Wormhold IC
Posted: Fri Nov 25, 2011 5:59 amThe rain hammered down, drenching the already sodden city streets, being whipped into every nook and cranny by the howling wind. In other words, it was an average afternoon in Wormhold. Despite the miserable conditions, many still roamed the streets, most with nefarious purposes in mind. The sounds of shouting and the clanging of swords rang out, attracting the attention of everyone within a few city blocks. There, in the square, a mob of infuriated figures moved erratically and furiously, slashing, hacking, and stabbing at each other, aiming to kill.
Suddenly, a small explosion blasted the battling figures apart, leaving them all scorched, and even a few dead. A tall figure stood on the balcony overlooking the square, his bright red eye glowing ominously. "Well, well, ladies and gentlemen... It seems a few of you have taken it upon yourselves to interrupt my afternoon nap." He purred, his voice like poison-laced silk. He leaned against the railing of the balcony, dragging his fingers down his goatee and contemplating the situation. "Well, my dears, explain yourselves. What came over you to make such a dreadful racket? Hm? Did someone steel your sweetroll?" He asked, sarcasm practically dripping off his bladed tongue.
One of the scorched crowd managed to get to his feet, and the impetuous look on his face made the watching crowd shiver in anticipation. "No, Sire. We were merely having an argument concerning your sexuality. You see, these fine fellows were under the impression you were queer. I told them that it's impossible to be queer if you have a vagina." He said, or rather, began to say, before a fireball melted the top half of his body into a pile of sickly-sweet smelling mush.
The flame spewing man raised an eyebrow at the rest, who scampered away as quickly as their charred bodies would allow. He turned and walked back inside, tossing his black robe aside, leaving him clad in only a pair of comfortably worn trousers.
"Kit! Kit, where are you? I could use your... ehmm.... assistance!" He called, looking around the small room, hoping to catch a glimpse of her red fur peeking out from somewhere.
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Across the city, a single enormous building emanates enough sound for an entire city block. Emblazoned hugely across it's eastern wall is the image of a royal looking woman, wearing a crown- and otherwise nude. Though there are no actual signs, it's quite obvious this building is the DeClothed Queen's.
Inside, the building is dimly lit and pervaded by the musky, icky-sweet smell of sex. Writhing forms roll around together as often in the middle of the room as they do in the private areas. On the stage, skimpily clad men and women practically make love to poles of polished metal that run from the ceiling to the floor, and money is practically thrown at them. (though not literally of course, as gold coins tend to sting)
In the upper areas, a rather intimidatingly demonic-looking woman lounges in a cushy black throne, her leg thrown over one arm, her head leaning slightly against the other, a half empty bottle of Worm's Rum dangling loosely out of her hand. A look of deepest, drunken contentment on her face. Suddenly, a black-purple flame roars to life in the middle of the private room she was resting in, and a tall, frightening, and altogether rather sexy demoness stepped out of nonexistence. The woman on the throne, Marek, merely inclined her head. "Lady Malice. I was expecting you. What new orders have you today?" She asked, her tone impetuous- almost bored.
The Fell Queen smiled, as if pleased by this behavior, and snapped her fingers, causing a rolled up scroll to poof into existence in her palm. "A list of targets and conversions, marked as such. Also, there's been a spot of bother with one of your subordinates... The belligerent fool, Brutus. He's been killing my other dedicants. Rectify this behavior for me, Darling, and I shall reward you." The dark mistress said, all in one very long breath.
At this, Marek sat up and rubbed her crotch lightly, biting her lip and remember the last reward the Mistress had given her. "It will be as you say, My Dark Lady, sooner than soon! Yes yes." She said, practically stumbling over herself in order to bow, even as her mistress was already disappearing.
Suddenly, a small explosion blasted the battling figures apart, leaving them all scorched, and even a few dead. A tall figure stood on the balcony overlooking the square, his bright red eye glowing ominously. "Well, well, ladies and gentlemen... It seems a few of you have taken it upon yourselves to interrupt my afternoon nap." He purred, his voice like poison-laced silk. He leaned against the railing of the balcony, dragging his fingers down his goatee and contemplating the situation. "Well, my dears, explain yourselves. What came over you to make such a dreadful racket? Hm? Did someone steel your sweetroll?" He asked, sarcasm practically dripping off his bladed tongue.
One of the scorched crowd managed to get to his feet, and the impetuous look on his face made the watching crowd shiver in anticipation. "No, Sire. We were merely having an argument concerning your sexuality. You see, these fine fellows were under the impression you were queer. I told them that it's impossible to be queer if you have a vagina." He said, or rather, began to say, before a fireball melted the top half of his body into a pile of sickly-sweet smelling mush.
The flame spewing man raised an eyebrow at the rest, who scampered away as quickly as their charred bodies would allow. He turned and walked back inside, tossing his black robe aside, leaving him clad in only a pair of comfortably worn trousers.
"Kit! Kit, where are you? I could use your... ehmm.... assistance!" He called, looking around the small room, hoping to catch a glimpse of her red fur peeking out from somewhere.
---------------------------------
Across the city, a single enormous building emanates enough sound for an entire city block. Emblazoned hugely across it's eastern wall is the image of a royal looking woman, wearing a crown- and otherwise nude. Though there are no actual signs, it's quite obvious this building is the DeClothed Queen's.
Inside, the building is dimly lit and pervaded by the musky, icky-sweet smell of sex. Writhing forms roll around together as often in the middle of the room as they do in the private areas. On the stage, skimpily clad men and women practically make love to poles of polished metal that run from the ceiling to the floor, and money is practically thrown at them. (though not literally of course, as gold coins tend to sting)
In the upper areas, a rather intimidatingly demonic-looking woman lounges in a cushy black throne, her leg thrown over one arm, her head leaning slightly against the other, a half empty bottle of Worm's Rum dangling loosely out of her hand. A look of deepest, drunken contentment on her face. Suddenly, a black-purple flame roars to life in the middle of the private room she was resting in, and a tall, frightening, and altogether rather sexy demoness stepped out of nonexistence. The woman on the throne, Marek, merely inclined her head. "Lady Malice. I was expecting you. What new orders have you today?" She asked, her tone impetuous- almost bored.
The Fell Queen smiled, as if pleased by this behavior, and snapped her fingers, causing a rolled up scroll to poof into existence in her palm. "A list of targets and conversions, marked as such. Also, there's been a spot of bother with one of your subordinates... The belligerent fool, Brutus. He's been killing my other dedicants. Rectify this behavior for me, Darling, and I shall reward you." The dark mistress said, all in one very long breath.
At this, Marek sat up and rubbed her crotch lightly, biting her lip and remember the last reward the Mistress had given her. "It will be as you say, My Dark Lady, sooner than soon! Yes yes." She said, practically stumbling over herself in order to bow, even as her mistress was already disappearing.