Your apprenticeship has come to an end; no longer are you initiates and you have been called upon by one of the Inquistor Lords: an old and powerful spellcaster rumoured to be a Lich, the Emperor apprently holds their phylactery to control them.

All of you have arrived one by one, and as you do a silent Apprentice leads you to a seperate room on the towers first floor and into a waiting room with a long table with multiple chairs around it.

The woman who walks in bears the black skin, white hair, slender, delicate features, and pointed ears of the Drow but there the resemblance ends. Her eyes are red, like most of her kind but glow, no matter how bright the light - a crimson portal to hell.

Her lips are parted in a slight smile and she's licking the fingers of her right hand. Barely visible are the sharpened tips of slightly elongated canines and lateral incisors.

She moves with a sensual, cat-like grace that appears natural and effortless and as the Apprentice leaves she strokes the side of his cheek before perching on one end of the table, lasily turning her back to the door as if she bares no concern for whomever might come through.

She's dressed in a rather revealing black dress - low cut, off the shoulder, and slit up the side to a height considered shocking in most societies. Around her neck is a choker made of barbed wire that constantly cuts into her flesh, drawing blood and then healing, over and over. The skin and muscle over her sternum have been flayed open are are held that way by hooks connected to wires which dig into the flesh at her shoulders and her waist, also held in place by hooks.

She perches and waits, assuming a preternatural stillness that's rather distressing, appearing not to breathe, blink, or fidget. None of the little tics that living beings do or make are present in this breathtakingly beautiful Dark Elf.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:31, Thu 14 Sept 2017.

The door opened to admit the silent apprentice once more only the figure being lead in was rather unusual. A heavy chain is grasped in the apprentices fist connecting to a simple slave collar locked around the throat of a monster. Dusky of scale, this seven foo lizardman stepped into the room in silence. The thick draconic head swiveled to regard the other occupant, nostrils flaring breathing in the strange elf scent before glaring at the silent apprentice.

Without a word the chain was removed and the apprentice retreated from the room leaving the lizardman to slink in further, his clawed feet clicking loudly against the floor as it carefully maneuvered around the chairs, eyeing them and the table they surround warily. Moving to a corner of the room opposite the motionless elven woman the creature squatted down and watched her intently, its yellow eyes blinked only so often as it kept alert of the fellow occupant.

Makaria Thriceburned, foot-soldier of the Telmarian Confederacy, knew the effect a grand entrance could have.  She also had a keen insight into when such a gesture would do more harm than good, and needed to be kept to herself.  She knew that as she was, she was already enough of a sight.  So she didn't unfurl her wings and soar, alighting upon the tower's roof like a streaming thunderbolt from the sky.  Instead she walked to the base of the tower, the black plates of her rune covered mail clinking together on each heavily booted step.  In the middle of her chest an orb filled with a strange arcane energy within its cloudy depths glowed and pulsed.  An exotic looking glaive, the signature weapon of her people, rested comfortably on one shoulder.  Its blade looked to be made not of metal, but of some transparent crystal, not so much crafted as grown.  On her shoulder, Druorum perched silently, a veil of invisibility obscuring the tiny Devil from sight.

The foreign looking Tiefling said nothing to the apprentice who met her, matching the servant's silence with a haughty quiet of her own.  She did pause momentarily at the entrance to the waiting room, her black eyes scanning the disparities between the room's two current occupants.   Her left hand rested reflexively upon the smooth metal surface of the almost silvered black battle mask that rested in its ceremonial place at her left hip.  There was no actual threat in the gesture, it seemed almost ceremonial in nature, and it was over almost as soon as it had begun.  She met the Vampire's glowing red eyes, and the Lizordfolk's reptilian yellow gaze, and then moved to be the first to actually take a seat.  The glaive rested on the  seat back behind her, just within reach.