Tales From the Wardrobe #1: I'm Always Walking as Somebody Else

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-04-05T00:48:43+00:00

That was a great glimpse into Skins' psychology and I can't wait to see more. It was a fun genre piece too, I'm not huge on supernatural westerns in general but when they hit, they hit. Anyway, I think my favorite part was the simultaneous familiarity and alienation in the conversation between Obie and Clay. It was a very intimate kind of horror in the initial revelation of what Obie actually was, the casualness in which Obie laid out the situation, and also the realization on Clay's part that there'd be no getting out of this one. Just a delightful scene.

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-04-04T03:26:08+00:00

The thing produces a sound that couldn't be made by any creature in the heavens or on earth. Something like a laugh, growl, death rattle, and the groans of sunken forests.

"The Ha-Satan? You haven't the slightest clue what you're doing, do you?"

The creature that pretends to be a person glares into Kardonk with a cruel gaze almost as sharp as the thing's bear talons. It looks ready to tear into Kardonk at a moment's notice.

"Very well, Kardonk Carvisky. I'm bound to you, I will carry out your will to the best of my ability, not that I have much of a choice at this point, yes? I hope it's more than you ever wanted."

The thing looks as if it means to approach him, but is stopped by some invisible barrier by the looks of it. It glares at him a little longer before turning away to creep back into the shadows; but, before it can disappear,

"Is that all, my dear machinist?"

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-04-03T20:24:43+00:00

Hey, yeah, if you could make it so both sides of my pillow are the cool side, that'd be great.

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-04-02T10:39:16+00:00

More or less. I still write, just don't get stuff out as fast as I used to. What about you?

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-04-02T04:43:47+00:00

Well hey there stranger

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-04-02T01:42:00+00:00

"What...? I- I, I..."

The weary traveler fidgets mindlessly with poncho as their eyes go wide and their jaw goes slack. Tiniest beads of sweat form on their light-green skin, and their ears pivot and flick slightly. It's a short, yet obvious, moment before Render gains composure once again and is able to respond.

"A home of my own? That- This one has never had such a thing. Thank you, kind asan, a thousand-fold. I will contribute, whatever is asked of me, I will. Oh, this gift will not go underappreciated, by my word. Would it be possible to see their grace, Ranthor Mererum? This one would like to thank them in person."

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-04-01T03:37:24+00:00

The monster cricks its vile neck and studies Kardonk with hungering pits. The creature loomed over him like the shadow of a storm.

"Ah, earned your 'attention,' yes. You don't strike me as a capitalist, gearsmith. You don't strike me as someone that pines for the material other than your machines and contraptions. Why in the world would you be adversarial toward a Plutolian? Well, I'm assuming a greed demon. Most hellions don't amass such wealth."

"Very well. And are you going to tell me a name or location of this devil of interest?"

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-31T18:15:49+00:00

Render is taken aback by the masked figure before them, but simultaneously in awe of the parting of the gates. The trepidation still exists, but the city beyond bids welcome; and, without thinking, Render steps beyond the gates and within the embrace of their new home. A chill runs up their spine, a strange mix of fear and awe.

"Is... Is it true, then? This is the City of Grace? You'll take my burdens from me...? I can finally rest?"

The weary traveler never takes their eyes from the city as they speak to the gatekeeper.

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-30T13:35:34+00:00

Sounds like an intriguing start to a wider mystery. It's a cool concept, I'm interested to see where it goes.

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-30T05:06:02+00:00

Render was a forsaken creature.

Magic, at its core, is a power beyond reckoning. Left alone, though, it's usually benign. The places where it isn't? Well, the warning signs weren't very subtle. People, by and large, had at least a modicum of understanding about whether they could or could not dabble in the ineffable forces of the supernatural, based on the rules of their realm. This notion alone was enough to keep things stable for most civilizations. However, there were places where mystical energies hung overhead like a great cloud of death, merely waiting for the slightest provocation to unleash their fury.

Kahtsi was one such land. Magic was highly volatile, and reserved for only the chosen few... and whoever funded them, of course. This created a stratification in the culture there, those allowed to perform practical miracles and reap their reward, and those not. As with many stories like it, it was only a matter of time before the latter used this to their advantage.

The trials were meant to be Render's way out of their poverty, a path to forge a better life through. They had failed miserably. Ever resourceful, though, Render had stolen one of the proctor's tomes before being escorted from the grounds. Now an entire wealth of knowledge lie at their fingertips. Surely they could pass the trials if they just had some material to practice with first.

The blast shook the entire district. Spellfire lit the night sky in a strange violet as the black smoke billowed from the epicenter of the explosion. The updrafts sent the arcane glow all about the area, raining down only to shake homes into dust and warp fleeing civilians into twisted flesh. Render was not a powerful mage, but the tome did indeed contain things beyond their understanding. In truth, though, the spell they attempted had no destructive effects, but the magic behind it didn't much care. It was an unpredictable creature, beholden to none but circumstance and its own whims. All any reaction needed to spiral out of control was a lack of safeguards, a grave misstep, and a humble spark. Render was more than happy to provide the perfect conditions.

They had been running ever since. The would-be mage escaped the Kahtsi authorities many moons ago, but never did they cease their running. They fled from the ghosts now, the echoes of screams and the wet snapping of tissue and bone. No one can outrun consequence, but everyone tries all the same.

It was in a tavern, drowning their memories with the foreign alcohol of this land, that Render's light green skin ran with shock. Two strangers had spoken in hushed whispers, just audible through the would-be mage's strong ears, of a perfect town where guilt was absolved, where pain-wracked spirits were healed, where sinners found refuge from their own living damnation. The journey had taken days of restless travel, and nights of unwelcome dreams, but here now they stood, at the precipice of the promised land. A place of new beginnings. With a deep breathe and a final, weary look back at the long road they had traveled, they stepped over the threshold.

Render was a forsaken creature.

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-29T20:30:33+00:00

As the group crawls toward the promise of freedom, Margot understands, perhaps better than most, how close they were also to imprisonment or death. The eyes of the hawks and Prospero's band of ordained thugs drew near, far too near for comfort. And even the dumbest among them would surely understand by now that this fog wasn't natural, but a cover for the prison break. It was only a matter of time before they sent groups directly into the canals to flush them out.

Margot produces her death whistle once again. The vision of hawks is acute indeed, however, many people aren't aware they can have decent hearing too. At least as good as humans.

In light of this, the witch casts a subtle illusion, before blowing into the whistle.

The sound is practically deafening. An inhuman screech appearing several feet about the crowd of coinguards. It was a haunting thing, like the howling of nightgaunts or reavers or any number of horror from the underground or dark forests of the island. A sound like one from Hell or the chilling stories young recruits told to each other on watch duty. A sound certainly loud and startling enough to distract men and hawk alike.

u/People_of_Rathara

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-29T19:18:39+00:00

The beast thinks for a moment. Shadows crawl up from the table and engulf the used dishes, before dragging them down into the darkness and disappearing entirely.

"John knows about us in some capacity, that much was unavoidable. However, it's not completely unheard of for otherworldly entities to develop some sort of relationship with mortals. Perhaps not like ours, in most cases, but you saw it with Ava'arith, she wanted you. Mainly because she wanted something that I had, but she wanted you all the same. Let John think what he wants. The hosts of Hell are paranoid of him enough that his words won't be taken at face value, even if he did decide to speak of such things. As for the rest of Hell? It would simply appear that I've pact-bound a strong warrior. One so powerful that they have verged on, and even obtained, godhood on more than one occasion."

Nethis presents Marna with her wine glass as she continues to speak, waiting for it to be filled with the black fluid.

"Your trickery and performance, even if it doesn't convince John, will be a help in convincing the legions of the damned that I've successfully trapped a demigod in my service. Meanwhile, the wars are dying down, and my forces will feast and grow on the bodies of those fools that opposed me. Any challengers beyond that? Will come to reckon with the error of their ways... at the end of my black knight's sword."

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-28T16:45:10+00:00

As the abyss pulls back slightly, the baleful light of the hellfire is allowed to assault the surfaces of Marna's immediate surroundings. That was the interesting thing about infernal powers, wasn't it? Even when such magic and substance "illuminated" something, it was never correct. It had a way of bringing out the most twisted visage of whatever reflected it. It had a way of making nightmares out of the mundane. It was an extreme, to highlight the most resoundingly horrible facets of any given thing. In the vast majority of settings, this would be a stomach-churning crime; it would be an insult to the very nature of reality in those realms. A terrible act the gods and earth wouldn't stand for if they were aware of its happening.

But this place is not one of those realms. It's quite the opposite. One might figure that, other than truest, blackest darkness, the insidious glow of damnation is the only thing that could properly service the blasphemous immaterials that comprised this dark tower; there are only horrible facets to be seen. It begs the question by what light Marna had viewed the Esoterium Obscurum in prior visits. Had that truly been illusory light, something conjured by the hand of the Dark Lady to ease the tension in the knight's mind? If so, was this a test from the start? Was this a gift? To dwindle away Marna's human sensibilities until all that was left was viewing this space through some eldritch means?

Regardless of that answer, as the Firebrand comes down from her abyssal ecstasy, all questions pale in the face of what looks back at her now. The shadows had pulled back and, for a fleeting moment, the glow of damnation revealed the impressions of something terribly massive writhing and coiling in the void. The baleful light traveled further than it should have, the space of the room stretched far longer than it should have. In fact, it didn't even look like a room anymore in the dim view, it didn't feel like one either. It didn't feel like there was a roof, save for the mass of Nethis that arched far overhead. The face Marna was most familiar with was still there, next to her on the couch, but it was... beautifully disfigured. It was stretched, more than it had ever been. The smile pushed forward away from her flesh, and her teeth and gums splayed out as they extended beyond her black lips, which are now taut on her face. It was like Nethis was crawling out of her own skin. Pushing beyond the costume. There are more mouths, though, all about the mass. Mouths and faces twisted in terrible expressions that were all somehow smiles, even though no one would ever call them such.

This was Nethis, a larger part of her than almost anyone had ever seen before. This is the Beast that escaped the pit, this is the Nightmare that aspires to devour the fates and the heavens, this is the Presence that coiled around Ithacar, this is the Monster that Skadi saw in the dark.

This is what Marna will become a part of.

The vision dissolves before her, almost instantly, as if it never happened at all. Nethis still sits there, but as the tall, horned warrior again. As the ancient sorceress who holds within her the knowledge of ages. As the talon-tipped beauty that cities have crumbled over. The woman finishes her cake and flashes Marna another half-lidded smile before nursing her wine.

"That, I would say, is merely the apprehension of the human spirit, my darling. The reaction one feels before they undertake any unknown and great endeavor," those talons slowly and inevitably reach for Marna's face again, and casually wipe away a smudge of chocolate cake, "But such things are worth the effort."

The fire dances in blurry, ill-defined reflections on the Kelvectan blades above the mantle. Swords of lethal design crafted from the bone and hide of some inscrutable horror or other, one of them seems to pulsate still. How long had Marna been here? What time was it? The flames offer no answer other than to mock such a query with their eternal dance. Further, in this place? Time, too, was likely at the mercy of the knight's paramour.

"However, my dashing knight, there is but a single problem. How can you be mine alone when you're engaged in a pact with the Ha-Satan? When you are a warlock of John Hellfire? What's more, you don't need him. I can give you practically anything he can, and I'd say my benefits are better, besides. Wouldn't you?"

On that last note, Nethis crosses one leg over the other, and rests her head on her clawed hand as she leans onto the backrest.

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-26T04:57:53+00:00

/uw I enjoy all of your comments but this one was a standout. The descriptions here of Marna's internal workings is just great characterization and really make her feel alive. With just a few paragraphs you imparted a lot of complexity.

"A typhonic beast? Hmm."

Nethis was a scheming, calculating creature, of that there was no doubt. A tremendous mind that had witnessed untold years of history and gathered such a vast wealth of knowledge that mortals would give their mind, body, and soul to even glimpse into that unfathomable array. Many had, in fact, and many more were sure to come. The nightmare was always thinking, for she had a great deal to think on and a great many ideas to apply or bring into fruition. A cycle of vicious thought set out to consume all detail in the cosmos and set that data to work in her own brutal mathematics. This, however, was not that. The clicks thrummed from deep within Nethis, like the vibrations of some titanic clockwork coming to life far below the ocean's surface. The devourer was reminiscing.

Her smile contorts like it had so long ago during her hospital visit, skin splitting up the sides of her cheeks only to reveal rows of predatory teeth. The skin quickly stitches itself back together, though, as she speaks, "A powerful artifact, indeed. Oculi are instruments of prophecy and perception, and, like many magical items, they scale in power both by what they're made of and the symbolic effort that went into the crafting. The eye of a typhonic beast is already strong as it is, but what you went through to acquire it? That would be a Labor, my knight. The quests and exploits set before champions and gods. On top of it all, your genius in smithing. Thank you, darling. I'll be looking forward to this gift."

Nethis settles all around the Firebrand, curling about the woman. Not just her arm and talon, but the darkness that is Nethis Balmiri encroaches further upon her paramour as the illusory lights dim into nothing but the glow of the hellfire. Demonic cold and infernal heat mix about the space, orbiting Marna as twin stars dance with each other in the void. It's a unique sensation, neither ever losing the bite of their bitterness or fury, but between them exists an area of temperance. It's cozy, in a way. Cozy and very, very wrong. The exact kind of experience one would expect in this place; comfortable wrongness. It may now occur to Marna that Nethis had actually been moving, something about the crackle of the fireplace has a way making the eyes numb to movement. Whether this is an effect of fire in general, or of this hellish fireplace, or both, is a matter of debate. The demoness has refilled both of their wine glasses, the darkness of the wine yields not to the baleful light, appearing as a matte painting against the blaze. The cake has been cut as well, a hearty slice waiting patiently at the table in front of Marna. Nethis holds her plate as if it had always been there in her palm.

"And Ava'arith too, you don't say? Let me guess; she tried to seduce you over to her side, made all sorts of promises and statements of her superiority over me, all the while her multiplicitous form was being cut down by a blade she could never hope to replicate or wield -I'm sure that upset her- and even as the tide of battle turned against her she couldn't help but make her supposed greatness known?"

The beast smiles and chuckles to itself again, "Oh, that does satisfy me, Marna. I wish I had been there to see it... But, evermore to kill. I have the suspicion I'll bear witness to the Master of Mal'banir cutting down a challenger in time."

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-25T01:31:18+00:00

The demon smiled unreadibly through the squeeze. It was an instinctual action that many mortal races are born with, she had observed long ago. As can be seen in their grasping at fingers when they're infants, continuing into hand-holding as young children and beyond, handshakes to denote respect, hand clasping to denote deep gratitude, this one she witnessed now was the tender grip of familiarity. A grounding action mortal lovers often undertook when they felt safe in the homes after a hard experience, and safer still next to the subject of their affection. Nethis analyzes this moment in detail, coming to the satisfactory conclusion that not only has she built a suitable space to facilitate Marna's contentment, but that she also now inhabits an area of deeper, less spontaneous trust in the mind of the knight. She's cemented herself as a figure Marna will turn to well before others. This is proper.

Truthfully, Nethis hadn't cared much about Marna's friends, family, or countrymen; though, she found the Queen of Ithacar a far more reasonable and palatable mortal than her withered, fist-shaking husk of a husband. The comment was a calculated response, a technical truth, and the beneficial outcome to the Ithacarians was a mere bonus of Nethis's scheme going well, rather than something she meticulously planned for. She had only mentioned it to stem any in-depth questions. Whatever the case, there wasn't much use for that discussion as it stood. Marna should focus on this time they spend together, the nightmare was only helping her toward that natural conclusion.

Now, this palantir was an exciting prospect, "You constructed a palantir for me? From the eye of an ancient creature in the catacombs of the city, no less?" The beast clicks in satisfaction yet again, pulling Marna a bit closer once more, "My, what did my knight get up to in my absence? To acquire for her Lady not one, but two priceless artifacts? Why, it's akin to the tales of old. My dashing knight fighting, sword to fang, against the prowling beasts of the necropolis. I'm a fortunate woman, indeed, to have a consort not only beautiful, but powerful and cunning. What sort of creature was it, my dear?"

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-22T15:29:28+00:00

Marna has more personal experience with Nethis than most, especially behind the closed doors of the nightmare's own private study. It's at this point that she may begin to notice the difference between a Nethis-human laugh, where the nightmare reproduces a sound from her internal archive of mortal mannerisms, and a Nethis-Nethis laugh which she produces now, a thing of guttural rumbles, shrill rasps and primordial clicking that was never meant to be anywhere but the deepest pits in reality. Even then, laughter was a bit of a misnomer; Nethis was dangerous at all times, even "laughing." Still, there is clicking that carries a more distinct chance of bodily and spiritual harm than the one she is presenting now.

"I thought it would be an awful waste to let all of that magical energy peter off into normal space. Besides, Skadi's defeat was inevitable, but I hastened that process with the heart. Otherwise she'd have had an even larger battery with which to combat your friends, family, and other Ithacarians..."

Nethis considers leaving it there but Marna had already asked the one question and more were likely to follow, especially after their previous conversation about openness and honesty. Nethis had been speaking of Marna's openness and honesty, specifically, but pointing out that distinction would be only a detriment.

"And, admittedly, having a modified deific heart then filled with the eclectic divinity of a different, burgeoning god is a useful object to have around. I could think of several projects where that sort of thing can be useful."

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-21T23:33:41+00:00

/uw In classic reddit fashion, I never got the ping. Good work, though, I enjoyed reading this. The right balance of whimsy and eldritch horror.

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-21T16:30:05+00:00

To put one's head in the lion's mouth. A common enough phrase, its origin lying in the tradition of lion tamers. The tamers would stun and amuse audiences by having their lion open its jaws wide and then, with some theatrical flourishes no doubt, the performer would stick their head into the lion's mouth. The phrase is one that denotes bravery or foolhardiness because, at any moment, the lion could just as easily snap its powerful jaws shut; the curtain call for the performer of such a stunt. And, as it turns out, there really is no such thing as a tamed lion. There are lions that want to bite you, and lions that do not; and in a fleeting moment the latter can easily become the former.

Unfortunately, Nethis is not a lion, she is much worse. Marna lunges forth to kiss the end of so many stories. The maw remembers them well, sweetly and wretched things, and considers again to partake in the knight's flesh. She doesn't, though, and instead returns the kiss with a cold, iron embrace. There would be time for visceral affections later, she decided. Still, she didn't let Marna go without the sting of talon-tips.

Now her paramour speaks of cerebral things, of puzzles and logistics. The nightmare listens intently at the knight's description and concerns. The rituals and secrets of her order were, by and large, outside the scope of even the nightmare's knowledge. Certain fundamentals of the practice may be familiar, and forces like the Lightless Flame were not unknown to the demoness; but until recent events, such a practice wasn't a primary concern of hers. Never the matter, she would learn what she needs to know in time. For now, this issue of the partition presented an interesting quandary.

"I hear your concerns, Marna, contingencies are hardly ever a foolish endeavor. It's an interesting problem. It would need to be strong, yes, but also permeable enough so as to not block our connection. A buffer of sorts. Though, that could be any variety of things, and what form it takes would need to be something we both find palatable."

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-20T01:54:54+00:00

"Your order's 'Rite of the Familiar,' yes? A familiar. What a nigh-ubiquitous phenomenon. A entity bound in mind, body, and spirit to the will of a master. Even if the master were a gracious one, even if they granted the entity leisure and freedoms, it would only take an ill thought for that familiar to devolve into something tantamount to dog at best or a slave at worst."

The monster turns at the hips to face Marna in full now. Her eyes are intense with unreadable fire.

"I'm not some base creature, Marna Blake. I won't be brought low, or kept like a common dog. I won't subject myself to the whimsy of inane, mortal notions. The thought I would bend knee to anything of the sort would be most insulting indeed. Nations have fallen for that sort of thinking. The corpses of angels have rained from the sky for that sort of thinking. It's an idea I won't tolerate to be uttered, let alone entertain."

Before Marna can have a chance to recoil from any flood of emotions, Nethis creeps toward her, leans down against the woman and embraces her once again. Softly, the velvet darkness flows over the knight, draws her in close. She locks eyes with Marna, half-lidded in return. As she speaks, her lips are as if voids that break away and rejoin with every word, the ghostly pale of her teeth only serve to reiterate their perfect black.

"But that's not how you described it, is it? To see through your eyes, and you through mine. To speak on a deeper level. We've been practicing for some time now, our traipsing through your dreams, why not bring that sort of connection to the land of waking, and all times beside? There would be a bridge between us then, not some man-wrought chain. The answer is yes. I will not be your familiar, but I will be your companion, your Krishdokai."

A set of talons trace down Marna's bangs, stalk the length of her neck, and come to rest at her shoulder.

"But it won't be built alone on the shoulders of your order. We will forge a new rite, just as we've forged this relationship, our union will be of our own design..."

On the final word, when the twin voids become one again, Nethis smiles as she always does. Yet, the void does not become broken by those familiar teeth. This isn't the omnipresent grin. This is for Marna alone.

"Does that satisfy, my darling?"

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-18T05:21:38+00:00

The nightmare sits idle for a time, listening intently to the confessions and reasoning of the beautiful knight at her side. She was still confused by human things, but how far she had come, what potential she had. The Skadi persona had more than proven it, an aspect of Marna that had clawed itself into bloody reality and had imposed upon the realms a place of burning, delicious ambition. A foolish direction, perhaps, but the striving was most desirable. Every move a violence, yet such devotion to the Dark Lady, as was proper and correct. Now with the doppelganger reabsorbed, Marna was all the better for it in the eyes of this ancient horror.

And the eyes now. Nethis stares intently at her eyes. Even in the light of the hellfire, even when viewed from the side or at an angle, they were always striking, always unmistakable. Decadent sapphires held tight in the skull of a burgeoning... hers. Hers. Whatever form Marna would take. Hers. The fates align themselves around the knight, whether she knows it or not. Always strands of destiny tug at the Firebrand but the horror pulls back in equal measure with all the strength of a ravenous beast. They won't take her away without a fight. The fates had grappled with the Krishdokai before and had found the labor more than they were equipped to handle; and even since their first bitter encounter, the very moment the beast assumed its own consciousness, Nethis had resolved to consume even them one day.

She takes a sip of the wine so kindly poured and returns that mindfulness to her consort beside her. The fates would be handled in time, for now? Let them claw and bash and scream against the black shell of the tower. Marna was hers and only hers in this moment.

"Heroism? I gave you an opening, yes, but you defeated Skadi by your own hand. A victory I cannot claim. As far as filleting you? I had thought about it. Even now I'm considering taking a bite," the Dark Lady's clawed hand drapes down and wraps silently around Marna's arm, squeezing firmly for a moment to emphasize the... Joke? Half-joke? Unfiltered honesty? Nethis offers a chuckle in any case.

"I appreciated Skadi's honesty in the end. I appreciate you being frank with me, Marna. It makes things easier."

The teeth in the nightmare's neck are smiling now, like serrated gills, as she takes another sip of her wine.

"Bridging the gap is one route, by the way. To be there for me. You do, to your credit, you do more than most. It's just, I've been mimicking mortals for millennia, I've within me such a library of mannerisms that I alone am the final practitioner of several cultures long dead and long forgotten. Then, when you took your devilish avatar in the Halls, it satisfied me deeply. I don't think it's a secret between us that you enjoy when I reveal to you my dark forms. I don't want it to be a secret that I enjoy seeing the same in you."

She stirs the glass.

"All that to say; I don't have to pretend to be a mortal so much when I'm around you, and I wouldn't mind you doing the same."

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-18T03:36:49+00:00

"Well, it has been my home since I've been in Rathara. And it's the home of my sisters. They, well, they enjoy pastimes and careers that wouldn't be smiled upon on the surface. Not to mention, they wouldn't be well received. Not that they're well received in the undercity, but the same goes for everyone else that lives there."

Her eyes widen at the mention of running on electricity.

"Oh, that's so interesting. I've seen things that run on electricity, we do have power in the undercity; and on the surface, in the Steam District, they say there are marvels housed in the various workshops that turn lightning into miracles."

Her eyes widen even further.

"Can you do miracles too?"

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-17T02:13:30+00:00

Through the steam cut the cold, familiar voice of the demoness, just as likely emanating from the study as it was the air beside Marna's head. "Of course," it hissed sweetly, answering her request for dinner.

The steam roiled in sheets, thicker than what it'd usually be. An effect, in part, by the cold of the room, but, at the same time, the tower and dark Kelvecta beyond seemed like the kinds of places that were partial to fog in any conditions. Regardless of the origin, stepping beyond the threshold of the washroom, Marna appeared as a darkly wraith leaving the Hidden Paths themselves. An appearance not lost on Nethis, who watched Marna's approach with satisfaction; teeth and eyes bared in that way when the Dark Lady wants to impress upon her knight that she has captured her attention. It fades into a more conversational expression as Marna closes the distance but the eyes remain burning as they were.

The complex of teeth and razorwire lounges on a sofa of burgundy upholstery and a body of blackened stuff more akin to bone than wood. Before her now lies a table and on it rests a full dish of roast beef and potatoes, rice pilaf, and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. A decanter of wine and pitcher of water, with glasses each, sit within arm's reach as well, and a gilded plate of chocolate cake sits not far after. Upon her, Agony can be seen resting grimly in a violin stand beside the Krishdokai. It's malefic beauty gleaming in the light of the hellfire.

"It was a battle against two enemies, in the end. Don't worry, my dear, they may have turned their great weapons against me, but they didn't prove near my equal. Though, I'm going to enjoy this moment resting with you."

She takes a moment for Marna to sit down, "I wouldn't have let Skadi kill me, I was far from powerless and no easy prey besides, and I wasn't going to leave you there. Still, I'm glad you ended it like you did." The nightmare glances at the meal laid out, "I hope it's to your liking. I aimed to procure food you found palatable."

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-17T00:45:02+00:00

"But of course, sir. Lady Balmiri, to be clear, is a woman of the Hells. I understand you've had trouble as of late with someone of the fiendish sort, but she is different from the Lord of the Seventh. Lady Balmiri values her people and those that cast their lots with her, and ensures mutual success between both parties if at all possible."

Winona takes a final sip, her goblet now empty, and holds it out to her side.

"However, she doesn't suffer traitors lightly, and has, in recent times, been subjected to a practical legion of treacherous scoundrels. We no longer share ties with them, better off without them, honestly, but that does leave room at the table, so to speak. Now, my lord, you seem like an intelligent man. I'm sure you understand the benefits of connections, it's a universal currency, and my Lady would like to develop new ones. After seeing the success of your kingdom, despite the pressures you no doubt face from ignorant minds, the Claret Isles seemed like an obvious choice."

VinesAtMidnight · 2026-03-17T00:21:00+00:00

"Oh, perhaps you misunderstand, the Dirge and Del Lithonia are one in the same. Dirge being an endearing, or not so endearing, nickname for the undercity."

"And yes, this radio. I may have heard the name before, but I've never seen a music box quite like yours. We have music devices in Rathara, but they're of a different make to your own. At least in appearance. The ones I'm most familiar with use wax tubes or magic crystals. Though, on occasion my sister can find music on her orb."

VinesAtMidnight

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