The next to join the room was a young woman, barely over twenty by most humans' guess, with wild red hair and a long scar running from her brow down the left side of her face. Though her clothing and visible equipment seemed unremarkable, she carried herself with a kind of self-assurance rarely seen outside the nobility. Her pointed ears and bright green eyes marked her as either an elf or a halfbreed.

As she entered the meeting room, she took a careful look at of its current occupants. She eyed the drow's revealing clothing with obvious appreciation, the tiefling's wings with a hint of distaste, and the lizardfolk's slave collar with suspicious interest. Then, seemingly content that she's had a good look at each of them, she found a seat near the back of the room, with a clear view of as many points of entry as possible. Sitting down, she folded her hands behind her head and watched the room, a smirk playing about the corner of her mouth.

Another Initiate joined the room,this one a human with dark skin and closely cut black hair. Underneath his unassuming gear - a practical suit of studded leather armor and two light swords - his toned body showed lithe and strong. His heavily scarred face creased as he surveyed his potential seat mates. "What a shitshow." he muttered, as he sat, taking obvious caution to place himself closest to the elven woman and as far as possible from the others.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:52, Thu 14 Sept 2017.

Markus strides into the room outfitted in a shiny and oiled suit of armor. He resembles a human but he carries a strange and angelic ancestry. A large heavy mace hangs easily from his hip and a well made shield is carried on his back, across his chest there is a large emblem of a goat head which serves as a clasp for his black cloak. Piercing grey eyes glance around the room as he eyes the others gathered and responds to Orson, "A motley crew indeed."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:45, Thu 14 Sept 2017.

The young man who entered in a purple costume and black cape, had not been an apprentice here, but he had been recently initiated to the Inquisition. In the city he was well known as Goltinder the actor. He had organized numerous breath-taking shows in the theaters of the city. He always appeared to know what was going on in the minds of the citizens. He was carrying a backpack and an intricately crafted mahogany wand with elven runes on it. From his belt hung a light crossbow.
As he was lead by the apprentice, he addressed the silent boy: You're not the party genius of the family, are you?

When the half elf entered the room, he introduced himself to the others with a flourish: My friends, the flamboyant Goltinder is here to serve your cultured needs of art and entertainment. How outstandingly honorful it is for me to meet such a wonderful party of people. I daresay we'll be highly succesful in whatever mission our lich master has in mind for us.
After a bow to the vampiress, the tiefling and to the young woman, using his cape to make it a grand gesture, he seated himself at the table.

Orson shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the sheer abnormality of the other initiates in the room. After a quick mental calculation, he shifted in resignation and returned Goltinder's salutation with a lazy half wave.

"You're a Skald then?"

The Tiefling said to the exuberant half elf.

"One of your people's battle singers?"

The Telmarian Confederacy, of whom Makaria had spent most of the last three years pretending to be a member of, held bards in high esteem.  A battle singer would be placed with every squad of foot-soldiers, the magic of their powerful voices enhancing the soldier's war glaives and carrying them to victory.

The monstrous lizardman let his gaze drift over each new person that entered, looking them over slowly. Its gaze for the most part was unflattering as it sized up each meat that walked in studying how they moved and acted when presented with the group. Shifting on its clawed feet,  it adjusted its position keeping its wary gaze on the assemble individuals but lifted no voice in greetings.

The Drow laughs suddenly, the sound like the tinkling of bells but underlain with a cruel edge; her sharp teeth far more visible.

"All of us so dark and menacing. It's enough to give me the chills." She exaggerates being cold and shaking.

"So now we sit here and stare silently at each other and try and see who's the most big, most bad, most vicious predator in a roomful of them. Are the males going to pull out their members next?"

She hops down and glides to a seat. "Lilith Darkmoore."

Markus approaches the table after Lilith makes her move. "Appearances aside I think I know who the predator is here." He makes direct eye contact with the Drow taking a seat at the table across from here. Markus nods to the party in turn stopping to size up the Lizardfolk.

"Well, at least I have an idea. I am Markus, if the Lord of the Citadel chose us then we may have no recourse other than to," he grimaces, "get along."

"You say the sweetest things. I like you already. Come by my room later and you can talk dirty to me some more." Lilith says with a big smile and a wink.

Orson chuckles at this. "I'd tell ya to get a room, but it seems t'be that's already yer plan." He leans back, now more at ease than before. "I go by the name o' Blackwall. Orson to my friends."

In reply to Makaria Thriceburned (msg # 10):

Goltindr answered Makaria, the tiefling woman: No, I'm not a skald. But my strength is indeed in charm and suggestions and if battle is afoot, I have some destructive magic to add to the fray.

"That's my plan but I'm not sure about the Aasimar." The Vampire runs her tongue along her fangs.

"I can show you sights the likes of which you can't imagine and give you an eternity to explore the farthest reaches of pleasure and pain."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:30, Thu 14 Sept 2017.

"As much as I appreciate the offer, I'll have to decline." Orson answered. "Besides, I have a feeling you wouldn't like my taste so much."

The redhead leaned back in her seat, apparently bracing her feet on one of the legs of the table. Her voice was deeper than the others expected and bore a distinct lower-class accent, most likely that of a street rat. "Mm. Gotta go with your assessment, Blackwell: this looks like a shitshow. Still, I've been with a few shitshows in my time, and they can be quite fun." She grinned. "M'name's Nyenna, no surname, no title, no 'friends call me' or nothin', and I'm here because nobody in my way kept livin' long enough to stop me."

Her gaze flicked again to Lilith. "Y'know, I'm always up for experimentin'... long as yer not just lookin' to suck my blood, we might be able to work somethin' out."

She seemed thoroughly unimpressed by Goltinder's routine; the general affect when he bowed to her was one of, if he tries to kiss my hand, I will stab his eye out.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:12, Thu 14 Sept 2017.

"Makaria Thriceburned."

The Tiefling interrupted the gunslinger's flirtations, still sitting stiff in her chair.

"Foot-soldier first class among the esteemed ranks of the Telmarian Confederacy."

The Telmarians were a war-like nation of Drow, though Tieflings were not unheard of within their ranks.  Their foot soldiers were colloquially known as "Gish" by those who bothered to study statecraft and history, and mixed arcane prowess with martial might in a deadly combination.

"Though for the moment my services are on loan to the Emperor of Brimstone, and through him, the Hellfire Inquisition."

She added, some of the military rigidity going out of her posture as she relaxed into her chair, thought the armor and blades she bore prevented her from settling fully.

A neutral gravelly voice echoed out from the corner, the lizardman had his thick head tilted to one side as he regarded the banter between the others, since it seemed it was time for introductions he threw his own 'name' out there, "Others call me Xul. You may call me Xul."

Before lapsing back into silence, his gaze flicking back and forth amongst the speakers and continued to listen to the discussions intently.

"I'll do so much more than simply 'suck your blood', Nyenna. I'll drain and feed you over and over whilst using my fangs and other things to bring you to such heights of pleasure you'll lose even the ability to scream."

Lilith gets up and the crimson glow of her eyes brightens, her fangs lengthen, and she sweeps aside her long, white hair to show her back, the dress cut low to the swell of her buttocks.

Her back is flayed and held open by hooks and wires, showing her spine from the bottom of her neck to the beginning of her waist.

"Gods. I'll stick with the lizard,if ya don't mind. Maybe he can tear me in half, but at least he doesn't want to fuck me to death."

Nyenna seems both fascinated and a bit unnerved by Lilith's flayed back, but keeps to her relaxed pose despite her eyebrows' attempt to go higher than her hairline. "And I thought the guy who wanted me to collar him and call him a dog was 'out there'... dayumn." She blinks, bringing her brows about halfway back to their original position, and carries on. "Suppose that must be an advantage of undeath, being able to do that without dyin' of shock."

"Still... I believe we got some business to deal with right now, so 'smuch as I'm in favor of mixin' business and pleasure, we should probably receive our mission before figurin' out the logistics of drainin' blood without losin' the ability to do interestin' stuff."

Orson's comment elicits a smirk; apparently Nyenna takes some perverse pleasure in the others' discomfort.

"As you wish. Eventually business will be concluded and we can return to this...discussion." Lilith purrs, raw hunger in her crimson gaze.

She returns to her seat and watches the group with predatory interest.

Goltinder followed the exchange between the women with interest.
He could see the vampiress' hunger for blood and was a bit worried that it would get out of hand.
He smiled about the remark of one called Orson, it seemed he was the most normal type around, with a good sense of humor.
He wondered why the master had allowed a vampire in their midst, it was obviously some kind of test for the others.
He said: "Hey Orson, let's not tear each other apart just yet, it would be sad to do it without a proper audience.

"Don't worry about that, wiz. I don't plan on tearing anybody apart unless it's absolutely necessary." Orson said, eyes still trained on Lilith. "Me, I love teamwork. Hell, they used to call me Orson Teamwork Blackwall where I came from."

The door opened once more to reveal Balasar the Black.

The Dragonborn walked into the room cloaked and hooded.

The dark hues of his well worked leather armor contorted to his powerfully athletic form and even hooded the cloth of cotton spun fabrics did little to conceal his draconic nature. He eyed the room from the doorway for a long second before he withdrew his hood and stood--looking over the occupants of the room and then, as if nothing else needed to be said he pronounced.

"I am Balasar, Balasar the Black." the voice of the Dragonborn was a low, menacing growl which surged forth like a thunderclap across a desolate valley.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:21, Thu 14 Sept 2017.

In reply to Balasar (msg # 28):

The silence in the room was broken as Orson turned to look at the last newcomer. "...Huh." He said, taking in Balasar's figure. "Another lizard. Gods be praised."