The Hallowed Halls of Hell

Hell. We're all headed that way, we might as well warm up to the idea.

In this incarnation, Hell is set in an endlessly twisting and swirling miasma of chaotic landscapes, dreamscapes, nightmares, and debaucheries. Your surroundings may shift from stark, wind-blown plains of ash to writhing, bacchanalian orgies in be-silked marble halls.

Just over twenty years ago, Hell witnessed its greatest civil war. In the aftermath of that war, 'The Sundering', much of Hell's heirarchy is in disorder. As it is slowly rebuilt and restructured, much opportunity exists for those strong and quick enough to seize it.

You are demons, vampires, witches, blasphemers, warlocks, sinners, succubi - you are the damned. You are in a society ruled by those strong enough (or crafty enough) to strike fear in the hearts of their peers. Those positions are ever tenuous, though. A master or mistress may well become a slave, should they lose their footing in this treacherous land.


Beware of trust. There is no more ready host to betrayal.

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The Hierarchy of Hell:

Lucifer - Rules over all fiefdoms of Hell. This position is reserved to the Lord Lucifer and cannot be attained by another. He is Papa Satan, after all. He rules from the seventh level of Hell.

Below Lucifer are the monarchs, the underkings (or queens) of Hell. There are three of these positions, initially ruling over two principalities each. The underkings are constantly at war, each vying for the holdings of the others.

Each principality is overseen by a prince, or princess. There are six principalities representing the upper six levels of Hell. Lucifer rules the seventh and final province. The environment of each level is up to the whim of the prince. He or she may set the tone as they wish.

Beholden to the princes are, in order of prestige and power, the dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, knights and ladies, and finally, the common rabble.

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Prestige and 'Soulstones':

You may begin at any point in the hierarchy that you like, from underking down. However, you begin with only 1 point of prestige. Each point of prestige is represented in the form of a 'Soulstone'. These jewels may be worn in any fashion you like. The more you have, the better you will fare.

Prestige is what determines the strength of your position. If you start low and work your way up, you are better able to gain the prestige needed to hold on to your position at the top.

Lucifer will grant one point of prestige once every week.

Prestige is awarded according to how Lucifer judges your style. Are you sly? Devious? Ruthless? Seductive? Menacing? The better you describe and define your character and surroundings, the better off you'll do in this milieu. Of course, sometimes he awards based on entirely on political expediency. It's all up to the Devil's whim. His word is final.

Prestige can also be gained or lost by moving up (or down) the ranks of Hell. If you feel that you are strong enough to usurp your liege, you may attempt a coup. When that happens, please PM me before joining the battle. I will determine the outcome of the battle as described below in Combat.

The winner of a coup, be they attacker or defender, strips a Soulstone from the loser. This means that you can even lose the single point of prestige that you begin with. But then, of course, you may be victorious and make a slave of your master. Gaining power and position in Hell is a risky proposition. Do you have the mettle for it?

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Attributes

As characters, you will start with 6 points to apply to four categories:

Strength: Raw physical power. This will factor into confrontations of the flesh, weighed against your opponent's Evasion.

Cunning: Mental agility. This will factor into battles of mind, weighed against your opponent's Will.

Evasion: Physical dexterity/toughness. This will factor into confrontations of the flesh, weighed against your oppornents Strength.

Will: Mental fortitude. This will factor into the battles of mind, weighed against your opponent's Cunning.

Attributes are directly affected by Prestige points. The power of Soulstones, gained by either by reward or battle, may be harnessed to increase any of the four attributes. Inversely, should you lose a Soulstone in combat, you must choose which of the four attributes will be diminished!

These attributes will not be known to your peers. When you have decided on what you want your scores to be, simply send them to me via PM. Any time you receive a Soulstone, let me know which attribute you would like to bump.

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Combat

The nature of combat has a certain random element to it. Things do not always work as intended. And then, sometimes, things work exceptionally well. One can only affect the outcome by honing their skills in attack and defense. This is accomplished by applying awarded prestige to your attributes.

Any time that you're affecting someone against their will - mesmerizing them, throwing them around, breaking their arm, focusing the agonies of a thousand martyrs into them... it's unfair to assume that they will fall prey to your intentions.

Thus, I've had to devise something that will make it a bit more judicious:

To initiate combat, the attacker must PM me and the defender of their intent. The attacker will declare the nature of the attack as physical or mental.

Combat will be settled in five 'rounds'. I will begin with a random value 1-10 and add the value of your attacking attribute (Strength or Cunning) against a random value 1-10, plus your opponent's defending attribute (Evasion or Will). Whichever result is higher wins that 'round'. I'll do this five times to determine who wins the majority of the rounds.

Once I have resolved combat, I will notify them both attacker and defender of the outcome.

It will then be the task of the attacker to detail the battle, whether they win or lose. Being the aggressor, they have a better sense of where they wanted it to go. It will be up to them to consider the results of combat when writing the outcome.

When writing the outcome, it is very important to remember that the attempt has already been made. Whether you have succeeded or failed, you tried to grab/throw/dominate/burn/overthrow your target. The writing of the outcome should include the attempt and the results!

Of course, if another arrangement is made between the combatants, either or both can write the details of the fray.

Death can happen, but it will be rare. Most often, losing combat will result in the vanquished retreating to lick their wounds. Death can happen only if a character loses combat in a coup attempt and has no Soulstones left. In that case, the victor may claim the very soul of the vanquished!

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Miscellaneous

As for seduction, well, that will be entirely up to you. What are you willing to trade for the demon's caress? Sex is power, and letting yourself fall sway to the charms of an underling yields some of your power to them. Is it worth it? Well, maybe...

You may employ magic and powers as you like, but I warn against trying to make yourself too 'uber'. We all have weaknesses and faults. These aspects follow into the netherworld as well. If you cross the line too drastically, the devil may have his way with you. And besides, everyone will hate you. Oh, and bad spelling and grammar is a sure ticket to the devil's wrath. Take care to proofread!

In the interest of keeping the storyline flowing, if you are absent from the thread for over 7 days with no prior warning, your character will be destroyed by Lucifer (or some representative thereof. Lucifer gets kinda busy sometimes.) If you wish to return thereafter, you will need to create a new character and begin again. As long as you let us know if you're going somewhere or cannot contribute for a given amount of time, just let us know in the OOC thread and your character will be preserved during your absence.

If anyone has any suggestions on ways to improve this scenario, please make your suggestions on The Hallowed Halls of Hell OOC thread.

Let's give it a shot and see how it goes

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The Who's Who of Hell

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The first kingdom - Limbo
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Sovereign: Unclaimed!

• First Circle - Avernus

Sovereign: Princess Annalyra - Pywakit​

Count Krond - Mike22280​

Lady Sura - Lady_Kit​

• Second Circle

Sovereign: Prince Arrios - poohlive

Count Henrich - Lotharian​

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The second kingdom - Gahenna
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Sovereign: Unclaimed!

• Third Circle

Sovereign:Unclaimed!​

Eb'lamina - Graybread​

• Fourth Circle - Desolace

Sovereign: Prince VandalHeart (NPC) - Erusian​

Countess Sin'dra - Sweetp4u​

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The third kingdom - Tartarus
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Sovereign: Unclaimed!

• Fifth Circle

Sovereign: Unclaimed!​

• Sixth Circle - The Supernal Hells

Sovereign: Princess Morgran - BriefcaseRonin​

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The Seventh Circle - The Abyss
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Sovereign: Lucifer - erusian

Jorja - Princess of the 2nd Circle - 1 rank of prestige

Jorja sat moodily on the rock ledge, one leg carelessly dangling over the edge. Usually the torrential freezing rains and ceaseless winds of the love-ul-ly Second Circle of Hell calmed her. Who wants sunny Florida when you can go somewhere guaranteed to have thunder and lightening 24/7, anyways? But today the moaning pitch of the wind grated her nerves, uncannily mimicking that whiney bitch Francesca’s constant deprived wailing for her poor little lover boy.

Even her favorite activities didn’t seem to hold any appeal to her at the moment. Just weeks ago she would have eagerly welcomed a chance to take a little more sweet revenge out on Francesca. Now, the idea of tying the little wench to a chair and forcing her to watch as Jorja ravaged her dearly beloved Paolo sounded boring.

Been there, done that, she sighed, raking her talon-like fingernails down the rock wall she was leaning her head against. They made a satisfyingly ghastly noise that sent the nearby roosting vultures squawking angrily from their favorite dead tree.

It wasn’t like being a Princess in the underworld was all fun and games, but Jorja felt like she had conquered all the challenges here. She was restless; her job of teasing and torturing came far too naturally. And by gods was she sick of the pretty-in-pink fluffy tutus and little ponies connotation of her title as Princess.

Shifting in place, she crawled to look over the edge and admire her screaming, agonized thousands. Her thigh-high stilettos (not in the job description…but her personal favorites…and they did make chasing down the rebels on foot a wee bit more challenging) caught on some loose pebbles which rattled cheerily down the rocky slope, causing a small but satisfying landslide as they went.

Standing and stretching with a deadly feline grace, Jorja whistled sharply, the piercing sound echoing back from the canyon walls. Her vulture, black as midnight with gleaming feathers and larger than all the rest of the flock, came soaring gracefully against the blustery gales, and perched lightly on a rock peak next to her. No ponies for this princess, she scoffed. She removed the letter from the sharply curved beak. The yellowed parchment and His red wax seal were rather melodramatic, in her opinion, but he was a sentimental old bastard, and enjoyed the sinister touch the ancient ways gave. Slicing it open deftly with one claw, she unfolded the note, wondering what He wanted with his little Princess.

Lilith - Succubus Lady of the 3rd Circle - 1 rank of prestige

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Scene: Earth - cheap motel bedroom
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"Ohhh yes." a woman's voice can be heard, spreading through the old decrepit motel like a ghost's wail. "More baby, more." Her high-pitched moan carried like a charm in the Maine autumn air, riding the wind through the naked trees and dying in the approaching rainstorm.

Of course, there's no chance of anyone hearing it. Not out there, in the mountains, miles from the closest city. In fact, it's pretty much the selling point, the *only* reason in fact why old Peterson didn't go out of business years ago, back when the hotel chains came to the area and gutted the small-man market. Sometimes he feels remorse for keeping the joint open, knowing full-well that his customers are either prostitutes, drug dealers, or both. Other times, he just closes his eyes, reaches down his old, worn-out jeans and imagines he's the one getting fucked by makeup-heavy women in their forties with botched boobjobs, yelling his name like he's still a young stud.

But tonight's woman, 'Lilith' he knew her name was from her signature on the registry... she was different. She was actually good-looking, in great physical shape. She had a pair of knockers that would knock any man's breathe out of him. Her bleached-blonde hair always looked perfect, even after her night's work was over. But what bothered him was her eyes, those blue empty eyes...

She came here often, for almost a year now. Always with the same man, always on Wednesday nights. "Ohhh God YES." she cried one last time, her pouty lips formed into an exaggerated "o", her hips buckling over the old man's semi-flacid cock. The sixty year-old old man groaned slightly, coming inside her with every inch of strength his age can procure. Immediately after, he rolled over and sits on the side of the bed, raking his white hair with both hands, whiping away the sweat on his forehead.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me baby?" the blonde woman asked playfully, her body spread out over the bed, naked. Her perfect breasts, impossibly perky for their size, were barely covered by the drapes.

The old man doesn't answer, but she knows what he's thinking. What he always tortures himself with after they're done having sex. He's feeling guilty, guilty about cheating on his wife, again and again. But then again, he's like most men. He cares only as far as his dick goes. Anything else is just... an accident, a one-time deal. He gets up silently, without looking at the woman he came to know as Lilith and puts his pants back on without saying a word.

Lilith watches him dress, grinning. Tonight was actually good for her. She felt tremendous relief, pleasure even, knowing that this would be the last time she would have the displeasure to taste his foul breathe inside her mouth, to touch his wrinkled skin against hers. Tonight, old senator Hill was going to have an accident, an accident involving a caliber 12 pistol to his temple, but an accident nonetheless.

As he's about to cross the threshold of room 276, he briefly turns around and, like he always does, asks: "Do you need a ride to the city?"

She smiles, a devilishly cunning smile, stretches across the bed and answers: "No thanks. I'm waiting for my ride."

He steps out absent-mindedly and heads for his black cadillac. A few drops of rain stain his glasses as he walks down the stairs. There's going to be a storm tonight.

She listens to the sounds of the ignition, then the motor of the car roaring away fast on the mud-covered streets.

When she feels certain that he's gone, she reaches down under the sheets, and inserts one single finger into this body's delicious pussy, smiling as her finger makes its way out. She brings the finger to her face and smells its tangy odor, a mix of her own juices and the old man's semen. How the mighty have fallen she thinks for a moment. Her, a pure-blooded succubus, forced to survive off the vital juices of an old feeble man... A 'punishment of sorts' her Master called it.

She hears a noise. Very faint at first, but definitely growing in strength. It almost sounded like a moving train; metal against metal, the sound of burning, of an unstoppable force out to get her.

The blonde woman sat up silently, suddenly very quiet. She could feel it coming... From the tip of her toes to her reddening cheeks, she felt the heat of Hell locking onto her. It was terrifying and exhilerating all at the same time. She could feel the skin of her body burning with the heat of the great furnace. Every inch of her body was awake, waiting. It was almost sexual experience than to be brought down into Hell...

The next thing she heard was a familiar voice. The voice she had grown to both love and hate at the same time: "Well done my pet."

Xienti, Demon Infested Dementia Mistress

In a past battle-pit a huge man moved forth, a punishment must be delivered to those who have provided treachery to the empire, A long black haired creature struggled, she can't die like this, I will NOT go like this, her eye flashed ink-black, dripping in tears over her inverted eye tattoo, the black oil-tears took form on the ground, a creature, grey and corrupting, the servant priest of the gods, a cheap shadowed copy, long black bullhorns extended from a rotting head with teeth large and permanently bared, clouded eyes stared at the gorilla-sized man in a long stretched and spindly body, malnourished and yet hovering, suddenly, this new creature lashed out with it's white right hand and ripped the man's heart out, a quick snack.

This massive demon turned to it's silk clad owner, she pulled out two blades slightly curved and leapt as it moved towards her. The demon flashed into a fake form driving itself into her, the wings not fitting thorugh taking their place on her back, eyes turning the golden of the demon's former glory, fangs on the lower jaw, and bow legs formed, she dropped to her knees. Passing out in the sand in a puddle of blood, a demon's dream, for when she will awake, it will be in Hell.....

Her pale skin went taut and indented against the needle tip of the harpy-feathered quill. Her screams had faded to hollow sobs, her throat stripped of a voice, her heart stripped of hope. Everything now was pain and perseverance.

Lucifer's signed the missive in the writhing angel's blood. His dark eyes lingered on the bloody rivulets that had left a crimson cross-hatch against the seraphic alabaster of her skin.

Summoning a flame from blackened and bloodstained fingertips, he melted a pool of wax to the paper's edge. He could hear the new princess' courier croak a throaty call from its perch on the balcony as he set his unholy seal to the wax.

As the vulture took flight, riding the infernal updrafts of the underworld toward it's mistress' home in the second circle, the Devil pondered the words he had dispatched.

Welcome, Jorja, to the realization of your power. I appreciate the ingenuity you have applied in deposing your sovereign. I understand that the voracity of your tortures have driven her to lunacy. Well done.

You will find that your unyielding tenacity and unquestionable allegiance will serve you well here. You will do well to be counted high in our ranks when we exact our vengeance at Heaven's hated gates.

I will expect your arrival and tribute in a fortnight.

And lovely Jorja, you've come far to this point, do not disappoint me.

- L

Henrich the Wizard, 'Lord of the Dead' and Count of the Second Circle

Like many souls in hell, Henrich was mortal once. In truth, very few were not at one time mortals, twisted by the infernal reaches of this abominal place. Most souls that came eventually became demons, or some other form of hellspawn. But Henrich held unto, though by a thin thread of the person he once was in life. To the memories of the past that brought him here.

He was once a man in the lands of the Prince Britzberg, closer to the lands of the fast encroaching, and freshly founded Austrian Empire. Up until this point, Henrich was a simple man, that was an apothacary that dabbled in a magic a bit on the side. Much as there is a heaven and Hell, there are White and Dark magics. Up until this point, Henrich used his magics for good. He even had a wife and family. But then the attack came...

The Austrians attacked their part of the Holy Roman Empire, in their land grab and to continue their attempt at succession and supperiority over the Empire. The town, unfortunately, ended up in between the militia forces of Britzberg and the forces of Emperor Charlemange III, and the forces of the Austrian General Dreg.

Flame consumed the town, and Henrich tried his best with the limited White Magic he had to save his family but unfortunately, he was seperated from them, and amid the burning wood, he could smell their flesh. And their screams of death joined that of the battle surrounding them.

Henrich was able to make his way out, his body black from the ash. His face stinging from the tears. Even after all this, he looked down at what had been his home from the hills near the town. It was then, when he heard a whisper in his ears. 'I can give you what you need for your revenge...' whispered the voice, though Henrich could not find the source.

"Revenge? And what is the cost? What is it I could possibly pay you in exchange... I've nothing..." Henrich said, on his knees and consumed by grief.

'Then you've no reason to deny my generous offer... I offer you the powers of the Dark Magics... the powers of death and destruction. With them, revenge is yours for the taking... All I ask for, are the souls of those you vanquish.'

The deal seemed good to Henrich. All he would kill would deserve their suffering. And with his acceptance, did a book bound in dark leather, that bit with freezing could to the touch. A book that contained the details on dark spells, rituals, and mixtures. And within a month, Henrich came down from the hills, prepared to bring vengance upon the town.

He came dressed in furs, his face fierce and prepared to slay all in his path. He would begin with the town... he would test his new powers here, on the Austrian occupiers, and begin to take vengance on all who had been involved with the death of his loved ones!

And so did Henrich truly became the damned, as he assaulted the town, ripping forth souls. Henrich believing the power coming from himself, while in truth most of his might was coming from the demon adding his power to Henrich's. And before long, the town burned once more, and by the end, Henrich sat there on the streets, drained.

That was when the figure appeared, dressed in the attire of a courtesan, but in black. Seeming to applause Henrich's efforts. "Well done my young friend, well done... You've made me a very powerful man this day. Do you feel you have reached your vengance for your slain family? Do you feel justice is done when those who slaughtered the innocent have had their soul torn away?"

Henrich could only manage a nod, when he saw an Austrian soldier with a loaded musket come out from behind a building. Henrich tried to focus but... but his power was gone!

"Oh, wondering why you cannot defend yourself from your impending death? Quite simple. If justice can only be had by the ones who slaughter innocent going to Hell, it is YOUR fate as well!" The courtesan said darkly, a grin comming upon his face. The Austrian didn't even seem to notice the Courtesan, as he fired upon Henrich.

When the wizard awoke, he was in Hell, with many others. And before him was that same courtesan. Where they were, they seemed to be in the darkened halls of an ancient keep. Screams seemed to come from all directions and there even seemed to be blood flowing from the walls. Not pooling but it just looked like from where they should be mortar, there was blood.

"Welcome to Hell Henrich. Do not feel so harsh against me for my... previous actions. But with my latest gains, thanks to you, I felt you deserved more than that pathetic mortal coil. So I decided to add you to my cabinet. I am the Dark Duke, Arrios. I know you will find it strange, but that is for you still are blind like the other mortals." The Courtesan said, looking expectantly at Henrich.

Henrich was still confused though... somewhat aware. If only he knew, he would've accepted the life of a low-life to be able to rise on his own. But Henrich knew not what to do but agree. And with that, the Courtesan bowed and presented to Henrich a ring, a singet ring, and when Henrich put it on all things changed.

His body was wracked with pains, the walls of the keep became much more chaotic, and Henrich lay there, the pain never lessening. Time grew unpassing, and though the pain remained, Henrich eventually was able to adapt. The Courtesan grinned evily.

"You have past the first step Count Henrich on a greater path. Your duty shall be to enslave as many of the unclaimed souls as you can to my will. And I will be keeping an eye on you if you try something... smart..." The Courtesan said, as he suddenly vanished into the shadows.

But that was the past, it had been several centuries at least of this, and the only additional statue he had gained was to help transport 'Guests' for his lord. The only reason Henrich had any station was so that he could have a small realm to keep the spirits in, and that wouldn't rise any questions. Though a number of people knew and just called him 'The Lord of the Dead'.

But all this time had given Henrich time to think. He was making plans against his 'Lord'. Plans to begin eating away at his 'Lord's prestige. To take his 'Lord's position. He had all this time to gain in skills of magic... Maybe soon he should try to arrange a 'special guest' to lower his 'Lord's edge? Distract him until he had the time to act. But for now, Henrich looked out upon the writhing scene of the suffering dead out of his watchtower of onyx. Looking out upon the damned ones gathered in his little pocket of Hell. The damned ones he had been gathering, that should be the large gift to his 'Lord' but he will instead use to fuel his magics to throw the Duke into Purgatory!

Annalyra - Princess of the 1st Circle

The little red imp shrieked as a delicate hand shot out and caught him by the chest. His shrieks grew even louder as those fingers, each terminating in a long, glossy, black fingernail, tightened quickly. His shriek ended abruptly in a wet symphony of muffled snaps as the hand closed to a fist, crushing his torso into pulp.

Annalyra regarded the twitching mess she clutched in her fist for a moment before she threw it down onto the razor-strewn ground below. As the imp's ichor dripped from her hands, she sat in deep thought, her pale, almost pupil-less eyes staring out at the horizon of the 1st Circle of hell, out over the plains of rusting razors and cruel metal towers that jutted from the searing metal ground. The imp had been one of her favorite messengers, but there were always more imps to be had. And this one’s message had indeed annoyed her.

If the imp's intelligence was to be trusted... something big was coming. An upheaval in the rankings of the Hallowed Halls perhaps on a magnitude approaching the last infernal schism... during which Annalyra had seized her position of princess of the 1st Circle in a night of red ruin. She'd held that position for countless ages thereafter, but had never been able to advance in power, despite her accomplishments. Jorja always seemed to be one step ahead of her, and now, it seems that she had received a message from Him.

Annalyra's imagination whirled at the possibilities of what that message could contain. A promotion? A rebuke? A mission? An invitation? She cursed, and the damned soul she straddled winced, as if expecting another cut to his already bleeding torso. She looked down at the soul, and smiled sweetly at him before she stood up. His cock slipped out of her pussy, but as she stood, his essence flowed up through his manhood and into her in a tremendous surge. His body withered and crumbled between her feet, and by the time she was fully standing, he was nothing but a shadow on the razor-strewn ground. All that remained was the wetness of his orgasm trailing down the inside of Annalyra's thigh. She idly scooped a finger full of it up and brought it to her ruby lips, but the taste of his life-seed was no pleasure. She spit and cursed, her black hair seeming to writhe with her anger as she took to the dull red skies, leaving the Plain of the Lost below as she flew rapidly toward her palace. She felt in her gut that more word of what was coming had already reached her servants there, and hoped that her tryst amongst the damned had not caused her to miss anything of vital import over the past several years.

Jorja - Princess of the 2nd Circle - 1 rank of prestige

Jorja read the note over three times, pinching and rolling her rock hard nipples between the fingers of the hand that was not occupied with the letter. It was what she had been expecting; about damn time he realized her innate brilliance and ruthless knack for strategy. She allowed herself to close her eyes and fantasize for a moment – sex and power had always been one in the same to her. She shivered and tucked the parchment into her cleavage. Loosening the ribbons of her corset slightly, she began to pace.

A tribute was his request. And in two weeks. She didn’t know if she could wait that long. Unlike her horny and undiscriminating peers that got plenty of kicks from fucking damned souls and pathetic morals, Jorja was finicky. The humans! They were always so scared of her that sex lost any edge it had ever had around here. Even the demons which she cavorted with occasionally weren’t any fun – although decidedly unafraid of her, they were barbaric and animalistic. She needed someone who was capable of performing on her level of mental foreplay. It was the hunt and chase she longed for, and she knew only one man in Hell that could possibly live up to her requirements.

She reached down and stroked the tops of her ivory breasts, fingering the paper absentmindedly. He kept no permanent lovers or mistresses, and never seemed to play favorites. He was the absolute epitome of “Womanizer.” No matter that the ones taken to His bed chamber came back scorched and hollow-eyed. She’d lived taking risks, and died that way. The afterlife changed nothing.

Striding to the edge of the cliff, Jorja snapped her fingers and stepped off, into thin air. Her vision blurred slightly and she found herself in the black marble corridors that belonged to Arrios. He was no threat to her – he was distracted these days. She had been coming and going around here ever since she realized he seldom frequented his own haunt. He would stand beneath the lighthouse for hours, the dark grass rippling in ominous waves around him. Few realized this is where he disappeared to, but then again, few visited the Moors. She had seen him out there before, herself like a lioness tucked into the tall grass, observing and biding her time. Something was coming, and he seemed to just want to stand there, waiting for it to devour him.

The corridor, straight as a needle and seemingly endless, was deserted. Her heels created sharp, staccato echoes as she walked down the hall, finally stopping at a particularly grotesque ebony gargoyle. Stroking the glossy fur beneath his stony chin, he shifted to life.

“I seek Henrich’s council.” She spoke clearly, her voice seeming too loud in the tomb-like quiet, using his real name rather than the nickname everyone used, “I am to present myself to Him in a fortnight. We must speak. I will not take no for an answer.”

The gargoyle froze, becoming one with the stone wall once again.

Jorja tapped her nails impatiently, running over ideas in her head. The usual expected tributes were paid in feminine currency. Well groomed virgins, favorite trained slaves, you get the idea. But Jorja was anything but usual…she planned to switch things up a bit and make a lasting impression.

Henrich the Wizard, 'Lord of the Dead' and Count of the Second Circle

Henrich wasn't overly impressive. He stood at a height of 5'6", and amongst the generally stratesque people of Hell, he was very short. He also had blue eyes that he had trained to reflect little of the storm within with his time in Hell, for emotion can be exploited by all. Upon his head, was blond hair that reached just blow his shoulder, that was unkempt for appearance meant little to the Lord of the Dead. His body was fairly well muscled compared to the mortals that came before him in this day, though in his time he was just strong enough to handle the days of hard work in the fields. His clothing was still made of the cloths and furs he wore at death. The clothing more of the Germanic Tribes of old than the Imperial Courtiers that were rampant in his time.

The wizard was busy snaring departed souls when the onyx gargoyle in his room began to shift. Henrich snapped his gaze to the statue, that shared his mind with another gargoyle outside of his chambers. Henrich didn't liked to be disturbed during his work, and he was about to show these statues why he was a force to be feared.

Fire began to form within Henrich's palms as he glared at the beast but it spoke up to save it's existance. "Master! I'm sorry to disturb you but a guest has come to see you." The gargoyle grumbled in a quick, scratchy fashion.

"I told you I wished not to be disturbed! Now tell me what it is that you have bothered me from my sport and have brought about your own destruction for?" Henrich snarled at the onyx creation.

"The Princess Jorga has come seeking your audience! I only thought your Lordship would find it best to his interests to see her!" The gargoyle pleaded, fearing the reprissal of the Count, but the destruction never came. Henrich was too distracted heading out to meet his guest.

'The Princess of the Second Circle has come to meet ME? Why? Had Arrios learned of his plans? No matter. If she came here to destroy me, near my source of power, she will be gravely mistake.' Henrich thought as he came to the doors and composed himself. He needed to look calm and collective to leave a good impression, and maybe gain a powerful ally in the downfall of Arrios. He might be able to use her for his benefit...

He swung forth the black steel doors of his chambers and came into the room in which Jorga sat. Such a lewd and dark scene that as a mortal, he might have fallen immediately to his needs and to her, but it had been centuries of beasts like her. Though she did appear more... inticing than most, not only in appearance but in title.

Henrich did a strong bow to the princess in the matter of the mortals of his day. A courteous smile upon his face. "Welcome to my halls M'Lady, the Princess of the Second Circle. My minions tell me you have want of me? What is it that you wish of me? Souls? Magics? Perhaps something to help with a victim that is proving particularly resistant in the lands of Mortals? Your wish is my duty to obey M'Lady."

'And my pleasure.' Henrich thought to himself.

Jorja - Princess of the 2nd Circle - 1 rank of prestige

“The barbarous manners that most of these animals have has not in any way tainted yours, I see, Henrich,” Jorja grinned slyly at him, rising to tower a good few inches over his head, “What with the blonde hair and blue eyes, the nice little boy-next-door look, you’d hardly even guess you were damned for eternity.”

Her throaty laughter filled the chamber, strangely contagious in its voluptuous quality. He smiled, but not out of appreciation her dark wit, she assumed. He was placating her, sizing her up, trying to figure out if she was friend or foe.

“You are a man of business, not pleasure. I see that.” Wrapping her delicate fingers around his neck, she hooked them beneath his collar, pulling herself up against him, whispering against his ear, her hot breath tickling his skin in the cold room, “…pity. But I can sympathize.”

She let go, pushing herself away from him with the palm of her hand. Standing with her arms crossed, she looked into his eyes as she spoke, trying to judge his reaction.

“As you know I am such a dear friend of your Arrios,” she smirked, the lilt of sarcasm bringing out a strange and heavy accent, “who, quite frankly, has gone off the deep end.”

Henrich perked at that remark.

“But that’s for another time. The matter at hand will be closed within a fortnight. He has requested my tribute and my appearance. Now typically, I do not take counsel in another. But I have heard stories of you…rumors…fleeting words whispered in shadows…and they caught my attention. Wisdom and cunning are both is short supply around here, and sometimes a girl needs a hand…a little help…a little magic, if you will, to pull things off.”

Jorja licked her lips and continued.

“I wish not to present him with the finest courtesans of the land, nor the freshly picked virgins that so many others have. I wish…” she leaned closer, pausing, “…to present him with myself.”

She turned and let out another hearty peal of laughter, “I know…bold and stupid, it’s what you’ll tell me. But has it even been done before? To offer myself in place of the usual sacrifices would put me to a test that…if passed…would virtually guarantee my position by his side.”

“Do not hesitate or waver. Let your speech be honest. You know you don’t belong here, another soul lost in these great halls. I could make you things Arrios has never even dreamed of.”

Henrich the Wizard, 'Lord of the Dead' and Count of the Second Circle

Henrich was nearly taken off guard from her actions and wishes, but he was able to compose himself from showing too much directly in his ways. She was to present herself to the Dark Lord? She was right, for it was bold and especially foolish. Not many demons survived being in his pressence, might as well his bed.

"Well, M'Lady, as to this point, none have been so bold as to put themselves into harms way and present themselves to the Him as the gift. Most are too concerned on self-preservation than to take the risk at power. If you could succeed though... you may even end up as one of the Three Overlords. Hrm... and I think I may have something to help you with this... follow." Henrich said, his mind calculating what he could do. His mind was currently thinking of the magics he could brew to help Princess Jorga on her attempts to rise to power.

Henrich pushed upon the steel doors to his chambers, and motioned for Jorga to follow him. It was a rare thing, that not even Arrios was allowed to enter his chambers. Within the circular windowless room, there was a cauldron in the center, behind which was an onyx gargoyle identical to one just outside. Along the walls were many book shelves that reached up to six feet, the rest of the dome covered in glowing red runes of power, meant to aid his reach. He could even pick out souls travelling to Heaven with the focuses he has set up... souls that are VERY valuable. Also, there was a desk, with scattered papers, and several boxes which had his components.

When they entered, Henrich made his way to the bookshelves and began to pick out several books. He had almost forgotten that Jorga herself was here, and was more focused on the task at hand. Within about five or so minutes, he had a stack of about six books and he then spread them out upon his desk. He began flipping through each, nodding to himself every so often and gathering the components from his boxes.

Within about a fifteen minutes in total, Henrich had gathered the components needed, and made his way to the Cauldron, looking up at Jorga who was just walking back into the room. Henrich didn't know what she was doing, but she was probably 'occupying' herself with one of his minions while he searched.

"Here... with all this, I can make you a powerful lotion to put upon yourself. But I must warn you, this has not been done before, so I know not it's side effects. But, if my incling is correct, this should spare you from any permenant suffering at the hands of the Dark One, and make you and even more compelling prize." Henrich said with a nod to himself. "Yes... very tempting indeed..."

Henrich then began to mix in the components, the blood of an Angel, the scale of a dragon of the desert, the Juices of Harpy, Succubus, and a Virgin, the flesh of an Elf-kind, wings of the Pixie... and many other components that were hard to come by. Unknown to most, there was indeed the mythical realm in the world though not truly prevailant in any means, but they were useful for magics. And Henrich threw in something, and probably the only reason she was to him and not any other wizard in the Hells, his White Magics. For in all the Hells, he was one of the only Mages that had any aptitude at all with the White Magics, the former proficency of Henrich.

In the end, there came out a large orb shapped vial, glowing with an inner light, and Henrich smiled while looking at Jorga's already inticing body. There was no way that even Lucifer could resist her after this.

"Your wait has long been worth it M'Lady... this is what I call the 'Potion of Hell's Whore'. Catchy? But either way... I made this potion unlike most that you would find. This isn't made to help you endure for long periods, or even help you regenerate. This potion does so much more... It is infused with some divine power. He is drawn to the pure, and this thing will help give you an aura of false purity to help intice him. Also, this spell will increase your Demonic Powers... you will be able to control any part of your body to a hairline, your flesh will regenerate faster, and may even give you the ability to make your scent even work on Him." Henrich said with much pride, but then he stopped for a brief moment, looking at Jorga.

"The only things that worry me, and should worry you, are the side-effects. I do not know what this potion will do to you physically or mentally... none have truly tried to combine the powers of both Light and Dark magics in this manner AND fed it into a Demon." Henrich said as he paced lightly, scratching his chin. "The White Magics may, eventually, tear you to shreads. Perhaps there will be constant suffering along with pain for the duration? Or maybe it shall drive you into a pit of frenzied madness? Maybe even shut down your powers... I do not know... I do not even know the duration it will last, so I would not suggest ingesting it until you are to present yourself to Him."

Henrich then gathered up the books and began to return them to the shelf. "You should only drink this if you are either very desperate, or very sure of what you want. And I warn you against drinking ANY potions for at least two days before hand. With magics like this, you don't want to risk any synergy." Henrich said as he placed the books within the shelf. He could've called on magic to do it, but he needed to do something to keep his mind busy so Jorga couldn't slip into his robes easily. He knew she would probably offer that as payment but to him... was it worth it? If she was giving herself to Lucifer she probably wouldn't survive. No. He needed something to help him against Arrios now.

"Also, if you feel that potion is too... overwhelming... there are lesser, safer, tested potions I may brew to help aid you." Henrich said as he pulled out another book. A book on the spiritual passes that souls move through. "But you may keep that one as a show of... good faith between the two of us, in the case you do succeed. Oh, and let's just keep this between the two of us shall we? I enjoy to not be disturbed and I like to keep my busy only to those of High Distinguishment."

Jorja - Princess of the 2nd Circle - 1 rank of prestige

Jorja wandered through the wizard’s chambers, venturing out of the main room he had led her to. The statues that lined the halls had fascinated her and she wanted a closer look. They were made of the same material as the gargoyle. Their eyes, as well, held the half alive gleam of flesh caught in stone. For many, she could not tell if they were locked in throes of passion or battles to the death. All were nude and beautiful specimens. One man caught her eye, sitting apart from things off towards the edge of the high relief carving. He looked aloof but longing, staring eagerly at the orgy below him from his throne. He was fully erect and had his hand wrapped around the base of his sizeable shaft. The loneliness and yearning in his eyes were what called to her – demon or not, there was something about absolute desire that was her Siren song.

She moved towards him and brushed her fingertips down his cheek. He remained cold and motionless. She tried his chest - what had worked on the gargoyle - but he didn’t stir. Slowly her lips parted in a coquettish grin. Her hands slipped down his smooth chest and she placed her own warm hand above his cold stone one, sliding her closed fist slowly but deliberately up and down his phallus. The statue seemed to groan to life, his husky masculine moans of suddenly fulfilled longing were music to her ears.

His granite skin warmed slightly and become malleable to the touch. He reached one hand for her and placed it on her hip, grasping her as if he didn’t quite believe she was real. She continued her tender attention on him, which was quickly moving towards rough. His hips arched. The granite fingers slid to her ass, massaging it hard as his breath quickened. She was extremely aroused, her juices lubricating her nether regions and causing her leather pants to ride up in a most enjoyable way. His upturned face was more beautiful than any piece of art rightly should be – lips parted, eyes closed, and he smiled when he came. She was bent over him, intently watching his face, and when his seed – refreshingly cool and not scalding like the demons she had been with – splashed against the bare skin of her neck and breasts, it turned to gemstones which scattered on the floor, rolling in every direction, losing their brilliant shine as they slipped into the dark passage.

Letting him go, Jorja watched as he returned to his original state…minus the forlorn look. She was enchanted by the moment, and returned to Henrich’s workshop in somewhat of a daze.

His words and business-like manner brought her back to reality. Potion of Hell's Whore…she liked it. His warnings and mile long list of potential side effects, however, were not so enjoyable.

Taking the vial into her hands, she felt it pulse once, the light inside darkening beneath her touch as if some inner sun had moved behind a bank of thunderclouds. She examined it once over, made sure the stopper was firmly in place, and slipped it into her velour bag, along with the book he had given her.

Bending down to give him a kiss of thanks, Jorja provided for an ample view of her cleavage. She thoroughly enjoyed the way his eyes lingered on her swollen nipples, still aroused from her encounter with the statue and the constant tension of the fabric on them, that were clearly visible through the thin silk of her corset. Her lips brushed his in a chaste, almost sisterly caress.

”Thank you, Henrich, you have done well and I have no doubt that your little concoction here will prove a stunning success. I believe I shall find it in my…our…best interests to take your council often.” Jorja placed a hand on his chest and felt him tense beneath her. He aimed to resist her, and she would not risk his alliance and tedious friendship by forcing her demonic wiles upon him. “You have helped me immensely. I wish there was some way in which I could repay you…make your life easier, more pleasurable, if you will.”

She looked deep into his eyes, her own a pair of stormy grey orbs that reflected like mirrors. Her passions from earlier simmered within her, tendrils of flame licking dangerously close to the surface. The last thing she wanted was to abandon herself to her lustful ways, let the heat fill within her, and use him until any of his life energy was completely drained and he was left as nothing but an empty shell. But her temptation was getting harder to control by the minute.

Henrich the Wizard, 'Lord of the Dead' and Count of the Second Circle

Her lewd ways tempted the wizard to just give in... to touch her flesh. To let her heat warm his cold flesh. To take that which he had to this point only given to his lost wife... but the pains of his past brough him back. He was in Hell for his love for his family, and he would not have gone through damnation to turn his back on them. Not to mention that Jorga would probably drain his spirit, thanks to how he doesn't have the protection most demons would offer. One of the many weaknesses of the mortal soul.

Henrich took a step back and gave a slight bow to his new ally. "Princess Jorga, nothing would pleasure me more than our continued alliance, and to help your rise to the top of the bottom of the chain." Henrich said with a soft smile upon his face. "And to help make my life easier please do something with Arrios. He demands that the products of all my evident labour should go to him."

Henrich said with a slight smile as he grabbed another book off the shelf and began to flip through it. Again, trying to preoccupy himself from her body. To keep himself from being drawn in and destroyed, at least on his part. If she tried to approach on her part, he would try to beat her off.

"I'm sorry that I cannot provide the services that you may... wish. But I am but a mortal soul still. It is the only way to have the full magical palate from which I produced your potion. And, if you would wish for more of such products, I need to stay thus. And you well know of what happens to a mortal soul under the fires of a Succubus correct?" Henrich said, looking up for but a moment to see if she was still here/paying attention.

"So please forgive me for cutting our meeting short, and do not worry. For when next we meet I'll have something to help keep you in check so my poor soul is not torn under your magnificent display of feminity and power." Henrich said, trying to cur her favour some more with sugar coating. "But should you need my council, I am more than willing."

Jorja - Princess of the 2nd Circle

(Stats to be edited in)

“I must leave. For both our sakes,” Jorja said breathily. He was worth far more to her…alive wasn’t the right word…intact, than he would be after she had her fun. And oh what fun it would be! He had fire behind those cool, appeasing eyes. Despite the fact he was obviously playing up to her vanity, he was good at “the game.” Which surprised her – he’d been a long time without a woman, this one had. And oh, she wouldn’t mind leaving her trademark claw scratches down his back.

“Arrios will not bother you, I will see to that.”

Henrich looked up from his book to respond, but was met only by empty space and the echoes of her boots.

Jorja’s mind was wandering, but her feet easily found their way back to her domain. She tried to ignore the babbling messenger she was met with almost immediately, as she attempted to make her way to her bed chambers. Finally, her temper cut short by the other fire that burned with in, she turned on her heel and stared down the tuxedoed man.

“Get thee away, wretched creature!”

Pausing to take a second look, she admired the white suit against his ebony skin. She enjoyed her vast resources and ran a tight ship…and oh, she fawned over herself, her taste was absolutely ex-quis-ite. She froze with her hand in midair. Instead of delivering the vicious backhand she had intended, her hand found its way down to the triangle of bare chest that was left visible by his unbuttoned shirt.

“On second thought,” she murmured, caressing him like a pet, “you’d better come with your Lady. Arrios is not going anywhere any time soon.”

Duke Arrios

Duke Arrios stood looking out over the sea of razor grass that surrounded him as far as the eye could see. Any soul of lesser power than a count, ore perhaps an exceptionally strong knight that ventured into the waves of grass would be in excruciating agony before they made it 50 feet from the glass with edges as sharp as obsidian flecks. That of course was the appeal to it, the isolation. It gave time to think, to plot.

That infernal succubus Princess Jorja had somehow surpassed him when he wasn’t paying attention and claimed sovereign ship of this layer of limbo. He knew the details of the overthrowal but chose not to go over them. It was moot at this point. Perhaps he reflected he had spent too much time out here at this lighthouse plotting and scheming and not enough time taking actual action. Perhaps also he had grown too complacent, not realizing the opportunities that were visible to others such as she.

Snapping off a blade of razor grass and chewing on it he debated the best course of action in regards to her, the grass crunching in his demonic jaws. His internal debate was interrupted by the sound of wings flapping in the distance, barely audible over the rumble of nearby and far off thunder. From out of the rain came a horribly disfigured imp. He recognized its face but didn’t know, or care to know, its particular name. It flew directly to him and prostrated itself at his taloned feet.

“Master,” the beast croaked, “I bring news. Princess Jorja has entered your sanctum once again this day. She had a meeting with Count Henrich.”

Arrios stared balefully at the creature as he contemplated the news. He had been well aware of Jorja’s visits to his palace over recent past, but not willing to confront her, had let the intrusions go. However, this meeting with Henrich could not be good for him at all. That one had grown bold in recent years, not out right defying him, but toeing the line. Arrios sensed that perhaps Henrich may be plotting to take his spot. Arrios wouldn’t be surprised if the mage still held resentment towards him over his position. But after all, hate was one of the things that made this little corner of hell go around now wasn’t it?

The imp coughed slightly, reminding Arrios of its continued presence. Arrios wasn’t sure what it wanted, and debated smashing it where it lay. He stayed his hand however, good lackeys shouldn’t be destroyed simply because they bore bad news. Instead he reached down and grasped the imp by its head and raised it up to his eye level. Staring into its black pits with his fiery orbs he spoke to it in a voice that sounded much like two boulders sliding across one another.

“Well done imp. Return to wherever you came from, you are no longer needed here.” Then with a mighty heave he tossed the imp, sending it spinning head over tail deep into the razor grass. Its cries of pain as it worked its way up and out of the cutting field to flap off into the darkness brought a slight smile to his lips.

Yes, it was time to return to the palace and put things to right. Also to see what could be done about this possible dissention in his ranks. Stretching his massive frame, red skin covered with thousands of black demonic runes, he allowed his wings to rematerialize. From his back grew large bat wings shaped of nothing but shadow and fog. Leaping into the air on powerful legs he took flight, the rotating lighthouse light occasionally spot lighting him until he was too far from it, a speck of black against a black thunder lit sky.

Xaemyl, Prince of the Third Circle.

Prince Xaemyl stood at the entrance to his little slice of Hell. The river Lethe wound it's way around fiery volcanoes and seemingly endless plains of snow. When he and the Dark Lord had been cast from Heaven millennia ago, Xaemyl gladly took the third circle, he could have become a King of course, but he viewed the failure of the Rebellion as his fault. That day stood out like a sore thumb, one image in particular fired his anger. Michael the newly named Commander of the Heavenly Host, stood there a look of Angelic smugness on his face.

"I'll have my revenge, Michael! Lucifer will become the Most High, and I will be HIS right hand and smite thee." Oh how Xaemyl had railed against him, as the Host looked on in arrogance. Finally God had pronounced sentence, they had been banished. Something snapped him out of his reverie, ah Lilith had finished her assignment. With a chant he called her home, his whore, ever so faithful in completing her missions.

As he waited her arrival, he once again surveyed his surroundings. The river Lethe, so named for the Lethargic effect it had on those damned, who by ill-luck found themselves in it's waters. The landscape may change by his will, but the river remained always flowing, winding it's way through Hell, until it finally met the river Styx.

The vertigo settled as the dark world righted itself beneath the steadying beat of his wings. The vast expanse of the darkened moor rode the backs broken hills clear to the horizon. The slow, clockwork sweep of the lighthouse beam revealed a thousand million razor points in its pallid, ghostly glow.

Lucifer watched as the beam briefly revealed Arrios' shadowy egress. The cogs and wheels were beginning to spin. A smile cracked his marred and mangled visage before he twisted his impish body once in mid-air. Flesh and bone rent and collapsed, a used and discarded host, tumbling down to crash into the razor grass below.

A crimson mist rose from the ruined carcass. The foul winds carried it upward, rising high above the dark, rain washed fields of pain until all below vanished into memory.

The high, ruddy watchtowers of the First Circle creaked and groaned overhead. The demon-mist snaked its way through the rusted wreckage of countless dreams that littered the valley floor. The Lord of the Fallen was on course for the vaulted halls of Princess Annalyra's palace.

Henrich the Wizard, 'Lord of the Dead' and Count of the Second Circle

Henrich smiled as Jorga left. He was beginning to make his way towards TRUE power. Yes, title was one thing, but it was only an outwards symbol of ones strength, and not TRUE strength. Might truly lay in your ability. Some of those above his station, were not truly deserving of said station. No. They were lucky and they were given such in the times of the forming of Hell. He, however, would gain his station by skill and cunning.

Henrich made his way out of his room and down the corridor. He distasted the foul scenes that covered most places of his current estate other than the immediate area around his chamber. Filled with whorish displays, but that's what brought Henrich's interest. For it was here that the dear princess probably spent his time... but where... Ah, that's when Henrich noticed that one of the statues off on it's own looked... different.

Yes... he recognized that scent. The scent of Jorga. Henrich searched for juices and growled. For once a Succubus kept her pants on! He was afterthe juices of Jorga. It was in their juices, that a Succubus' power did lay. That's why it was so volatile to all but spirits.

He would use this to help get some control over Jorga. He remembered an old saying. 'It is wiser to be the power behind the throne, for that people are too obsessed with the surface to see the truth.' Basically, people would be targetting Jorga if they wished to rise instead of him. After all, who would target but a pety Count of Limbo?

Henrich laughed to himself. His plan was turning out all too perfect. Maybe soon, he would have a bit of her, and then every would fall into place. If all went well, the Princess would become a Queen of Hell, and Henrich would be there, behind the scenes, gaining power all the way. Yes... he would remain a Count, but in truth, he would have the power of a Prince! Titles are so vain and decieving...

"Master!" the gargoyle rumbled, apparently deciding now was a time to bother him.

"Yes? What is it that you want?" Henrich snapped. "I've work to get back to!"

"My Lord, Duke Arrios has arrived and wishes to see you." The gargoyle said cautiously, trying not to incur Henrich's anger. The wizard packs some nasty magics. Henrich took this opportunity to suppress his thoughts from his mind, so Arrios couldn't use any powers to skim them.

"Tell his Eminance I'll be with him in but a moment..." Henrich grumbled as he pushed open the steel doors of his chambers to look upon the form that he had come to secretly loath. Duke Arrios.

Annalyra - Princess of the 1st Circle

Annalyra sighed as she landed on the uppermost balcony of her iron, razor-turreted palace, her delicate bat-like wings folding daintily behind her as she padded softly into the highest room... her personal chambers. She was greeted by her pride and joy, a collection of torture devices she had harvested from the Mortal Realm through the ages. She strode softly through the maze of her collection, fingers trailing over cold steel surfaces and wooden frames as she did; iron maidens, cages, stretching racks, and more obscure devices filled the rim of her chambers but left its center clear and open.

Save for her pit. A depression filled this area, a tiered hollow similar in shape to an amphitheater. Yet whereas the walls and floors were of burnished steel and iron, her pit was composed of the softest of cushions, silks, and furs imaginable. Sexual aids and strange devices lay strewn across the cushions in haphazard piles. She had hosted many a demonic orgy in the large pit before, yet none lately. Things had grown strange in Hell... stranger than normal. Her traditional playthings had turned scarce, which was why she had been out in the Field of the Lost. She had been looking for new recruits.

Annalyra looked at the creature that lounged seductively at the base of her pit. A minor demoness named Lirusiveth, she had caught Annalyra's eye with her entrancing tattoos and her deep violet eyes. Annalyra delighted in taking pleasure from both genders, often switching preferences several times a night, yet now, even Lirusiveth's tantalizing curves held no allure.

"Leave me," Annalyra said without a further glance at the demoness. Lirusiveth was trained well. She nodded once and immediately did just that, leaving soundlessly through the door opposite the balcony.

Once she was alone in her room, Annalyra closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Her long, sinuous tail coiled languidly around her left leg, its sensitive tip teasing the back of her ankle as she stood there, nude, for several moments before exhaling. The stink of the Plain of the Lost had gone from her, and she now felt focused enough to head down to her throne room. Yet it wouldn't do to appear nude; Annalyra had no qualms about displaying her naked beauty to others, her skin pale and smooth, her deep-red nipples shimmering with the thin curved hooks of steel that pierced them, her navel glinting as well with a ring of gold, her hairless sex sporting a clitoral piercing of its own, her favorite... the inverted gold cross whose arms wrapped so lovingly around her bud. Yet to appear nude before supplicants and visitors was to needlessly reward them. Yes... better to at least partially clothe oneself and tantalize with hints of what wonders lay hidden beyond tiny strips of silk and leather.

She held out her arms, and her will sought out the straps and wrappings where they lay, freshly cleaned and arranged on the wall behind her pit. She allowed herself a smile as the fingerless leather gloves, the black and red silk thong with the silver ring that slid snugly over the base of her tail, the thin leather strips and buckles, the gleaming polished red leather boots, the fine silver and steel chains and modest piercings for her ears, nose, and tongue all took on a life of their own, flitting through the air and slithering over her body, affixing themselves as appropriate. Several yards of black and red silk strips slithered over her ample breasts, covering just enough to play with the concept of false modesty. Her black, shoulder-length hair writhed softly as if underwater, weaving through her favorite headdress as it settled just behind the dainty red horns that swept back from her brow, a twisted crown of long steel blades and hooks and curving knives.

She smiled again as she looked herself over once more. Taking one of the leather whips up from the nearby stand... one of the whips whose strips were embedded with shards of volcanic glass, she left her chambers and entered her palace's central shaft, approaching her throne room and readying herself for whatever grim news her servants waited to impart to her.

As she floated down toward her Razor Throne, she noticed something else. There was something... something in the air, the very walls of her palace, that seemed to throb with anticipation. It was as if the palace itself was on edge, ready to rise to defend its mistress.

She smiled again. Annalyra did so love a challenge.

Xaemyl-Prince of the 3rd Circle; Str: 2 Eva: 1 Cun: 1 Will: 2

Xaemyl strode through the snow covered plains of this the Third Cirlce of Hell. He could easily have flown, but he enjoyed watching the damned endlessly shovel snow from one place to another. When their work was finally done, Xaemyl called forth a wind like no other felt by a mortal. These luckless sons of bitches would find themselves back at the start of their little patch of eternity and be forced to shovel again. This was an interesting scene to watch over and over, it became even more entertaining when one would fall behind, minor demons and demonesses would appear and the lash would fall across their backs. These were no normal lashes, of course not, this was Hell after all, and the lashes were forged from Hell's own fires.

The screams of a thousand damned souls filled the still night air, a sound Xaemyl found all together soothing. He had heard of the recent ascension of the Princess Jorja, perhaps he would send her a congratulatory notice. With that thought he lifted into the night sky, flying high above the volcanoes and snowfields. Watchtowers lined up every 100 yards each completely manned by demons and Hellhounds, to prevent any attempted escape.

Upon reaching his Palace, situated high above the banks of the Lethe, he called for his favorite messenger, Eve. Yes, the woman who bore the brunt of Original Sin, after HE had finished with her, she was given as a slave to Xaemyl. He composed the message to be delivered to Princess Jorja:

Princess Jorja,

I know that the Lord Lucifer has already welcomed you into the Hierarchy of our little kingdom so let me be the second to do so. If you run your circle as formidably as you defeated your former Princess, I am sure you will be a success. A word of advice, keep your enemies close, and your "friends" closer still. You know an Enemy will stab you, but a friend may stab you in the back, whilst you sleep.

May Satan Bless and Keep You,

Prince Xaemyl

"Eve, deliver this to the Princess Jorja, Second Circle. If you are speedy, perhaps your punishment may be lessened by a few millenia. But I doubt it."

Duke Arrios

“Ahhh Henrich, so good to see you again. I’ve been away too long.” He stood from his rather simple throne, made of twisted steel and black glass. Stretching out his large frame, he took the time to mimic picking an invisible piece of dirt off from his polished black breast plate before continuing.

“I will be blunt with you. I do not care for the way that this house has fallen into disorder. I plan on seeing things righted and you can be at my right hand during this time, or…” He paused and cracked his be-taloned knuckles loudly. The sound of them popping echoing off the steel walls to the audience chamber. With a gaze from his fiery orbs that spoke more than any actual verbal threat.

“Now,” he continued, striding down the dais his throne rested on, “Tell me dear Henrich, who do your loyalties lay with?”

Henrich the Wizard, 'Lord of the Dead' and Count of the Second Circle

Arrios obviously found out of the Princess' business. Henrich nearly groaned at the problems that this would represent. Especially with Arrios' greedy nature, he might put himself between Henrich and Jorga. The problems represented would be... bothersome.

"My Loyalties? You know my loyalty belongs to the same being that all denizens of our little slice of paradise belongs to. To the Princess Jorga of course, and to the heirarchy appointed by her." Henrich sound in a courteous manner more like the Courts of Men than the Courts of Hell.

"If you are worried from Jorga's wish to visit me, then I am truly saddened that you distrust both me AND your Lady." Henrich said, a hurt feeling getting on his face as he looks away from Arrios. "But would you have me deny her and make your vassals seem insolent? I would think not. She merely wished to discuss with me about your running of business, and asking for my legendary magical assistance. If you would prefer to tell her she is barred from seeing me, then it is your choice to do it and face her wrath."

Henrich then turned his face back to Arrios. "So may I return to my duties of harvesting the souls of the passed or am I still being so falsely accused?"

Jorja - Princess of the 2nd Circle

Jorja bucked on top of the young stud, physically pleasured for the moment, but far from sated. His body felt good against hers and inside of her, as her muscles tightened in waves of ecstasy against his hardness. He’d be bruised for a good two weeks, she suspected, but it was doubtful it would bother him. Even though he had just orgasmed, he was already starting to sink deep into that mental void, dead to the world, where he would remain indefinately. She shivered for a second as she felt eyes on her, and the unwavering, piercing blue of Henrich's flashed through her mind. Growling at her uncessful liason, she chalked up the strange feelings to unfulfilled lust. Rolling off her catch, she pushed his near-comatose body out of her way to the edge of her enormous canopied bed.

What she referred, tounge-in-cheek, to as her “fan mail” was sitting in a neat pile on the crimson desk. Stretching languidly and throwing on a sheer silk robe, she perched on the stool, riffling through the parchments. She reached for the one with the symbol of the Third Domain stamped upon it, and had to suppress a girlish giggle at its contents. They all seemed so surprised that she was on top now…she had been number two for so long, her ascension had caused a lot of chaos. Jorja knew she had made a lot of waves, although if that was good or bad, she had yet to find out.

Prince Xaemyl, she started, running her vulture’s feather through her silver ink. Many thanks to you, oh wise one, for both your greeting as well as your council. I will keep your words close to my heart. I have called you “friend” before, perhaps this is a suggestion I should be keeping a closer watch? Your coyness will get you into nothing but trouble, dear sir.

I have many fond memories of my visits to your land, and my wishes to you for continued good weather. Perhaps my new position should find me in need of a return there.

Until we meet again, may your horns grow long,

Princess Jorja

The words glowed boldly on the document, standing out against the black background. Her own symbol of the Second Realm stood out in striking contrast, a deep maroon, two snakes intertwining.

That piece of diplomatic business finished, she snapped and called out. “Bring me Marcel!” It was a necessary piece of understanding she had picked up early on – there was always someone watching or listening. Although usually completely unwanted, sometimes it did come in handy.

A few minutes later, there were two sharp taps upon door at the top of the spiral stairs which led to her open air bed chambers. She looked at it, and it swung wide, admitting the artist and his two feathered guardians whose talons were set deep in the shoulders of his robe.

“I’ve just finished it this morn, m’lady, it is marvelous, I know it will be to your satisfaction,” he stammered, tripping over his words, his French accent coming out in his excitement. Fumbling beneath his robes, he withdrew a large canvas and held it out to her.

The surrealistic quality of the oil painting was beautiful. Annalyra was renowned for her orgies, and with good reason. Jorja had allowed Marcel to tag along to the last one as a spectator, in order to spark his genius. Though there hadn’t been an invitation on Jorja’s desk in many moons, and she was unsure of the status of her official relations with the Princess, this was to be sent to Annalyra anyway. It prominently featured the Princess astride a great red demon – ones that size were few and far between these days. Jorja appeared behind her, her heels digging in to the creature’s leathery skin, her hands cupping Annalyra’s full breasts and displaying them to their fullest potential, red nails fanned over her pure white skin, the piercings in her nipples glimmering faintly in the paint. Both were nude, save for their exotic jewelry, with heads thrown back and hair streaming, rapturous looks on their upturned faces. Rightfully, it belonged in a museum, but she doubted any mortal could ever turn away from the demonic lust in exuded in every brushstroke.

Turning the canvas over, she scrawled her message above Duchamp’s signature.

May our reign as sexual goddesses be as long as the never-ending nights of Hell. Here’s to lust, the most delectable of all sins!

Jorja entrusted both pieces of correspondence to her vulture, and moved towards Marcel, ignoring the dark look of despair in his eyes.

Duke Arrios allowed a slight smile as Henrich fell into his verbal trap. Yes this one had definitely gained a rather large head of late. His tone showed none of the respect nor fear that it once had. He would enjoy making Henrich twist for that simple fact. If he could perhaps somehow involve Jorja then so much the better, he wouldn’t mind turning the dear princess into one of his doxies scraping and simpering before him. But one thing at a time.

“Hmmm, you are sure that is where your loyalties lay? You don’t think you have your priorities a bit confused my dear Henrich?” Arrios asked. Mentally he thought, “Trap set, the mouse smells the cheese and draws close…..”

When Henrich nodded his assent and added, “I am sure,” Arrios heard in his mind the sound of a mousetrap snapping shut, crushing the head of a rat. With a snarl of rage, his ethereal wings materialized and he leapt across the audience chamber in one bound, skidding, claws raking the floor, to a stop only inches from Henrich. His red taloned hands grabbed for Henrich’s throat but the man managed to dance backwards just in time to receive no more than a scratch from Arrios’s passing talons. This enraged Arrios even further.

“You insolent worm. You worthless cur of a dog,” Arrios bellowed, his fists clenching in rage, as Henrich stood back in a defensive stance, “You DARE have the impudence to say your loyalties lay with anyone other than HIM first and foremost? You are lucky that HE hasn’t heard your blaspheme or you would learn what the word hell can truly mean.”

Arrios’s words bounced off the walls of the chamber like the sound of a landslide, nearly deafening. “On top of that, to not mention me, your lord, the one who made you, who gave you the piddling power you so enjoy. This insult will not be forgotten.”

Then as quickly as his rage had begun, it was over. He stepped forward towards Henrich, backing the mage across the threshold of his audience chamber and then turned his back on the man, “Go Henrich, you may return to your feeble plots and schemes, to your petty power games you enjoy. But do not think that I will ignore your impudence this day. Oh, and also,” Arrios added just before slamming shut the doors to his audience chamber, “I shall have to remember to thank Jorja for choosing such a foolish ally. I wasn’t aware that it had been the princess who had visited the palace, and am very pleased that you were the one to tell me.

The great steel doors shut at his will with a boom that echoed throughout the palace, leaving Henrich on the other side. “Good,” Arrios thought as he retook his throne, “He may have suspected that I knew about Jorja before, but now he realizes that he spoke too soon, too much, out of turn, and will have to worry about what I will do with that bit of information.”

Step one of his plan had gone exactly as he had planned it, there was no right answer that Henrich could have given. Certainly however, the other demons wouldn’t be as easy to fool or control or fool as the weak once mortal was however. Raising one clawed finger to his chin, he began to plot out his next moves.

Henrich the Wizard, 'Lord of the Dead' and Count of the Second Circle

Henrich growled as he entered his chambers. Duke Arrios was more cunning than he would have wished. If not for being on his feet, he would probably be in purgatory now, where there was no choice to gain anything BUT suffering. Henrich went next to his cauldron and gathered forth some herbs, getting to work. Duke Arrios thinks he holds all the cards but Henrich was a wizard, and they should not be discounted. He knew Jorga was here. It was obvious with his questions. But Arrios didn't know WHAT Jorga was here for and WHAT had transpired.

Arrios' arrogant underestimation of the Lord of the Dead would be his downfall. Eventually. But not yet. Though Arrios' suspicion will cause trouble, with Jorga at his side, Henrich would soon be above Arrios. Especially if Jorga's latest scheme to gain even further power than the Second Circle works.

Henrich made his way to one of his chest and opened it up, taking out a large phallice structure forged of ebony, with red runes along it. The piece he had acquired shortly after his entrance to Hell ages ago, and the only reason he hadn't been devoured. He was drawn to it's magical powers like moth to the flame. It wasn't like anything else in Hell... apparently he wasn't the first wizard in these halls with power over both White and Dark Magic.

With some adjustments, he would make this vessel worked as he wished to continue to save himself from a Succubus' Lust. It is as it was right now, it was a phalic item that, if being assaulted by a succubus, one can merely shove into them and it cools their lust. A useful tool he used once or twice in his day to save himself from absolution from those wanting.

But, as always, Henrich needed more than just Jorga's lust slated. He needed some of what lay within her. Henrich intended to find someway to increase the flow of juices, while decreasing the lust that would destroy him. Thus, with her juices, could he begin working on gaining the upperhand he needed to put Arrios on the chopping block.

Henrich grinned as he opened up the books, and began to chant enchantments that will hopefully do just as he wishes...