Aramintha Jaine's page

25 posts. Alias of Charles Evans 25.


lynora-Jill wrote:
Ch'ack Hammer wrote:

"Not a matter of listening. It is one of not understanding. He was born to power. He cannot comprehend the change we experience."

"Nor does he truly comprehend that the Servants crave the power as strongly as he craves gold for his horde."

"It's like a drug," she agreed with a grimace. "And no matter how good your intentions are at first, power wields you not the other way around. I'm not sure if the Servants themselves crave power or if they're just blindly following those that do. But it comes out to the same thing in the end."

I have the infinite hordes of the Abyss at my disposal, am nearly indestructible, and you can wave goodbye to your soul if I kiss you, but do you see that going to my head, corrupting me? No, I sit around sipping tea and gossiping, as befits a lady, and occasionally making small wagers with my friends on if a dynasty is going to last past the end of a century or who the survivors are going to be when a pantheon gets blown to tiny little pieces by an 'endbringer liege'.

Umm, sometimes I do indulge myself with tweaking events here and there behind the scenes to deal with a really rude person or to keep a skilled hairdressing family safe. Very useful, professional hairdressers. Dressmakers too. I mean who wouldn't organise the fall of a mighty empire, the slaughter of seven thousand, eight hundred and thirty seven clerics across three different religions, and the delivery of a very special pair of shoes to a wellingarten frogsmiter to keep their favourite hairdresser or dressmaker safe?

The Countess Almathrada wrote:

Evil cloaked in the deepest and most terrible shadow of the oldest and brightest light sits on a nearby mountaintop, observing events at the adjacent Eyrie by means of a brass telescope.

At length The Bane of Avsilar, personally responsible for the destruction of the honour and fall of the first and greatest ever dwarven empire with a few well-placed truths, passes the telescope to one of her two companions and picks up her cup of tea.

Things are going to plan, right?

The mistress of the Abyss wipes some stray scone crumbs from her fingers on a napkin, then surveys the scene through the offered telescope.

Very well then. Go away, and do not bother us again unless it is important. We do not like being bothered. She pauses. Except occasionally by cadres of naive, enthusiastic, paladins, that is.
Please remember that we are mythalogical, and that we prefer things to be left that way to avoid being bothered.
Oh, and one more thing:
She waves a hand and a wave of searing white hot agony wracks Ashaundra, tearing at even her very soul.
Please remember that you only have yourself to blame now if anyone recognises or comes after you.
Oh, and welcome to the Abyssal end of the spectrum.
Ashaundra is now a succubus, a native of the Abyss, if that's okay with you?

To Shovastika:
Hmm, yes, I think we get the point. This might be a chance for a tremendously good joke at his expense.

To Ashaundra:
Are you capable of giving and keeping your word of honour on a subject? This isn't about keeping a promise because the law says so; It's about keeping it because it matters to your pride - that you may not give it that often, and only when you feel like it, but that when you do you always observe what you feel to be the spirit of any deal which you make?

To Shovastika:
Umm. He's not exactly endeared himself recently has he?

Hmm. Well a fallen-angel-turned-baatezu is an entirely different proposition from just a plain normal boring baatezu, Aramintha considers.
Where exactly is Ashaundra's alignment at present?

Oh all the one I had was thinking was the usual mental scream of exquisite agony as I devoured his essence, she shrugs and becomes more businesslike. She makes a face and does her best to start attempting to assess the damage to her dress.

Aramintha Jaine opens her wings, brushing the dust which is all that remains of the cornugon from her, a dreamy expression on her face, and having adopted an air of beauty perhaps slightly more intense than her friends.
As far as Ashaundra is concerned, there are myths on the planes about primeval 'succubi', the most beautiful and dangerous of all predators, but nobody believes in them really... I mean it's just Tanar'ri propaganda, umm, isnt it?
Both Aramintha and Shovastika are currently exhibiting Charisma scores in the 60+ range at the moment though, in terms of appearance and force of personality.

With the sound of tearing fabric, Aramintha spreads her own wings, dimension-doors the short distance to the other cornugon, wraps her arms about him, and drawing her wings about for privacy, subjects him to a long, lingering, kiss, from which he is unable to escape.

Aramintha makes a face, given that she is wearing a full length sugar pink dress. She sighs and hopes that the problem goes away.

Aramintha nods, understandingly, and the pair sit for a while, admiring the view and sipping tea.
The arrival of multiple baatezu on the scene produces a distinct lapse in amiability in the pair of ladies.

The Eldest Elemental Evils taking over?

So, anything interesting going on in the world in general?

Well, goodbye. Back to whatever it was you were doing before Fraghast distracted you. Shame you're not interested in pursuing the Baatezu angle more.
At this point there isn't anything to stop Allura from leaving if she wants to do that.

Ur-Dragon? No. I don't think that there's one of those involved yet. She pauses a moment. Joke.
No, well, if you thought that there was only one dragon involved, that explains why you're so confident of success.
She looks at Allura's empty cup.
Well you seem to have finished that one. I suppose you have to be on your way, and don't have the time to stay for another cup?...

Unlikely. She sighs a little. I'm a bad name for surprises these days. I miss it a little, occasionally.
And I know the dragons involved.

Oh, personally I find that I win all of them. Only sometimes people get killed or go a little mad.
I'm pleased you like the crumpets. I wasn't sure I'd quite got the recipe right. I'm very new to this, and the Countess Almathrada generously let me look through her recipe books.
She sighs. It really is a shame that you and your friends are busy with something else.
She refills her cup.
You do know that the little girl isn't very likely to complete her collection?

They update their contracts regularly, and close off loopholes. Given the importance to them of him, hereabouts, they'll have made sure there isn't much you can do to break the contract that doesn't involve offering them something in fair exchange instead.
If they have a sample of his blood, they can probably scry anything in his vicinity.
Is there anything wrong with my crumpets?

Oh, she looks disappointed. I had hoped that this might be because you had some sort of axe to grind against the Lords of the Nine Hells. She toys with her cup and saucer for a bit, then helps herself to a crumpet.

The tea, as far as Allura can tell, is good-quality.
I'm rather confused by some of the things going on around here, at present, the woman sounds slightly apologetic. My intelligence network has caught up with the fact that you and your friends have apparently abducted a powerful political pawn hereabouts of the baatezu, and then I got word that you're back here and hitting the slave-markets. Looking for someone that he or his masters sold into slavery by any chance?
She pours herself a cup of tea.
If so, you may be taking on more than you can chew, if you don't mind my saying so. At least on your own.

Inside there are signs from the papers and files discarded on the floor to clear the desk, that the office usually hosts business other than the purposes of interviews. Sitting behind the desk is a woman with dark hair and matching eyes, dressed in a sugar-pink dress which looks to have seen better days. On the desk are a bone-china tea-set, and a plate piled high wth buttered crumpets.
Please sit.
The woman behind the desk indicates a chair by Allura.
Sorry about the rather poor decor of this place, and the furnishings, but the best I could scrounge up for a meeting at such short notice.
Oh, do you take milk or sugar in your tea?
She starts to pour a cup.

Apparently not. Okay then.
The dwarf knocks three times on the door and calls out:
The woman you wanted to see, milady.
Then he gestures Allura towards the door-handle.
Go on in. I'll stay out here to try to make sure that you're not disturbed.

Please don't try to read her mind, please don't try to magically charm her, the dwarf recites as he leads Allura across the market towards a suite of private offices. Yes she is an evil soul-sucking fiend, but with the twist that she was recently mortal which means that for some intents and purposes she is utterly insane, even by fiendish standards. As a former comrade who remembers what she was like before she inherited an Abyssal estate, I stick with her out a sense of loyalty that many would consider misplaced. No she does not want you dead. If she did you would be dead already. Anything else you should know? He pauses in raising his hand to knock on an office door.

The dwarf does not appear to have anything about people whom Allura is looking for in his surface thoughts. He is thinking about the fact that his mistress wants a word with Allura over a pot of tea and plate of buttered crumpets.

Excuse me please, a dwarf tugs at Allura's sleeve a few minutes later. My mistress would like a word with you.
The dwarf detects as being lawfully-neutral aligned, and has the world-weary look of someone who's seen far too many horrors to his face.