#tenthhell

[COLLAR] - sender reaches out to smooth down / fix receiver's collar. @tenthhell

A finger lagged behind four other similarly red colored digits lined and tipped with long black nails that besought the careful folds enraptured around a neck pasteled against felt hues of wine and gold. The subtle scratching of fabrics sounded in the near intimate scene of cloth and flesh intertwined to loop button after button of elegance splendor that deep red hues struggled not to drink in too hungrily. A gift it had been, and no peeking had been the rule that so elicited profound impatient tapping of a foot despite their reflection mere feet away half hidden by a tarp. Soon though, literal magic hands imbued the final interweavings of an infernal sigil that glowed with white hot fire before smoldering out of existence, the illumination almost lingering a moment longer on the lapel of rich looking obsidian to confirm their pact.

As gentle as a trained dancer would balance themselves did her legs seem to float, slender wrists reaching to gingerly pluck fabric from glass revealing the mirrored image reflected the near shining that his form did despite the low candle light. Twisting to watch as tiny gold strands danced and winked in and out of illumination repeatedly with each turn. Highly perceptive eyes going over and over every detail etched and embroidered aspect that nearly sent a head dizzying.

"It's perfection.", he mused, a hand running down the near impossible smoothness of the tunics length. Thoughts barely able to reclaim a memory when he could desire something so fine and claim it his.

A library. Something that made sense to look for if she was in search of knowledge. . . not that Barrae was particularly smart or knowledgeable, but she needed to learn more about this place and a library seemed to be a good start. Hoping their books aren't as complicated and stupid as the layout of this loud annoying city. Everyone was so troublesome and the dark elf all but shoved her way through the streets.

"Thus the devil is capable of truth - however little they confess to it themselves. Even so, their words sustain an ever flowing venom." Words come with with the perk of her brow and the lift of her head. Minthara had little time for devils and even less time for the pretty words that they spin to pledge some ignorant pitiful fool to believing their intentions aligned. Only to find themselves bound in some way through an endless list of clauses and contract verses - she knew better.

Even now as she looked upon the spawn - she recalled the teachings of Jeggred Baenre, of his mother - Matron Triel Baenre, both of Minthara's ancestors. Both who conveyed lessons in their own particular way on hellspawn and demons. Most of all - their dealings and the art of mastering those dealings.

"Speak now, devil-" Word is pressed as she straightens with the defiant lift of her head. "-of your design-" And then Minthara waves her hand off toward the distance, patience thin and tolerance thinner. "- or begone."

"Who are you even kidding, you reek of hells." The scowl curls at her lips - cautious and defensive. Karlach could smell it from a mile away, could feel the heat of the hells licking at her palms and heels with the memory alone. Even as the inferno licked at her shoulders and ignited ever brighter in her chest - ready to burst into rage on a seconds notice. "You know who I am, what i am, the real question is. Are you gonna make me go back?"

The grove might have been well hidden on the ground with a bit of enchantment tossed in to cause wayward travelers to sooner find the nearest road back to civilization rather than delve deeper into the den of the Emerald Druids, but it was no match for a bird's eye view looking down upon a mountainside. Especially not during the evening when the very air above the enclave seemed to shimmer from parts of the weave so concentrated in such a sacred place that it had no choice but to spill out of its material plane constraints. The magic's gentle ebb painted aurora lights over the grove in shades that gave the place its namesake.

His eyes lingered, but his mind was on other things- about how the place would get on once Francesca filled in where Kagha failed. The biting words of a snake rang true-he had abandoned them to chase the past, and he would not leave them without the means of outside guidance to assist in maintaining the balance of the area.

[PATCHING UP]

"I'd hardly consider this worth the patching-"

&. 𝐡𝐢𝐭 ‘𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬

He knew something smelled off. The scent of sulfur and iron heated to a blistering heat had followed him for about a mile into his trek along the mountain path he'd been venturing to study to the juncture between the shadow lands and Lathander's monastery. Well, colloquially called Rosymorn, but he knew better with which company Silvanus kept - the lady Earthmother and her shining lover.

A frown twitched in place as he turned to face the direction of the remark; had the source of the scent just stayed quiet, he could have continued along in his investigation. Though, he didn't quite need to see the source of the taunt to know a devil's drawl.