than expected. "No last name. And your...friends?" 

 Alastair straightens, glancing behind him. "My little helpers. They used to put up sets and act in shows when I was still a ringmaster in the mortal world." His smile somehow manages to widen. 

"Heh. Very interesting, Alastair." David straightens, cracking his neck quickly. The bones rattle and click against each other, making a macabre sort of music. "Did they come with you?"

 "Indeed they did." Alastair replies, cocking his head. "Is there something wrong with that?" His grip tightens on the handle of his cane.

*gtg for a bit*

"No, no!" David replies, holding his hands up as if to protect him from a blow. "None at all! I was just thinking that it must be nice to have little...helpers. Do you frequent the Casino itself?"

*cya hf!* 

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Weslockes >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

A figure walks with poise through the streets of Casino. He resembles a very tall human, but he's visibly... wrong. His limbs are just a little bit too long. His head is small in comparison to his tapered torso. He wears clothing typical of a circus ringmaster– a flannel shirt, frock coat, striped dress pants, tall pointed boots and an exceptionally tall and wide-brimmed top hat. His face is wreathed in shadows, but a bright, glowing smile burns through the darkness, stretching up underneath his hat. He carries a long, ivory cane with a curved handle which he taps methodically on the flagstones.

"Ahem." A voice pierces the dim light, echoing through the space. "I don't think you're supposed to be here." A jarring clattering and scraping accompanies the noise, as if it were forced out. The speaker: a tall figure, not quite as tall as the ringmaster, leaning against a wall. They wear midnight-black pants and a shirt, both faintly glittering with some sort of inlaid metal. Their body appears normal upon first sight, merely lean, but upon further inspection ---- only a skeleton wears these clothes. They appear mostly human, but their neck is elongated, curving upwards into the ghastly ivory of a deer skull. A singular scorch mark, circular in shape, marrs the creature's left cheek. It stands up and stands defiant, staring the other down. 

 The ringmaster looks down at the creature. "Is that so?" His mouth doesn't open as he speaks, rather flashes brighter on every syllable. He has a distinctly posh British accent. "I feel right at home, my good fellow."

“Hm.” The skeleton speaks in an accent directly opposing that of the ringmaster’s, a nasal Midwestern drawl. “Who might you be, then? What beastie or ghoulie—“ and here it recoils, wiggling its fingers devilishly: “—finds itself at home, here of all places? This is a home to no one, friend.”

 The ringmaster chuckles. "My name is Alastair Crowe, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He holds out a silken-gloved hand. "As for it being a home to no-one... I highly doubt that. In any case, this is hell, is it not? I fit right in."
The skeleton notes a number of much smaller humanoids gathering behind Alastair. Each of them wears some sort of metal cage around their head, a solid, childishly stylized mask obscuring their faces.

The skeleton's face whitens (as best as bone can) as he notes the others behind Alastair. "David," he says, taking Alastair's hand and giving it a soft shake, his grip much weaker than expected. "No last name. And your...friends?" 

 Alastair straightens, glancing behind him. "My little helpers. They used to put up sets and act in shows when I was still a ringmaster in the mortal world." His smile somehow manages to widen. 

"Heh. Very interesting, Alastair." David straightens, cracking his neck quickly. The bones rattle and click against each other, making a macabre sort of music. "Did they come with you?"

 "Indeed they did." Alastair replies, cocking his head. "Is there something wrong with that?" His grip tightens on the handle of his cane.

*gtg for a bit*

"No, no!" David replies, holding his hands up as if to protect him from a blow. "None at all! I was just thinking that it must be nice to have little...helpers. Do you frequent the Casino itself?"

*cya hf!* 

 Alastair regards David with some curiosity. "I have been inside it once before. In fact, I was making my way there before you approached me."

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

 Alastair watches the ferretfolk with some interest. Eventually, he approaches him, his eternal smile seeming warm and inviting.

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

 Maxwell eyes the ferret curiously, walking closer, and feeling severely unprepared for this. A dog had killed him; there ain't no way this guy couldn't do the same. He exhales a shaky breath, and takes a few steps closer. 

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

 Alastair watches the ferretfolk with some interest. Eventually, he approaches him, his eternal smile seeming warm and inviting.

 The song slows to an end. Despite its beauty, it seems to have been completely improvised. The brim of his hat hides his eyes, but a faint turquoise glow can be seen beneath it.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to take it as well as you can, as I am being as earnest as I reasonably can be." His voice is deep and soothing. "What is it that you want?"

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

 Alastair watches the ferretfolk with some interest. Eventually, he approaches him, his eternal smile seeming warm and inviting.

 The song slows to an end. Despite its beauty, it seems to have been completely improvised. The brim of his hat hides his eyes, but a faint turquoise glow can be seen beneath it.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to take it as well as you can, as I am being as earnest as I reasonably can be." His voice is deep and soothing. "What is it that you want?"

 Alastair gives a deep bow. "Alastair Crowe, at your service. I must say, your skill with a fiddle has caught my eye." He straightens up, offering a gloved hand to shake. "You see, many in my troupe didn't make it here. These 7," He gestures to the seven small, masked humanoids huddled together behind him, "were the only ones to survive my journey to Hell. If it is not too forward from me, I believe we may be able to work well together!" He seems genuinely enthusiastic, and the ferretfolk detects no deception in his tone.

Quote from tarasque2897 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

 Maxwell eyes the ferret curiously, walking closer, and feeling severely unprepared for this. A dog had killed him; there ain't no way this guy couldn't do the same. He exhales a shaky breath, and takes a few steps closer. 

 The enormous, blubbery hulk slows to a halt. He takes the bow off his violin and points it at Maxwell without looking.

"Safety... is your desire" He exhales, his breath fogging in the sweltering air. "Am I close?"

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from tarasque2897 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

 Maxwell eyes the ferret curiously, walking closer, and feeling severely unprepared for this. A dog had killed him; there ain't no way this guy couldn't do the same. He exhales a shaky breath, and takes a few steps closer. 

 The enormous, blubbery hulk slows to a halt. He takes the bow off his violin and points it at Maxwell without looking.

"Safety... is your desire" He exhales, his breath fogging in the sweltering air. "Am I close?"

 Maxwell sighs as if to calm himself. "'Tis. And you are."

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

 The song slows to an end. Despite its beauty, it seems to have been completely improvised. The brim of his hat hides his eyes, but a faint turquoise glow can be seen beneath it.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to take it as well as you can, as I am being as earnest as I reasonably can be." His voice is deep and soothing. "What is it that you want?"

 Alastair gives a deep bow. "Alastair Crowe, at your service. I must say, your skill with a fiddle has caught my eye." He straightens up, offering a gloved hand to shake. "You see, many in my troupe didn't make it here. These 7," He gestures to the seven small, masked humanoids huddled together behind him, "were the only ones to survive my journey to Hell. If it is not too forward from me, I believe we may be able to work well together!" He seems genuinely enthusiastic, and the ferretfolk detects no deception in his tone.

 "Oh, not too forward at all, Allie. In fact, I'd be happy to work with you." He walks closer, then puts a paw on one of the cage-headed creatures. "Hm. You've been part of the Great Game before you even died, haven't you?"

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

 The song slows to an end. Despite its beauty, it seems to have been completely improvised. The brim of his hat hides his eyes, but a faint turquoise glow can be seen beneath it.

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to take it as well as you can, as I am being as earnest as I reasonably can be." His voice is deep and soothing. "What is it that you want?"

 Alastair gives a deep bow. "Alastair Crowe, at your service. I must say, your skill with a fiddle has caught my eye." He straightens up, offering a gloved hand to shake. "You see, many in my troupe didn't make it here. These 7," He gestures to the seven small, masked humanoids huddled together behind him, "were the only ones to survive my journey to Hell. If it is not too forward from me, I believe we may be able to work well together!" He seems genuinely enthusiastic, and the ferretfolk detects no deception in his tone.

 "Oh, not too forward at all, Allie. In fact, I'd be happy to work with you." He walks closer, then puts a paw on one of the cage-headed creatures. "Hm. You've been part of the Great Game before you even died, haven't you?"

 "Why yes, I believe that I am a pawn in the plans of one greater than me, and accept that wholeheartedly, if that is what you mean." Alastair replies. The assistant he touched seems confused.

Quote from tarasque2897 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from tarasque2897 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

 Maxwell eyes the ferret curiously, walking closer, and feeling severely unprepared for this. A dog had killed him; there ain't no way this guy couldn't do the same. He exhales a shaky breath, and takes a few steps closer. 

 The enormous, blubbery hulk slows to a halt. He takes the bow off his violin and points it at Maxwell without looking.

"Safety... is your desire" He exhales, his breath fogging in the sweltering air. "Am I close?"

 Maxwell sighs as if to calm himself. "'Tis. And you are."

 The beast grins. "Excellent. Now, if I were a wagering man, which I am not, I'd bet that you would prefer a bodyguard to being stronger. With a heart like yours, I can hardly imagine that you'd feel comfortable without an extra set of eyes to protect you." He puts away his instrument and gently holds out a paw to shake. "They call me Big Boogie Woogie."

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

 "Oh, not too forward at all, Allie. In fact, I'd be happy to work with you." He walks closer, then puts a paw on one of the cage-headed creatures. "Hm. You've been part of the Great Game before you even died, haven't you?"

 "Why yes, I believe that I am a pawn in the plans of one greater than me, and accept that wholeheartedly, if that is what you mean." Alastair replies. The assistant he touched seems confused.

 He pats the assistant on the head and turns back to Alastair. "But you'd rather be higher up on the totem pole." He straightens his thick, leather collar. "I can help with that."

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

A black wispy figure shoots through the air, flicking from table to table with a blink of an eye. Red lights stare out where its eyes should be, and it hisses, proceeding to make a clacking sound. The figure wears fancy clothing and a greatsword on their back. The color is all black except for its eyes, as you can only make out their silhouette. Hair falls down their face, and they wear a hood over their hair that covers two large horns sticking out from their head. Wherever they go, they avoid light. Shade Vanale is a well known person here. It threw away most of its soul in gambling deals and is controlled by warring souls that seek to use it for their own means. 

(they/it pronouns in case anyone was wondering) 

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from tarasque2897 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from tarasque2897 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

A massive ferretfolk walks through the streets, almost dancing as he plays his fiddle. His clothing is expensive-looking, even discounting the fact that it has to cover almost 700 pounds of flesh and fluff. He wears a wide-brimmed stovepipe hat with a feather plume, heeled boots, and slicked-down, waterproof layers of simple-yet-meticulously assembled gear, with an apron, a cape, a poncho, and a collar with a marionette handle hanging from it for some reason.

The shadows seem to pulse like a heartbeat around him, changing in tempo to match his music.

 Maxwell eyes the ferret curiously, walking closer, and feeling severely unprepared for this. A dog had killed him; there ain't no way this guy couldn't do the same. He exhales a shaky breath, and takes a few steps closer. 

 The enormous, blubbery hulk slows to a halt. He takes the bow off his violin and points it at Maxwell without looking.

"Safety... is your desire" He exhales, his breath fogging in the sweltering air. "Am I close?"

 Maxwell sighs as if to calm himself. "'Tis. And you are."

 The beast grins. "Excellent. Now, if I were a wagering man, which I am not, I'd bet that you would prefer a bodyguard to being stronger. With a heart like yours, I can hardly imagine that you'd feel comfortable without an extra set of eyes to protect you." He puts away his instrument and gently holds out a paw to shake. "They call me Big Boogie Woogie."

 Maxwell holds out a paw to shake as well, his chest fur falling down. "I quite would. What form of compensation might you require?"

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from EJODM18604 >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

 "Oh, not too forward at all, Allie. In fact, I'd be happy to work with you." He walks closer, then puts a paw on one of the cage-headed creatures. "Hm. You've been part of the Great Game before you even died, haven't you?"

 "Why yes, I believe that I am a pawn in the plans of one greater than me, and accept that wholeheartedly, if that is what you mean." Alastair replies. The assistant he touched seems confused.

 He pats the assistant on the head and turns back to Alastair. "But you'd rather be higher up on the totem pole." He straightens his thick, leather collar. "I can help with that."

 "Of course. After all, I wanted to work with you for more than just your musical talent." Alastair replies, tapping his cane on the ground. "I wish to elevate myself, gain power. Coming to hell was the first step on a bumpy road to a better existence."

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

A black wispy figure shoots through the air, flicking from table to table with a blink of an eye. Red lights stare out where its eyes should be, and it hisses, proceeding to make a clacking sound. The figure wears fancy clothing and a greatsword on their back. The color is all black except for its eyes, as you can only make out their silhouette. Hair falls down their face, and they wear a hood over their hair that covers two large horns sticking out from their head. Wherever they go, they avoid light. Shade Vanale is a well known person here. It threw away most of its soul in gambling deals and is controlled by warring souls that seek to use it for their own means. 

(they/it pronouns in case anyone was wondering)  

 *Would it be alright for me to interact with this? I understand completely if you would rather RP with someone else*

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

Quote from Bananer28046 >>

A black wispy figure shoots through the air, flicking from table to table with a blink of an eye. Red lights stare out where its eyes should be, and it hisses, proceeding to make a clacking sound. The figure wears fancy clothing and a greatsword on their back. The color is all black except for its eyes, as you can only make out their silhouette. Hair falls down their face, and they wear a hood over their hair that covers two large horns sticking out from their head. Wherever they go, they avoid light. Shade Vanale is a well known person here. It threw away most of its soul in gambling deals and is controlled by warring souls that seek to use it for their own means. 

(they/it pronouns in case anyone was wondering)  

 *Would it be alright for me to interact with this? I understand completely if you would rather RP with someone else*

 *yeah that’s okay*