Ic - that bitter old king

[Awful]

The party slides into cover behind a outcropping. Out of sight behind stones jutting from the hill like broken bones, hoary with moss, they hear the footsteps coming closer.

A voice comes into legibility.

"-ellin' you, prox, I was hearin' voices-"
Another voice cuts in, gruff and heavy.
"Alright, then, everyone take a breather. Quinn, Jackson, how's it doin'?"

A murmur of more voices. The gruff voice speaks again, more snappishly.
"Well, make sure it's ready, then, damn it. I'm not havin' it blow up next to me."

There's a moment of quiet. Footsteps scuff on the hardy stone in a few directions, but none close to the rocks where you're hiding.

Finally there's a couple of minutes of silence.
The harsh voice of the group's leader sounds out again.

"Y'all might as well come out and stop hidin' behind them rocks."

[Dr.Samurai]

Jegger steps out from behind the outcropping, all confidence, Hiding? Nah, just waterin' the grass.

He looks for the one with the harsh voice barking out the orders, Who's the one ordering you all around?

[agignac]

Joan

Joan was relieved by the sound of the stranger's voices. They sounded like people, not ghosts. She shook her head, annoyed at herself, but the thought of spirits had unsettled her. She knew it was ridiculous; considering what she did for a living. Still. When Jegger stepped out from behind the rock, Joan was only a step behind. She had her shield strapped to her left arm, but carried the warhammer over her shoulder in a relaxed grip. She glanced around at the opposing company, trying to figure out what it was they hadn't wanted to blow up.

[Kushina43]

"Blast, and I just got comfortable, too. No pun intended." Ratharon jokes as she steps out the same time as Joan, putting her longbow on her back. She makes a gesture with the hand while its out of sight, rubbing index and middle fingers together, and Tira understands it to mean "stay hidden" and the little serpent remains flat against the rocks unmoving. "Forgive our suspicion, we had our own problems to deal with in the area and weren't expecting other arrivals. Ratharon Dhodom, by the way, good to meet you." She does a short bow while introducing herself, hoping to come across as polite and, more pressingly, non-threatening.

[The Hellbug]

Ganiz sighs and steps out from behind the rocks with the others. He doesn't add anything to the conversation yet but instead takes careful stock of the strangers' bearing.

[Awful]

Those who step out see a group of nine hard-worn men in a mismatched collection of armour and weapons, an eclectic mix of leather, splint and maille pieces, but they look well-maintained and well used to. Every single man has a dusty, tanned look, and every last one has a cross scarred beneath their left eye. They squint at your suspiciously, eyes narrowed beneath the brims of leather hats or battered helms.

They all have weapons to hand: axes and crossbows, mostly. One of them has a strange contraption strapped to his back, a big tank with piping down to a metal rod in his hands, and as you emerge he nervously fiddles with it.

One of them - a bulky, tall man with a halberd leaned against his shoulder and a salt-and-pepper beard - spits a wad of redchew on the ground before he answers. When he speaks, his teeth are scarlet with the stains the chew leaves over long use. He raps a knuckle on his old-looking breastplate with a clank-clank.

"I'm Fourth-Proxy Rawson, if you're lookin' for who's in charge."

His voice is a harsh rumble. He looks between the lot of you, mouth quirked in a frown.

"What the blazes y'all doin' out here, anyhow? Ain't no place for a nice stroll."

Spoiler: Rawson's Crew

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[The Hellbug]

Ganiz snorts at Rawson's words, his own group being fewer in number, but certainly no less well armed than the newcomers in front of him. The former caravanner doesn't recognize who they are or where they're from, but he's traveled enough to know their type: soldiers and killers through and through. In his opinion, them being here can't possibly be good news. "We could say the same for you--don't look like you're from around here," he says, finally speaking up, "we're from New Zarian. Trouble: a boy's dead--we're on the killer's trail."

[agignac]

Joan looked inquiringly at the Fourth-Proxy, wondering if she'd heard that title before, but nothing came to mind.

She opened her mouth to speak of the demon rotting (or not) behind them, but decided to keep her mouth closed for now and let Ganiz do the talking.

[Awful]

The Fourth-Proxy stares at you thoughtfully. One of the soldiers next to him speaks up, glowering at you from under the rim of his sallet.
"I don't trust 'em, prox. Weren't no warriors like this lot in that dungpile when we checked it out."
The proxy just grunts, still looking at you.
"Bikkes, go check behind them rocks. Make sure there ain't none of 'em still hidin' behind there," he orders, and one of the men begins stepping towards you. "As for you lot, you're comin' with us. The Second will sort you out, see if you're workin' with them things or not."

[Kushina43]

"Fourth and Second Proxy, eh? Didn't expect your authority to be out here." Seeing one of them start checking the rock, she holds up a hand to interject. "Ah, just a moment! I hid my companion there for safety before we knew who you were. She's trained perfectly well, don't touch her and she won't bite, but let me recall her now before either of you gets spooked." To keep her hands visible to the untrusting soldiers, she taps her foot for the signal instead, and Tira jumps from the rock and glides onto her back, clinging to her shoulder. "This is Tira, my pet flying snake, Fourth-Proxy Rawson. And, while I'm talking, do you mind clarifying what you mean by 'working with those things?' Like my friend said, all we're doing out here is tracking a killer."

[The Hellbug]

"Easy, easy," Ganiz says reassuringly, as much to his allies as the Fourth Proxy and his men, holding his hands out far away from his quiver, "we'll take ourselves to your boss if you fancy it, long as they're towards Old Zarian. Trail's got us heading in that direction."

[Dr.Samurai]

"Easy, easy," Ganiz says reassuringly, as much to his allies as the Fourth Proxy and his men, holding his hands out far away from his quiver, "we'll take ourselves to your boss if you fancy it, long as they're towards Old Zarian. Trail's got us heading in that direction."

Jegger steps up at Ganiz's words, Ganiz, how do we know this lot aint the ones that killed the boy? He makes an effort to scan the entire group before them, They have the look of killers to them. Could be they're the ones we're after. Jegger gives the men a hard stern look, Bikkes, before you take another step, you all tell us where you were the night before last. Might save us a trip to Old Zarian.

[The Hellbug]

"Sure, never said they weren't," Ganiz whispers in reply to Jegger's shared insight, "but we'll never find that out for sure just talking here. But they ain't demons by my reckoning so we're either going their way anyway to find out or spilling their blood right here for the sin of being strangers in the desert, same as us."

He then directs his attention to the soldier that spoke up about the 'dunghole' of New Zarian. "Surprised I didn't see you when you came through, if you were down in New Zarian," Ganiz calls out, "I work at the inn, wife's the innkeep. I see most every stranger who comes through--assuming they're the polite type that ain't just sulking on through up to no good."

[Awful]

At the reveal of the snake, the soldiers mutter. The man sent forward looks askew at it, obviously imagining searching the rocks and finding serpents, and at Jegger's words, balks entirely.
"Go on, now!" The officer shouts, and in a sort of sidle round the group, keeping you all in sight, the soldier continues on.

"All clear now, prox." the man named Bikkes says, reaching the rocks and looking behind.

Rawson merely grunts in acknowledgement, rubbing his chin through his vulminous beard at Rathoran and Ganiz's comments. When the trooper opens his mouth to reply to the innkeep's words, the Proxy simply snaps:
"Shut it, Quinn."

Quinn shuts it.

After a second Rawson shifts his halberd's weight on his shoulder.
"As for this killer o' yours - ain't no profit killin' some country yokel. Nah, if we was comin' for your town," he says matter-of-factly, "It'd have already been burned to the ground a week ago. But we ain't bein' paid for that. What we are bein' paid for is fightin' the damn witches and their pet monsters you all got livin' about. Doin' you a favour, really."

Provided the party doesn't attack, he eyes you for a further minute, then makes a gesture. The hand of soldiers forms up around you: half in front, half behind.
"We're headin' back! Eyes sharp!"
"Feels good to be a rescuer," one of the soldiers interjects, and there's a chorus of hard laughter before they begin leading you back the direction they came.

The pace they take is hard, and the soldiers seem wary and on edge. There's always at least one pair of eyes watching you from beneath the brim of a hat or helm, and while no weapons are pointed at you, they're kept close to hand.

All the same, they've not tried to take yours, perhaps sensing it would no doubt lead to a fight.

While Rawson clamps down on any long conversation, the charismatic could probably weasel some information of the crew around them.

Spoiler: OOC

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If you want, you can roll a persuasion check. If you beat DC15, and an additional question for beating DC18, you can ask a question posed to the soldiers during smalltalk and get an answer. Depending on what you ask you might not get an answer that is helpful or honest.

You can also try something else, but you'd have to ask about that.

If you refuse to go with them, it's fighting time.

[agignac]

Joan watched the "negotiation" anxiously, and was relieved when it didn't end up in a fight. In fact, it went extremely well, considering they were now headed in the direction they wanted to go, with a much larger party. Joan would fight humans if she had to, but hated it. People were flawed, and sometimes cruel, but rarely truly evil. Her mission was to destroy evil, to destroy demons, not to get involved in the petty fights of mankind.

As they walked, she ended up keeping pace beside one of the soldiers. Eyeing the scar on his cheek, she asked, "Are you a mercenaries? Is that what the scar denotes?"

[Kushina43]

Ratharon wasn't keen on these folks, especially with how casually they mentioned burning down a town for pay. But she saw no reason to get into a scrap with them either, especially if they may know some of what's going on. After all they mention monsters, and she's curious what they've encountered that could help deal with it.
"Witches and pet monsters, you say?" she inquires. "We have encountered some unusual things during our travels here, but a witch has never been mentioned."

[Dr.Samurai]

Jegger Human Barbarian AC: 20 HP: 54/55 PP: 12 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: - Raging: No Reckless: No Wild Surge Effect: - Jegger reminds Rawson that he doesn't lead Jegger and the others every time the proxy tries to shut them up. Relax Proxy, we're all headin' the same way. Say... when's the last time you spoke with Glint? Spoiler: A shot in the dark with a snowball's chance... Show Persuasion - (1d20-1)[19]

[Dr.Samurai]

It's a long time after his death to be keeping the King's peace. What keeps you and the other proxies out here doing this?

[Awful]

"Who the hell is Glint? Some buddy o' yours?" Rawson snaps. "Hell, keep it for the Second. I'm here because I'm paid to be here an' the Second ordered us here. You'll have to ask him why he's brought us to this forsaken pit."

They keep a hard pace, and Rawson's ears must be sharp; he shuts down any attempt at conversation.

A couple of hours where the only sound you get to make is rocks crunching underfoot, and Old Zarian comes into sight, nestled in the hills like a bird nest.

It's a cluster of cottages, mostly deroofed of stone shingles by the years, stretching in a approximate band towards the river. Where they miss roofs, the soldiers have set up tents inside them to use the walls for better shelter against the wind and dust. Dozens of figures are in the camp - training, sitting, or going back and forth on some business.

A trace of dockside still shows where the stumps of a quay stick up from the slow waters like the last molars in an old man's jaw. There was a short wall around the town, and it had recently been supplemented with a ditch hacked out of the stony soil, the moved earth used to replace missing patches of wall.

Two sentry towers, maybe a couple of stories tall, rickety-looking frameworks, spot you first, and a figure in the basket blows a horn at your approach.

The soldiers exchange greetings with the guards at the gate - such as it is, being simply a gap in the wall without the ditch in front and with a spiky barricade they push out the way - and lead you inside.

The sounds of a soldier's camp fills the air around you. Cooking fires crackle, men talk, a sergeant drills a cluster of troops who load and fire crossbows. They lead you past what looks like a couple of mine entrances, both barricaded and with guards, and stop outside the most intact looking building.
"Wait here," Rawson grunts, knocks, and steps inside.

The minutes pass slowly, your escort shifting on their feet. The soldiers going past, you notice, are similar in their arms and armour - mismatched, but all effective-looking, and all have the X beneath their eye. They're all male, you notice, without even camp women present.

A few minutes later the door opens. Rawson steps out, scowling, along with another man.

This second man is much more tidily put together. His breastplate is polished; his short black hair is neatly combed and parted, and his reddish beard is shaved into a neat goatee. He looks in his mid thirties, perhaps, with a sort of roguish handsomeness for those inclined that way.

His left arm is missing, the sleeve pinned at the shoulder with a golden brooch of a shield.

"Unexpected guests," he says cheerfully. "I'm Third-Proxy Tannic; hopefully my Fourth-Proxy here hasn't been too rough with you. Now, the Second would like to have a word, but-" he smiles easily, raising his hand as if to forestall any complaints. "I'll have to ask you to leave your hammers and harm-doers outside here. You have my word they won't be touched and you won't be attacked while you're unarmed."

"Sure that's wise, sir?" Rawson interjects, but Tannic just shrugs lightly.

"Our friend has shown interest in them, and that's enough to convince me they're probably not demons in disguise, don't you think?"

The Fourth-Proxy grunts again, obviously unconvinced, but raises no further complaints. The Third turns to you again and smiles.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen?"

[agignac]

Joan shrugs and drops her warhammer on the ground, unbuckles her sword's sheath and drops it to the ground, along with her quiver of javelins. "Well met, Tannic. I am Joan. If you are not demons in disguise yourself, you have nothing to fear from me."

[Dr.Samurai]

"Unexpected guests," he says cheerfully. "I'm Third-Proxy Tannic; hopefully my Fourth-Proxy here hasn't been too rough with you."

Nah, Rawson here aint nothing we can't handle, Jegger slips in.

"Now, the Second would like to have a word, but-" he smiles easily, raising his hand as if to forestall any complaints. "I'll have to ask you to leave your hammers and harm-doers outside here. You have my word they won't be touched and you won't be attacked while you're unarmed."

"Sure that's wise, sir?" Rawson interjects, but Tannic just shrugs lightly.

"Our friend has shown interest in them, and that's enough to convince me they're probably not demons in disguise, don't you think?"

The Fourth-Proxy grunts again, obviously unconvinced, but raises no further complaints. The Third turns to you again and smiles.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen?"

After Joan's introduction, Jegger says, Tannic, a word can easily become a disagreement, and a disagreement can become something much uglier. I'm not so inclined to leave my weapons here after being brought, rather roughly, to the middle of your camp surrounded by your soldiers. I appreciate your word, but it'd go a lot longer if I knew a little more. Who are you, and what is this place about?

[Awful]

The man nods his head to the paladin.
"A pleasure, ma'am."

When Jegger speaks, a hint of bemusement enters the curl of his lips.
"Bit bold of you, friend, to demand information when you haven't even said your own name."
He looks at Jegger carefully.
"You look like a mercenary to me. Am I right? Full of fire and vinegar. Always eager to push. Heck, half of the fine gentlemen in this division are the same. The thing is... You admit yourself, you're in the middle of our camp and surrounded by the sturdy stalwarts of the Crossguard Company. So if I was in your place - I'd perhaps be keener to ensure there aren't any of the ugly disagreements you spoke of."
Tannic shrugs lightly, the missing arm making the movement asymmetric.
"I'll let you stay outside with your weapons if you want, it'll be no skin off my back, but for a back-and-forth, you'll get it if you drop your iron and talk it out inside like civilised folk. "

[Dr.Samurai]

Jegger tries to think it through. The men may work for the Second Proxy, but they appear to be fiend killers. If so, they're in alignment with Jegger and the others. But it could be a case of a rough proxy to round them up and bring them here, a smooth proxy to lull them into false security and disarm them, and a worse proxy inside to make an offer Jegger and the others can't refuse. He remembers Gendo pointing to his head and his heart, The Fool's deadliest weapons are here, and here.

Jegger returns the smile, You have an easy way about you Tannic. I'm Jegger, and no merc by trade, but I help others when I can. I hope when I come get these back, it won't be to carve my way out of here. He hands his weapons over as Joan does.

[Kushina43]

"A pleasure, Third Proxy Tannic. I am Ratharon Dhodom." She offers a short bow with her greeting. She offers little complaint at being asked to leave her weapons at the door, but unless it's brought up she decides to keep Tira hidden within her garments where she'd taken residence during the walk - not necessarily for self-defense, but for Tira's safety and comfort, as well as simply feeling better if the snake's included with her. "Your Fourth is a rough fellow, but I like that sometimes, and he's done nothing to ire us beyond the unexpected demand to come. Weren't aware any had taken residence in Old Zarian here. Might I ask who you mean by your 'friend's' interest in us, or would that be better answered by the Second?"

[The Hellbug]

Rawson was right, Ganiz observes with discomfort as they reach the camp. If he and his soldiers had wished harm to New Zarian, they could have easily already razed it, no ifs ands or buts. In fact, Ganiz has seen this many soldiers in one place only a handful of times in all his travels, and he reaffirms his initial impression of Rawson's band: killers and mercenaries all. He does find the lack of camp followers somewhat odd--men like this are paid good money in his experience and that draws all kinds hoping to have a taste of it--service-people, swindlers, prostitutes and the rest--not to mention the battlefield pickers mixed in with the rest. He rationalizes it as a symptom of their remote locale and follows along with the others. In the tent, he gives no disagreement to the Third Proxy's terms, handing over his unstrung bow and scimitar with a nod, but doesn't begrudge Jegger's either and prepares to follow their host to the Second Proxy.

[Awful]

"I hope," replies the Proxy to Jegger mildly, "That you won't have to try."

To Rathoran, he nods at her greeting.
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am. As you say, our friend is best someone for you to meet in person rather than me jawing about them out here."

The party, disarmed, has the door held open for them by the one-armed man. The first room is obviously what had once been the main room of some miner's family, with a brick oven still occupying one corner of the room, and the ruins of shelving that haunts the far wall. A folding table and chair is set up, presumably for the Third, with neat ledgers piled next to it along with a small heap of hand-length iron nails. The light from the shuttered windows is dim, and a heatless flame with a curious blue tint dances on the wick of an oil lamp.
"Excuse the mess," Tannic says, half-joking, and shepards you onwards.

A single battered door leads into what is probably the only other room in this little cabin.

The Second's room seems - no, is too large for the hut. Though there's no light source in the room, it seems lit evenly just lighter than what you might call dim. The air is crisp and refreshingly cold, away from the dry heat of the wasteland hills outside. The windowless walls are of rich, dark wood, like smoothly carved mahogany, with no windows and a high vaulted ceiling. The desk the Second sits behind is similarly a smooth, black wood, built thick as a fortress and the pillars carved like beastly legs. A screen hides a corner of the room from view, and a set of chests and cabinets, that same dark wood bound in silver, fill the wall to the right. Hung up on the left are what must be battle trophies; broken swords and tattered banners, an inhumanly large helm, split by some titanic axeblow, the taxidermied head of a wyvern still silently roaring.

The Second himself looks somewhat carved himself, like a granite statue that wasn't quite finished and must have blunted a fair few chisels. A tall, broad man, though age has turned his hair pure white, it hasn't softened any of his edges; instead it's just carved furrows into the brow above the aquiline nose and a hard slash of a mouth. Where time withered the Mayor like a grape in the sun, the Second simply seems to have been baked hard like clay. He is frowning slightly, slate-coloured eyes narrowed as he looks down at his desk, and the iron in his features gives it even odds the only time he'd ever smiled in his life was forced at swordpoint. He wears no armour, but a fine coat of white is visible, the epaulettes marked with woven gold.

A clowder of cats lounge around the room in various poses of repose. A couple are curled up, sleeping. One black as coal sits on his desk's edge, legs folded under it like a loaf of bread, watching the party with amused yellow eyes. One, a sandcat sprawled bonelessly atop a chest, flicks its tail idly. It looks at you as you enter before seemingly losing interest. A snowy white feline meows where it is sat on a shelf with a pair of shorthaired tabbycats.

"The group that fought that centauroid demon, Sir," Tannic says, saluting sharply.

The old man does not look up. His pen moves across a sheet of parchment with sharp scratching movements.

"Good," he says at last. "You are dismissed."

Tannic replies with another 'sir' and backs through the door, shutting it behind him. The moment stretches out.

"Well?" he says. He finishes his sentence with careful penstrokes, then sheathes the tip in an inkwell.

"Oh, I think they might do," comes another voice. It is an amused purr that is somehow so unshakeably inhuman it raises goosebumps along the back of your neck, but it doesn't have the poisonous foulness of the demon's voice you silenced yesterday. This voice isn't heard with your ears. It resonates in your mind like a pebble dropped into the lake of your cerebrum raises ripples.

The cat on the desk yawns and stretches, and leaps down. It strolls with the sauntering ease common to all cats behind the privacy screen.
"On behalf on the Second-Proxy Mordere, let me welcome you to Old Zarian." The voice continues. There's the slightest of rustling sounds. A hand wraps itself around the edge of the privacy screen, fingers tipped with claws like obsidian flecks, and a slender, lithe person emerges. Their skin is white as porcelain, their long hair what appears at first to be a startling abyssal black. But then your eyes see the glints of distant stars, as if the hair is a window to the night sky. It cascades from their head like a waterfall of jewel-studded black silk, down their shoulders and across their androgynous figure. They wear nothing but thick bracelets on the wrists and ankles, but their body has nothing common either to men or women to make them immodest.

If the Second was like a rough statue, this figure would be a marble masterwork. Their face is beautiful, the pupils of their catlike eyes a great and terrible molten gold, and on their head four pearlescent horns rise from the scalp like an opal crown. Every movement seems perfectly graceful, perfectly controlled. They smile, a catlike curl of full lips.

"I am the devil The Infinite Mercy of The Ruinous Cosmos, and I think we could have a very interesting conversation."

...


THAT BITTER OLD KING
CHAPTER TWO: THE UNKINDNESS BENEATH

"Will you sit?" the devil says. When they speak, their mouth moves, but it doesn't match the words you hear in your head, as if the sound of the devil's true voice and language is being scrubbed away and replaced by something deemed more suitable. There's a brief whuff of displaced air, more sound than movement. Behind each of you, a tall-backed chair has appeared, upholstered in red velvet.

[The Hellbug]

Ganiz suppresses a shudder as the devil emerges from behind the screen. Of course, he's heard the stories and the advice that goes along with them (and plenty from folks deep enough in drinks to be certain of their fiction), but 'stay away from 'em if you know what's good for ya' and 'never make a deal with a devil' feel like they leave him ill-equipped for the being standing before him and his allies. While the creature is beautiful--no, that's the wrong word but it doesn't feel like there's a right one--in its way (and nothing like he had expected from the tales) there's a wrong-ness to every bit of it that extends beyond its otherworldly features. The demon was similar, but there the situation was clearer--a hunter that needed to be killed. He would be more comfortable if the devil were merely an enemy to be slain. And so, the innkeeper remains standing, though even he himself can't say if it's an act of defiance or one of fear, as every word out of the devil's mouth is telling some deep part of him to 'run, don't be here, this isn't right.'

"Ganiz. I'll stand, thank you," he introduces himself reluctantly and waits for a bolder soul to take its bait.

[Kushina43]

Ratharon feels Tira shiver before it hits herself what the group's dealing with. Its appearance is just the level of beauty and wrongness she'd expected of a tempter from the stories, though it certainly hits harder seeing one in the flesh. The chair appears behind herself and the others, which she briefly turns to see, before turning back to them to address. "Well well, a devil! I suppose if demons like that thing were being a nuisance, seeing a devil wouldn't be far along." She hesitates for a noticeable period, weighing her options in this unfamiliar circumstance, then gives a short bow and introduction before taking a seat in her conjured chair. "Ratharon Dhodom. Caught your eye slaying that demon, did we?"

[agignac]

Joan freezes as the cat begins to speak. Something deep within her knows what's about to happen, and she curses herself for an idiot. I knew, I KNEW that cat was not what it seemed. Twice she had it in her sights, and twice she had the opportunity to know it, to sense it, and she hadn't! Fool! The devil was beautiful, but wasn't that surprising. Members of "the family" usually were. Still, it was one thing to hear about it, and another to have it standing in front of you, all alabaster lines and starry hair. And that voice, in her head, in all their heads, she assumed. Rough and soft at the same time, like a cat's tongue, or velvet rubbed the wrong way. The devil kept speaking, offering a seat. Probably would be offering food next. The others spoke, stirred, looked around. Clearly uncomfortable. Joan hadn't moved, had barely even breathed. What she had begun to do, was glow. The road dirt that coated her skin normally hid its sheen, and her short hair was sand-and-sweat caked, camouflaging the silver that shone there. Right now, the grime could do nothing to hide the silver sheen she was radiating. It was a sharp light, even faint as it was; if it got brighter it could be cutting. Or burning. Or even killing. Joan suddenly realized that her emotions were betraying her, and she took in a sharp breath. She was unable to rein the glow in entirely, but she managed to prevent it from getting brighter. Her voice -always husky due to the scar around her throat - was low and rough. "We are not here for conversation, devil. State your business, plainly. Try any devilry, and weapons or no, I will do my best to destroy you."

[Dr.Samurai]

When the devil emerges, Jegger's hand goes for his sword, but it isn't there. He snaps a look at Tannic but the man has already made his exit at the Second's command. From one tough spot into a tougher one, Jegger thinks.

"Will you sit?" the devil says. When they speak, their mouth moves, but it doesn't match the words you hear in your head, as if the sound of the devil's true voice and language is being scrubbed away and replaced by something deemed more suitable. There's a brief whuff of displaced air, more sound than movement. Behind each of you, a tall-backed chair has appeared, upholstered in red velvet.

Ganiz. I'll stand, thank you, Ganiz introduces himself reluctantly and waits for a bolder soul to take its bait.

Well well, a devil! I suppose if demons like that thing were being a nuisance, seeing a devil wouldn't be far along. Rathoran hesitates for a noticeable period, weighing her options in this unfamiliar circumstance, then gives a short bow and introduction before taking a seat in her conjured chair. Ratharon Dhodom. Caught your eye slaying that demon, did we?

A bright light catches Jegger's eye and he turns to see Joan glowing from beneath the grime of the road. His eyes go wide before she seems to notice herself and settle the display of light. We are not here for conversation, devil. State your business, plainly. Try any devilry, and weapons or no, I will do my best to destroy you.

And she will not do so alone, Jegger adds. He remains standing, reluctant to take a seat at the devil's bidding, though he knew that the Fool defeated the King with the help of the devils.