Message of the Day

I'm getting so sick of these double standards. Burn a body at a mortuary and "you're doing your job" do it at home and you're "destroying evidence".


Name: Unknown

Alias: Hale Drix

Sex: Female

Age: 20-something immortal

Species: Unknown

Face claim: Beatriz Mariano

Origin: Summoned from another dimension

Summoner: Faustus

Profession: Enchantress

Sexual preference: Ask

Height: 5'7

Physique: Lithe 

Distinguishable features: As Hale there isn't much you could say is unique. Black and blue hair, pale skin. Heavy on the make up, couple of piercings. But as unknown, that's when things look up. Jet black hair, equally pale skin. White on white, eyes. Pointy, elf like ears. Don't forget the fancy spacers. There are times when Hale will shed a tear. Like her blood, they are black.

Currently: Getting her bearings @ 100%

Residence: Looking

Inventory: Fist full of keys. None of the likes you've ever seen. Anything else she's picked up since her summons can be absolutely random. Everything of which she keeps in a tattered duffle.

Weapon: Spells, majority of them she doesn't need to chant to cast. She has these nasty vile bombs she's concocted herself. They come in an array of colors, all of which possess their own attributes. Secretly she possesses a hidden dagger that's laced with her own kind of poison. All it takes is for this poison to get into the blood stream. 

Talents: She can change her appearance. Look normal if her actual appearance proves a bit, uncomfortable to some. Even if her choice of appearance is a bit, intimidating.

Hobbies: Doing a little of this and that, nothing serious. Unless you want her to. She likes driving up the same old mountain. Same one she has since she's been on Earth. Drives up it, lets loose before spreading her arms and diving off. Wind in her hair and that rush that makes her feel alive. More alive than she ever did.

She likes to play a little poker, hates to lose. Bets nothing but money unless you want to make it interesting and bet something else. Like a demon she will make a bet every once in a blue moon. She loses, she owes you a favor. Working her magic she can make it happen. Gold? Money? Someone dead? Yeah, she can do it.

Personality: Hale isn't shy. She's not afraid to speak her mind or weave a spell. But she usually doesn't need to utter a single word for that. Frigid, tease, loner. She's been called everything, but no one knows her at all. Of all the years she's spent here on Earth she hasn't let anyone know her. Feeling if she did, it is the end of her. Hale is short tempered, especially during any sort of game. Mainly poker. 

Many Faces of Hale: Hale has one face and its the only anyone ever sees. Though it might look different under some circumstances. It is the same woman, always. No matter the color of hair or eyes. Same Hale. But then there are the other sides of our Hale. For instance, how does she travel if not by vehicles. She either walks or runs. Funny thing when said she runs. She doesn't do so on two feet, but two. Being who she is, Hale can take forms. Her favorite, a large black german shepherd.


Background: Before adopting the name Hale and becoming a resident of Earth. Some estranged dimension was her home and being a creature of power is no stranger there, or uncommon. It is a way of life, kill or be killed. And Hale had plenty of notches to her belt that she'd become notorious really. Taken a fortress to the south with a small group at her heel, obeying her every word, falling so that she succeeded. 

On the verge to execute a campain against three houses she soon finds herself being pulled from her dimension by some off looking individual. He calls himself Dr. Faustus. Observing eyes look around and when she comes full circle, she's looking back to him. He was gawking at her, found her .. odd. What's so strange, she thought to herself. Back home she's normal, like Faustus is normal in the eye of his own.

She demanded what he'd done and he explained. A bit intrigued, she sat down with Faustus and both talked till the sun came up. Hale shared a bit of things with Faustus and this inclined the man to share a bit more. Stories of him and some demon by the name of Mephistopheles. Back home, there is no such thing as demons, devils or angels. Not even gods. There are dark and light forces, but that's it, they are just forces. Without faces. While the inhabitants of the world she is from are what make the world turn. Beings of pure power. A balance if you will. You either side with the light or dark, there is no wrong or right. 

Inquiring about the supernatural here, Hale is engrossed she hardly blinks or breathes. She is at the edge of her seat. It's then that she decides to stay behind and not bother Faustus with a way back. 

" Why did you summon me Faustus? " Unable to not ask the man why. She had to know, it made her curious. Elbows on the table and inclined, Faustus explains.  He had her absorbed into the details. While distracted, Faustus drew something down the line of her throat. Hale jumps back and wipes fingers across what he'd done. It doesn't come off. Making her glare across the table. " Sneaky mother fucker. " Words like venom, she narrows her gaze at him with a murderous intent.


Curling her fingers as she holds her hand above the table. She spoke not a word, but something was cooking in that head of hers. It takes seconds before Faustus feels some effects of something she's done in kind. He had attempted to bind her, but while she reacted quick enough, he found himself unable to complete his novice try. Looked like he hadn't used this on anyone before until now.


She had to commend him for trying. Grinning, she thought it would be gift enough. Faustus asks about what she did to him and Hale smiles wider. Eyes going white and hair bleeding black she says to him. " You won't be able to work your magic on me, without pissing yourself. " Literally, Fautus tries and finds himself pissing himself. Right in his chair, looking down he is left dumbfounded. Parlor tricks, was all this she was capable of? Wanting to provoke her didn't escape Faustus, but he refrains himself from doing so. He had to plan carefully before he made another move.

Faustus, Dr. Faustus { Face claim: Mads Mikkelsen }

Human, but more than human. He dealt with a demon and made a deal. He required all the knowledge there was. Everything though, is at a price. Whether he neglected this is entirely anyone's guess. Even Faustus himself didn't tell Hale that evening when they sat at the table. 

What Faustus did share with her were the more simpler things. Extent of his research, to the unfathom truths that lurk the shadows. How deep the power of the light can reach. Then there is the inbetween. Hale asked all sorts of things from him and he obliged, giving her the information as best as he could.

From close observation, Faustus lives alone. Simple home dead center of the city. There are no fortresses as Hale remembers from her dimension. People walk amongst the themselves, mixing and never going at each other's throat.

" How odd. " is what she thought when she witnessed this with her own eyes. Even asking Faustus about it.

Though the years they worked along side, and when she wasn't around he dealt under the table. Apparently with that same demon. She never asked about it and went with what little Faustus shared with her, openly. He kept his research on her a secret from her. Working up a plan to try and bind her, extract what power she posseses and he knows it is a font he wants for himself. Milking every bit of power from her like harvesting a grape. He knew that she would be aware of anything he might try, because she'd see him piss himself. Frustrating as that is Faustus isn't that stupid.

To date, they continue to work along side. But their run ins are a bit more less frequent as they would have been in the past. Modern times have settled, world keeps changing, but so has their practice. He keeps more secrets, and she doesn't share as much as she did in the past. Makes Faustus wonder what she's up to. 

Ever since their unannouced fall out. Both have gone their seperate ways. Keeping their communication to a minimum. Faustus has gone further out into the country side of Germany. While Hale travels, never staying in one place for too long. 

Guilty of pleasure? In their frustrations there might of been a night or more that both rolled in the sheets. Nothing too secret that they would hide it. Neither hung over thier sexual encounters. They took it as a duty done on an everyday basis. Refreshed they could look their work with fresh eyes.

 Hale's current situation: At this moment, Hale has done nothing but live her life on Earth while saying goodbye to her own dimension. She never did bother Faustus to return to back home. Because that required finding him and getting back her fucking name, which, he took. That is not always an easy feat, but geezer found a way. Hale's real name is no secret and can't be used against her. Doesn't seem to be in th is case, Faustus managed to take it and use it against her. Not to banish her, but to try and take her power and more.

With Faustus now missing and Hale wandering the world, leaving her mark in her wake. She's come across something that has left some impression. And that's arriving in Germany after so many years. Once there she decided she needed to unwind, to do that, she needed to play a little game or two. Which she does, after slipping into a casino there. The place isn't just your typical casino, no. It's run by some big shot, overseeing the place from his perch. Now this son of a bitch doesn't  always leave his office. He likes to stay there and survey, giving him that god like authority and feeling.

He'll throw his weight and power around if anyone lets him. He smells of old blood, but that's about it. On a side note, he goes through his bitches like a woman does her underwear. No one talks of what goes around in there, and plenty goes on. The illegal kind of shit it's funny. Then in comes this punk and starts shit at a table, and if you haven't guessed, that punk is none other than Hale herself. Pissing off a regular gets Hale noticed, if the rukus she'd started hadn't already. She had gone for the cheating dealer's throat, but in the process shoved a few patrons and ruined their game. People are so picky these days that a fight like this wouldn't have been uncommon.

Getting dragged away and to this big man's perch, she learns  a few things. There are some really interesting people on this Earth. That no matter how many times Hale gives up on them, there is always one that comes out of the wood work and surprises the fuck out of her. A deal was struck and a threat was tossed on the table. Kill and earn your freedom, which she would have gotten even if she hadn't killed as demanded, was the deal. Plus a bottle of fine whiskey as a gift. Hale didn't take well to the threat, but she didn't do anything about it neither. Instead, proved to be quite the interesting woman to the boss man of this casino. She gives him plenty of other confessions of her destruction during the years, to use to his disposal and prove to him that threats don't work on her. Neither does the authority that rule these lands.

Hale takes her leave, but does so with a little something. If what she did makes you curious, why not ask?



Emmalynn Wilkinson { npc }

British girl, auctioned off to a Heinrich W. Schultz. Whom so kindly threw the girl away for reasons that only he and a Hale Drix are aware of. Throwing her away has placed Emmalynn in the keep of Hale. From one hand to another in seconds.

Age: 24

Occupation: Hale's accessory









About Hale: Be aware that she is the kind that gets in your face. Doesn't know how to stand down. She takes what she wants no matter how she has to go about it. That means getting her hands dirty. She hates anything prissy good. Everything to do with the light she will want to quash. To the point there is nothing left. Anything of darkness she becomes either curious or obsessed with. Stalking is in her list of things to do. Something she is no stranger to, or afraid to do. Confessing to it is kind of funny to to. 

Where you can find her, come across her are the usual places she frequents. They are as follows:

  • Anywhere she might find knowledge. Nothing too modern, like a library and stuff.
  • She hasn't gotten with the times, so computers, cell phones are a no. Hale doesn't own any electronic device. She prefers books, something more hands on and tangible. Pages, covers etc.
  • CASINOS, Hale is infamous for gambling, perferably poker. She torched a table once because she found the house was cheating. Hale hates to lose. { It doesn't matter where in the world these casinos are. Choosing one is bound to result her being there. }
  • Night Clubs, there are times she likes to get her freak on. Usually when she can't progress on her research. A drunken stupor aids her to ask the strangest of questions without suspicion. However it always ends in a bust.
  • No where the type to take long walks. There will be a time when she must set on foot for supplies. Visiting a shop that sells what she needs, even if it's a substitute, one is bound to cross her. It isn't hard to pick her off the crowd. Black rooted hair that transitions to a cold blue-green tone. Strange choice of wardrobe that can be best described as alternative or gothic in some cases. 

Hale's personal life:

  • Unable to love, or fall in love. { Same thing. }
  • She uses sex as an outlet for her frustrations.
  • If you want a relationship with her. You are more than welcome to try. But know that she won't love you. Only because this relationship will be one sided. { Refer to # 1 }
  • Cuddle into her for whatever reason and she will vex you.
  • She doesn't share her secrets or spells with just anyone. Earn her trust and we'll see what happens.
  • Never lasted a day with someone because either they walk out for lack of emotion or she walks off. Because she's not the relationship type.
  • Hale doesn't mind persistence, but it doesn't change anything. She won't change her mind. { Refer to # 1 }


I'm making available some scenarios you are more than welcome to use if you so choose so. This information will be here in case you, fellow writer, are unable to come up with something for a starter. In case that you find yourself in a fix, writers block or something else entirely. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me via messages.

Scenario # 1 

Hale is near where you are and she's probably picked up your scent. Currently in her black German Shepard form, with her nose to the ground. It isn't your particular body odor she's picked up. But rather your magic. Regardless of the layers of protection, to hide your true nature. Hale is always able to smell those barriers far more than the magic your hope to conceal. She does not intend on killing you, or capture you. But need to taste you. How she goes about doing so is up to you.

Whether you run or face her, is also up to you. Full on combat with the enchantress will prove at first, difficult. Like yourself, she has many protections. Years of protections. Needing to be taken down one by one. There is no way, no possible knowledge that you might have in your possession, that will help you successfully tear her barriers. They are built by level, mental and then physically. Each possessing a number.

And if the thought of killing her ever crosses your mind. Know that she is tied to someone. And while that someone remains out of reach, from her and anyone else. Killing her won't be possible, because they both would need to be killed at the same time. 

Scenario # 2

Across the street is a rather large dog. There's nothing strange about it, other than it has no owner and that it is obviously starring at you. It makes no move to charge at you, it only looks onward with curiosity. At least that's how much you can deduce from where you're standing. You debate on calling to it, see if it's friendly. But then there's that sinking feeling that tells you to leave the dog alone and be on your way. Whichever choice you choose. The dog starts approaching you. And as it comes close, you notice it's strange eyes, which, are faintly glowing a blood red. Especially when light catches in them. It doesn't make any hostile notion towards you, but it doesn't look to be afraid neither.

The German Shepherd follows you should you choose to walk away. Looking over your shoulder it pauses, sitting back on it's haunches. Waiting on you to start walking, it follows. Not till you reach your destination or think to confront the situation that things begin to unfold. Reasons start to emerge, boredom, entertainment, excitement, death, etc. Worded carefully or with an aloof sense of self. For the dog proves to be more than just a stray, but a woman with some intention, reason to have followed you like this. Is there something after you and not just the woman. Hale gives hints of there being more than what it seems. Though she doesn't get to the point right away. Plays this as some sort of game, but carefully. 

More scenarios coming soon.


 ✔ = sent - ❌ = owe -  = plotting -  … = pending - = you lost me

  1. Heindrich W. Schultz -  ✔
  2. Leviatha Kalos -
  3. Mephistopheles -
  4. Finn O'Connell -


  1. Respect me how you'd like me to respect you.
  2. Your character doesn't know mine. Because they just met.
  3. I don't care who starts. Paragraph minimum.
  4. Replies will be sent in the order they came in. If you want to see if yours is coming up, look under the   acknowledgements.
  5. Dark themed, violence, gore, language. 19+ preferred.
  6. Please no god moding. 
  7. Don't kill my character.
  8. Maiming is acceptable if it's with permission.
  9. Please, read the profile. It has the information you are looking for. i.e. where you can meet her or where you can find her. Asking me first hand tells me you just scrolled all the way down and just commented. Know her and it will make things easy on both of us.


Ooc ranting:

  • Looking for threads.
  • Anyone got a little Faustus in them that they'd play him? If so, come hither.
  • I'd like my profile covered in black, so is there anyone know the css to edit the comment editor?
  • Check me out on my other alt, Tifa Lockhart!


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  • / Been M.I.A, but back. So. Going to be getting to replies very soon. /

  • thanks for the accept. Id love to play sometime if you like my char as well

  •                 This curse of a woman, Ms. Hemsworth, was potentially proving to be more of an advantage than an obstacle as his mind brewed up a concoction of ideas to draw from. His options were clearly limited and only restricted to what he could manage to do near Ms. Drix. He could not afford anything else beyond it; if he played the dangerous game, he would probably lose at it, provoking his demise. Uncomplainingly, he only gawked back at Hale as she laughed at him from a distance, mocking him for whatever simple reason there existed. He, for once, was nervous, idle and in thought, evaluating his surroundings as best as he could. What could he do? Ah, yes, Ms. Hemsworth! The only viable action was to approach them as a married couple since they also seemed to be together, despite Hale’s refusal to even touch el-Hammond. He’s settled on it, walking toward them, suddenly halted by Ms. Hemsworth as she’s about to question him.

                    “Where are we going, dear?” A great question. He hasn’t really decided to speak to her to enlighten her with the news of his vile plan. Perhaps she served better as a distraction? Security was tighter than ever before and she could hypothetically confuse his target with utmost accuracy. The light bulb thickens in his mind and the radiancy is powerful. At last, he has got it in his grasp, manipulated and in control.

                    “Dear, can you do me a favor?” he inquires, smiling to her, releasing her to come face her, hands placed over her sides. “Could you go over there,” he pointed to a corner of the casino, “…and yell murderer after shooting this gun?” In his hand, he has a pistol the size of a palm, a Russian firearm chambered in 9mm.

                    “Now, why would I be doing such an infantile act as that?” She was laughing, too, giggling mostly.

                    “Because I’ll repay you handsomely,” he sultrily whispered into her ear, promising her the time of her life.

                    She’s quiet in seconds, planting a peck on his cheek, gyrating to walk away from him and toward the corner, sitting by herself close to the bar, ordering a drink.

                    Heinrich is satisfied, returning to heed attention to el-Hammond, circling behind them, Hale always wary of where he was. He waited, gun held in hand, secluded by his back, out of sight thanks only to the crowd that surrounded him. His Spheres of Sapphires are on Ms. Hemsworth, taking note of her stance, of her posture and of her intentions. Abruptly so, there’s a yelp after a gunshot, humongous and horrific, exclaiming the word he had ordered her to shout out with passion and dedication. She’s squealing for help, gun on the floor, hands pointed toward the would-be murderer, praying for the aid of a savior, for someone to come as she falls to the floor with her purse. Everyone turns, eyes are on her and fright invades the scene. Everyone shrieks, then, in pure unison. Cacophony and pandemonium overtake the casino. Heinrich is calm, however, raising his silence pistol as Hale observes him, as Hale witnesses him, viewing her vile smirk, as if she’s demanding him to pull the trigger on el-Hammond, as if she’s going to reach ecstasy if he does. He does so, pulling on the lead, thunder muffled amongst the shouts and the chaos, three bullets penetrating the man’s back, blood soaking his attire, body falling to the ground to thud with disgrace.

                    Heinrich’s gone then, evacuating the location as everyone else is doing, a last gaze given to the demon. He’s on his way to his room and the music keeps going as a pool of blood is stomped upon by the stampede.



  • \\You're welcome, thank you for accepting! 

  • His drink of choice probably seems fruity, but that was his plan.  It's got lime and single malt scotch and only about half of the deep glass was filled.  It's been named accurately, because just the one'll have all the lads raising their kilts.  Either of their own volition or because they've tipped back in their chairs and can't get back up.  He's so bloody surprised the bartender knew what she was doing he gives her a big tip.  Well, two tips.  The first is twenty five green dollars ontop of the drink, and the second is that she should take off early, but she only laughs it off with a half-hearted "I wish." and goes back to work.

    Ah well, I tried.  Mentally shrugging, he picks his glass off the counter--and nearly drops it when the lady next to him grabs his ass.  He can only assume she's a serial ass grabber and has struck..again!

    If he was a sweet virgin lass, he might have turned as red as a tomato and shrieked.  But he wasn't no lass, and even if he was, he's got his Irish up and-- no self respecting Irish lass lets just anyone take a claw full of her arse.  

    Without taking a sip, he sets his fruity scotch drink back to the counter.  Wondering if he's been pegged-- although he doubts it.  It's not like the Bacchants even know he exists, here of all places.  If they did, that would mean their master knew and that his kins attempts to slaughter his people had failed, and being the big bad god he is he'd try and remedy that mistake.  Two thousand years late.  Nah, can't be a Bacchant..a witch, then? He looks at the woman, his sea blue eyes catching greens and pinks from the strobe light.

    "Lookin' to get me arse groped by completely strangers, clearly.  Isn't 'tat why yer here?" he raises his voice to be heard over the music, grinning cheekily.  Then, deciding to test the waters, he adds. "plus 'teres a weird feelin' in 'te air tonight, somethin' told me I just had to come see what it was shakin' 'tings up."

  • Heinrich hadn’t shot a gun in about a week and it pained him, yet he was keen, eager to pull the trigger of lead on someone or a thing if the fortuitous opportunity arose from the shadows of the abyss unexpectedly. Before a mirror he stood, evaluating his attire for the night, wandering if he’d at least go unnoticed long enough for him to strike at his target without provoking anyone. He adored neutral colorations that made him appear oblivious to the world that surrounded—the obscure and the opaque would never disappoint him on any occasion. He was solitary, too, an attribute that would no doubt aid him in seeming surreptitious and furtive amongst the numerous amount of patrons, females and males alike. It was as if he had planned this out, but it had all surged in the moment without consultation or organization. The thrill of the unexpected had him feel uneasy. Anything could go wrong—he would not be capable of countering it right away. If he failed to subdue the target, all would crumble before him. Nonetheless, he shook off every thought regarding such anxiety and apprehension, quickly making his way toward the main entrance of his hotel room, opening it to breach the focal corridor, stumbling against one of the celebration’s guest, a woman as glamorous as her voice deemed her to be, blonde, skin creamy and coated in the nectar of the Gods, dress evocative of her intentions.

    “O-oh!” she exclaimed, pardoning herself with the German, accent reminiscent of the British. “I must’ve not heard you coming out of your room, Mr…?”

    “Mr. Schultz,” Heinrich completed. “No need to apologize, I also was not looking.” A pause to fasten his suit, spheres of sapphires settled on her spheroids of emeralds. “Are you going to the party tonight?”

    “Why, yes, I am,” she confirmed, unaware of who this man was. “Are you?” It was only natural of her to ask the same.

    “Yes, I am. I was planning on using the slot machines to kill,” the mockery of the word, “some time until the celebration begins in one hour and twenty minutes.”

    “Well then, I shall be seeing you around the party then. My name is Margarethe Hemsworth,” she introduced herself, giving him a gentle bow. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Schultz.” With that, she was on her way, hips swerving as she coursed the hallway, the German’s attention positioned over her, swayed by her allure. For a moment, he thought why she seemed unfazed by him. No matter, really. He was on his way to the nearest elevator, avoiding to follow her down the path she took, steel slabs opening to welcome him, pressing the lobby’s button to be readily encapsulated in the compartment. With its halt, the doors opened and he trod out, consuming his surroundings, which were now packed with guests from all over the world. Well-dressed Japanese women followed their rich masters; armed Russians escorted a peculiar, old man; Arabian females with their eyes only in sight walked in unison following no-one but themselves; then, there was Heinrich, unaccompanied, hugging the walls to traverse the amplitude of the lobby, reaching the entrance to the casino, booming already with a crowd that could not match the one he had perceived at his casino in Deutschland. On his way to an isle of slot machines, he took notice of the quantity of security guards stationed at every corner of the place. It was abnormal for a celebration of this kind. Then again, a lot of important individuals resided in the edifice.

    Sat on a stool in front of a machine, he inserted a coin and pulled on the lever, watching the slots spin endlessly before him, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, wasting his time, clock ticking and tocking without care, until he was invaded by that woman again.

    “Won the jackpot yet, Mr. Schultz?” she humorously asked, sitting on the stool beside him.

    Frankly, he did not want this woman near him, but scolding her and pushing her away would not be wise of the German.

    “Not yet,” he responded, pulling the lever again. “It’s all about the luck and I seem to have ran out of it tonight,” he added, shrugging his shoulders, attention diverted to a waiter carrying a tray of glasses of Champagne. Without hesitance, Heinrich grabbed one for himself and the woman, offering it to her. She felt obligated, so she accepted it. He took a sip to calm himself; his fury had begun to ramp up.

    “Ah. Men are usually the unluckiest and the least fortunate,” she commented, cynicism afflicting her tone. “But, don’t worry,” she said, drinking from her glass, “I’m sure you’ll win something,” her tone became sultry, beleaguered with fleshly intent, a hand throw to latch itself to Heinrich’s thigh, “…tonight, Mr. Schultz, just you wait. The night is young.”

    Heinrich was suddenly overawed by her lustrous ways of showing attraction. His eyes dove to scan her left hand, which were the ring of matrimony. The subject at hand had gotten much more interesting in a matter of seconds. He kept his silence, continuing to play the slot machine, trumpets sounding and rebounding to indicate the celebration had commenced. This was his ticket out, for once.

    “Well, if you’ll—”

    “Yes, by all means, you are allowed my company,” she interrupted before he could finish his sentence, latching onto his side.

    He cursed her, but followed along, standing with her, arms intertwined as a couple. In the distance and amongst the machines, he finally spotted his target: Mr. el-Hammond, right next to Hale. What. The. Fuck? He was flabbergasted. With Hale’s unholy presence, he could not even close the distance to his target. He even refused to and just played along, using the cover of Ms. Hemsworth to his advantage, switching a ring from his right hand to his left hand to appear as if he was married to her.

    The music got louder.

    He could only play the waiting game now. He needed to find out why Ms. Drix was here.

  • So, Mr. Schultz,” the thick, African accent came through into the atmosphere, “…I take it we can agree to the sale of this marvelous hotel and casino, is that correct?” questioned the black male as he held unto a pen, eyes dwelling momentarily on the German before progressing toward the sheet of paper that had been placed a while ago upon the table.

    “Yes,” the German agreed, finger intertwining as the African released and allotted the pen over the table, sliding it toward Heinrich along with the professional document.

    “Perfect, then just sign and I shall have total possession of this edifice and its facilities,” he announced. “As agreed, a thirty percent of the proceeds of this establishment shall be transferred to you at the end of every month. Is that of your own accord, Mr. Schultz?”

    “Of course, Mr. Udabi,” Heinrich acknowledged, signing the document with a prompt, stylish signature that declared his full name. Afterwards, he set the pen down and handed the paper back to its owner, rising from the table to round it and shake hands with the African, nodding to him with utmost reverence.

    “You shall not be disappointed with this choice, Mr. Schultz, I assure you. Your hotel and casino are in great care and we shall ensure it lasts for a millennium,” the respectable owner guaranteed, retiring his hand, leaving with an escort of two, tall men that reeked of lead and armor. Once they departed, Heinrich found his way toward his hotel room, an imposing suite at the peak of the building with a luxurious view to the coast and the boundaries of the ocean, where he could stand to observe as the boats sailed into the eternal waters beyond his grasp. Lighting up a cigar, he walked to the kitchen to fetch for some water. With the business meeting done with, tonight there would be a celebration in its name all paid for by Mr. Udabi and his own company. It would include a splendorous party at the pool, in the casino itself and around some areas of the hotel, including its ballroom. Heinrich had been invited and, surely, he’d come to enjoy it and probably acquire a female to bed in his room later. He knew, however, that wasn’t the only reason he was allowing his presence into the festivity. Heinrich had a hunger and thirst for the pleasures of dysfunction. It had been so long and tonight would be ideal to search for a potential victim. Unquestioningly, he commenced his search through means he only knew of. In the kitchen, he brought out from one of the cabinets a smart-phone, turning it on to dial an unknown phone number. As it rung, he smirked to himself.

    “Mr. Schultz, it has been far too long. Do what do I owe this call?” inquired a British woman known as Ms. Eves.

    “I require a target tonight. I’m in—”

    “South Africa,” she interrupted, giggling.

    “Always tracking me, are you?”

    “You know very well we never let you out of our sight, Mr. Schultz.”

    A sigh. “Very well. Proceed.”

    “A man known as Zaahid el-Hammoud will be there tonight. He is responsible for the murder of various, innocent Arabian women, all mostly cousins of his that refused to bear his children. He tortured them, made them eat their own fingers and then eradicated them,” she explained to the German. “His bounty is at half a million Euros as of now and will continue to rise if left unattended, sir. Would you—”

    “I’ll deal with him tonight.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Yes, I am.”

    “Fine. I’ve assigned him and I’ve sent his information to the device you hold in your hand. Please be cautious around him and take him out stealthily.”

    “Of course, Ms. Eves, I shall make it happen.” Satisfied with the target, Heinrich hung up the phone and adjusted his clothing. It was starting in exactly two hours, at ten 0’clock at night. He had time to spare. Readily, Heinrich strode toward his room to bring out from beneath the bed a large, rectangular briefcase. Placing it over the mattress, he opened it to reveal his preferred weapons, silenced Lugers. Next to these were his daggers and his tranquilizer. Smiling like a fiend, he stowed them all in the holsters over his body, safely secluded under his tuxedo.  


  • (Ahahaha, go for it!)

  • By the time he learned the Bacchants were in New York city, it was already too late to cut them off.  He didn't really have a plan for this kind of offensive, besides going in armed for battle and swinging once it starts and not stopping until everything lay in pieces around him, and hope he didn't slay any friendlies in his battle frenzy.

    He tracked their movement into Manhattan, to a scab of a nightclub with a french name in flickering green neon.  Large glass doors hung onto high glass walls, exposing the line of impatients waiting to get inside; filling most of the lobby and the sidewalk outside. 

    It was a small, rectangular building, with old dark warehouses on either side of it.  Music from the club spilled out shamelessly, pounding on the ground in a satisfying beat that reminded Finn of going into war, carrying nothing but a bodhrán and beating a war tune on it, instilling the soldiers around him with bravery and battle frenzy, and all the vengeful power of the earth.

    He slipped unseen through the crowds and by the hulking bouncers, and then he cast off his camoflauge, looking around.  Knowing he'd probably ruin his clothes, he was wearing a plain grey short sleeved shirt and a simple pair of blue jeans.  And although it pained him much, a pair of dark, heavy, clunky boots.  His red hair was wild all over his head, and there's nothing he could ever do about that.  Besides, he's grateful.  Most men his age haven't any hair at all.  Or skin.  Or even bones.

    In his right hand he's carrying a long, brass shafted spear with gold rivets fastening a deadly, cold iron spear-tip.  And on his back his sword, Fragarach, stuck in it's scabbard.  Both are concealed from view with druidic charms.  He could still swing them and whack someone in their head still, if he wanted too.

    The inside of the club is wild, people are all over the dance-floor, shifting in and out of sight under flashing strobe lights.  Clinging to one another in a musical trance, sweating and grunting like animals.  A bar sits against the far left wall, with a large roof to floor mirror poised behind the many shelves of the more expensive alcohol.  They're shaking slightly from the bass of the music, but don't seem in any danger of falling down.  It'll be a shame to see them go to waste.

    Couches and booths are stuck up against either wall, in every free spot available, minus in the bathrooms.  As far as he can tell just by glancing, anyway.  All red leather with high black tables and higher stools.

    Seeing everyone still had their clothes on, he breathes a sigh of relief and makes his way around the dance-floor.  Careful to keep his spear close to his body so he doesn't accidentally impale anyone.  He gives his best effort at keeping his head down, but it's not an easy task at 6'3".

    Someone grabs his ass, he yelps, and swings around to check his six only to find backs.  He scans them, expecting one to turn around and see whether or not he was coming for them.  But it doesn't happen- he gives up, and turns on his heel to head for the bar, muttering about sneaky horny bastards.  Perhaps he should have kept his camoflauge on, but then he would have had to serve himself a drink, and that just wouldn't do.  Besides, he had time to kill before he had to.. heh.

    He's grinning at himself when he slips up to the bar, leaning his spear against it without releasing his grip from it.  The bartender is a slim, dark haired beauty with green eyes, a lip ring, and a tattoo of Mjölnir on her chest that made it look like her tits were wielding the mighty hammer.  She must have saw his eyes drop and his smirk and mistook it for appreciation, for she laughed a honey laugh and said "eyes up here, hon." in a teasing way, and then she offered him a drink on the house.  What'll it be?

    "Gimme a Kilt Raiser," he said, unable to resist.  He grinned at her and she laughed again, slipping off to get his Scotch cocktail.  Honestly, he's surprised she even knew what the hell he meant-- oh gods, his smile dropped. 

    He sure as hell hoped she knew what he was talking about.

  • (Sorry, I haven't wanted to hand you a bunch of steaming shite as a starter, but I'm about to give ye something hopefully nice righttttt now)

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