Too early for Christmas stockings π₯°π

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Too early for Christmas stockings π₯°π

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@loyalborn
____
Once, his monk life was anything but lonely. Surrounded by his many brothers and other novices candidating to become clerics, Ashen did not lack company, and his day to day life was busy with study and prayers. Now that he was a fully accomplished priest, and a high-ranked one at that, his occupation felt desperately dull. Of course, there were the few novices he had to train; but he was mostly solitary, and his new religious life a stark contrast to his soldiering career.
His past came crawling back, though, when he heard of an Avernus devil somehow getting his hands on one of the standards used by the Hellriders, his former unit, in the war on Elturel. It was more than a matter of pride and vengeance; he wanted a taste, again, of the adventure of his younger days, muscles itching to be used to beat devils at their own game.
The tip about the Hellrider standard might have been given by a certain shopkeeper of the Devil's Fee, who hoped to get a customer in doing so. And she did indeed. However, Ashen knew his mission would be no easy task. Not only because he was quite literally getting into a cambion's den, but because, in doing so, he was to get rid of his heavy armour for a better disguise, which he felt quite vulnerable without.
No matter. When the moment was right, he would take up his arms again. But for now, clad in debtor's clothes, he was exploring the house in silence, trying to get himself noticed as little as possible. In his mind, he was mapping it all, every possible exit, every possible entrance, every hiding place, the nooks and crannies he could exploit if he were to confront the owner of the place. That was until he entered a room he definitely did not expect in there - or rather its occupier, really.
@loyalborn [Haarlep] liked for a starter
ββββββββββββββββββββββββ
Β Β Β ππ¨π§πππΏπ¨ππ, ππ’π§π-πΏππ ππππ π πππ ππ©π¨π§ ππππΏπ ππΏπ’π§π€ππ, ππππΏπ π¨πΏπ§πππ ππ‘πππ, ππ πππΏππππ₯ ππ¨π¨πππππ©π π₯πππ π‘ππΏ ππ‘πΏπ¨ππ π‘ ππ‘π πΏπ¨π¨π¦.Β Β Β A pompous collection of fine arts and hunting trophies displayed along the halls, one would reckon a king would call this place his home. But it was a devil, not some mere rich lord, who would dine and sleep within these halls.
Separated unintentionally from her group, the seamstress would use the opportunity to look around, gather information if presented. An unsure gaze lingers on a particular resident of the House of HopeΒ Β β Β Β how curious.
Β Β Β β Excuse me, this does not exactly look like an archive. I could use some help navigating around here . . .Β β Β Β Words stumble out of the woman's mouth, unsure if her proposition was the wisest of ideas. The certainly warm air did not yet begin to crackle; The house's master hopefully far away still. There was only time to loseΒ Β &Β Β if asking for a way would speed things up, who would she be to argue with thatΒ Β ?
@loyalborn sent: π // grab my museβs jaw & direct their gaze towards yours . (varga from haarlep) //
varga bared his teeth in a wretched snarl, giving the demon ample view of long fangs prepared to pierce his flesh if he didn't mind himself. "you forget yourself, fiend." he raises his rifle, using the barrel to briskly swipe away the incubus' hand. he refrained from being as harsh as he wanted to be, for the sake of Lady Selene who insisted they host the demon. at least, until they deciphered whether or not he was a threat to the coven. "do not make the mistake of touching me again or you might find yourself waking without a hand."
Iβm a loyal sexy nurse I will never let a man use me and Iβll be loyal to my lucky man because I will do whatever makes him happy πππππ π π

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i'm coming with you. (from Estelle)
@loyalborn
"Oh no you aren't" He gently grabbed her arm and spun her back around and away from the door. "I need you to stay here where its safe, my love." He spoke softly leaning down to kiss her forehead. He took her hand as he looked into her eyes. "Please?"
β i donβt know how youβve bewitched me, but it needs to stop. β beowulf to gortash
THE BARK OF LAUGHTER THAT EMITS from Gortash's chest is short and sudden. A show of brief amusement edged by incredulity that appears in the furrow of his brows; though Gortash's smile remains, pulling at the corners of his lips. He readjusts the cane in his hand, lets it settle between his feet, meeting Beowulf's eyes.
"Bewitched? I didn't realise you were such a romantic." A gilded finger taps on the equally golden handle in a steady rhythm. "While I'm flattered, I assure you, I haven't done anything special. Why, I might have to be concerned. What would it cost for me to have bewitched a bhaalspawn? A rather dangerous tryst."
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