Those that live in Demonverse split up to go their own ways after everyone else returns to their own worlds. For those that live in Scotland, well, it's a pretty quick trip home. Everyone else gets a long-ass plane ride back to New York, but hey, at least Tristan is paying for it all.

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In New York, you have Sariel's house, a small two-bedroom home a couple hours away from the downtown core by bus. It's a little run down, but immaculately clean and well-kept, with a sunny kitchen and a small garden in the back. Sariel and Kano both have bedrooms upstairs (now with Madison added in), and Elluka has some privacy holed up in the den with a pull-out couch. As for where they'll put Cys, well, that's probably a topic of some discussion.

Sera's here sometimes—though she can also possess Robin or Lucia's phones, so, there's a bit of ghost timeshare going on.

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Tristan's townhouse, in comparison, has something like six or seven bedrooms and over four floors. A typical brownstone style, with arched windows and doors, it's a two minute walk to a restaurant district, a park, and some cute organic grocery stores. Everyone that stays there has their own bedroom, of course—there's also a few spare rooms, a jacuzzi in at least one of the bathrooms, and a pretty sizeable rec room in the basement for watching Netflix or, you know, ritual summonings, as needed. Despite being obviously way too much for any normal person to afford, Tristan favors less-ostentatious decorations—lots of books, comfortable antiques, and warm colors. It's the kind of place where you can lounge and fuck on the couches or the rooftop patio without worrying about it being weird.

Kieran, Robin, Fon, and (sometimes) Maon live in the townhouse. Itachi (and of course, Cillian) stay on-site at St. Dominic's Academy, where they teach. Sitara stays in the dormitories at her sister school—though her attendance is, these days, a little unpredictable.

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Back in Scotland, in Dundee, David & Kazuki's condo is more on the sleek and chrome and new side—a one-bedroom, but a pretty lavish one on the top floor. David has a home office with a lot of windows and huge monitors, though they also expand that technological flashiness to their televisions and game console's. The kitchen's also the ultra-nice type, but it's not like either of them eats anything except restaurant food or cup noodles. They just buy the expensive cup noodles.

About a ten minute drive away, Lucia and Shuri have a whole small mansion to themselves . . . and Lucia's dozens of demons. And a pair of ghosts. So. You know how that goes.
Maon leads the way back towards civilization—somehow making his way easily back out through the woods, and you know, there's some things you just don't ask about.

It's a little longer walk back than it was getting there—you'd ended up popping out in a slightly different location. The sun isn't quite up enough to be causing any adverse side effects, and somehow as you walk, you find any fatigue or pain or chill drifting away, leaving you feeling rejuvinated rather than exhausted. The really happy archangel might be partially to blame for that.

The cottage soon comes into sight. Siùsaidh is sitting on the porch waiting, and Tristan's car is once again parked outside.

"Tis about time ye got back," she says firmly. "Tis been three days, and I can only mind an incubus in my home fer so long. Step inside for breakfast, now, won't ye?"

[we will continue to pick at threads in the Endgame but feel free to hit up anybody anywhere in the Epilogue! thanks for the game, see you again in three years soon ♥]
There's a really uncomfortable few minutes after Lucifer vanishes with the trumpet. A hush settles down over the group, and most likely that awful moment of doubt. I mean, you did just make a deal with the adversary, the Prince of Darkness, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Father of Lies

. . .

Then there's a soft popping sound, and someone appears midair, about twenty feet up, dropping fast.

"AH. Oh, come on, Luci—"

The newcomer is wearing a black hood, and abruptly catches himself with not one, not two, but three pairs of wings, skinny legs pinwheeling only sort of elegantly as he catches himself in a little stumble, landing and dropping on his knees in front of them with a sharp gasp, legs splayed to either side.
You're led down a hallway that more resembles the size of a freeway lane. The fae in front of you drifts slightly as she walks, and does not speak, her hands clasped behind her back politely.

As you ascend a wide staircase, you can hear music, growing gradually louder—the sweet strains of a violin. The song ends as you approach and enter into—

Something partially, it seems, between an amphitheatre and a throne room. Half the room is roughly hewn out of glittering rock, polished and segueing directly into the side of the mountain. A wide, dark entrance leads off into a cave, wide enough to drive a truck through. In front of this stands a pair of lithe fairy guards, dressed in blue and silver livery.

There are small doors that leave this area as well, most likely leading back into the main area of the mansion. As you enter, the fae that had been playing the violin is escorted back out through one of these, away from the wide stage they'd been playing on. Deep blue curtains are pulled back to expose a platform fit for any kind of entertainment, and in front of it—

Well, he's human-sized, and human-shaped, mostly, lounging sprawled across an elaborately comfortable-looking "throne." His eyes are narrow and slit-pupilled, gleaming like gold coins. He has silver hair swept back from a high peak, coiling around a heavy pair of twisted horns and pointed ears, though it's hard to tell where the hair starts and when the iridescent blue scales on his forehead begin, lining his nose, his jaw. His eyes are lined with a swipe of gold and black—fine scales, or careful application of makeup, it's hard to tell—and he's wearing an elaborate set of robes embroidered with enough riches to buy an entire second castle, or mansion, or both.

More notable, likely, is the distinctly non-humanoid, heavy tail curling out and draped on over the edge of the chair like a scarf, or the cruel hooked claws as he lightly taps two long, elegant fingers against his lips. There is a thin silver ring near the corner of one, attached to a chain that connects to a sapphire glittering in one ear. His smile is full of teeth, and his voice is like liquid, low and coaxing.

"This is a sssurprise," the dragon Mianythoth says. "I haven't gotten sssuch interesting visitorsss in a long time. Let'sss not stand on ceremony, however. Unlesss you've got sssomething else to sssay, all I want is that music that I heard in the foressst. Where did it come from? Give me that, and you can leave. Unlessssss," he draws that one out, looking the group over, "You have sssomething else you'd like to offer?"
You're led inside, the gates shutting behind you with a particularly resounding clang.

The interior is gorgeous, with white walls and marbled floors, gold gilt on every ornamented surface. For those who are overly sensitive to such things, it may be a slight affront as the interior is very Rococo, in contrast to the Gothic exterior. But it's still really nice.

The high, arched ceilings that pick up every sound perfectly—sorry, superhearers, the acoustics are amazing.

You are quickly shuffled off to the right, through a gold-gilted door to a slightly-less-opulent-but-still-disgustingly-rich-looking area. The redcap seems to pass some sort of security to lead through here—though it's hard to say if it's meant to keep someone in or out. Once through this door, you pass doors to rooms along the hall—a few are open and you can see that inside are medium-sized bedrooms, comfortable and well-decorated. Others are closed, as if the occupants are currently inside.

You are ushered into the door at the end. Inside is a very large, circular sitting room, with plenty of cushions and seats, a piano set up in the center next to a softly burbling pool of water. Musical instruments are displayed on accessible racks and hooks around the walls. There's also a small library of books, CDs, and vinyl in one corner, alongside a sleek black speaker system.

A set of glass doors leads outside to an enclosed area that looks to all the world like a pleasure garden, with more cushioned seats, a swing, and fountains. Several people are out there—fairies and humanoid alike—apparently oblivious to the cold weather. There are more people inside as well—probably about seven in all.

The Eastern end of the room is just completely dominated by an enormous set of doors, about twenty feet high, and twice as wide.

"Please, wait here," says the redcap(tain). "We will inform Lord Mianythoth of your arrival." All of the guards depart and leave you to your own devices—at least, for now.
After talking with the traveling group, Maon leads you some ways up the path again to regroup and talk without being overheard. You all got some information from the party—they aren't from here, they're on the move, and although of course they'd love to give up their sweet camping spot so a Daoine Sìth like Maon could help his good friend Vincent have a birthday party, unfortunately the dragon that lives in the nearby mansion hoards music and musicians, and any group here having a proper revel is likely to get snapped up.

You may have noticed that you're missing your shadow again, along with your fussbird and Elluka. Those with superhearing had heard a brief burst of hearttuggingly beautiful music box music, quickly cut off.

Oh, and now those people with superhearing are hearing, a voice distant in the woods, "Were you the source of the sound we just heard?" one of the blood-hatted fairies asks, in a surprisingly lovely voice. "Or should we be looking further afield?"

It sounds like there's no signs of a fight. What do you try to do?
Sariel, Elluka, and Cys snuck off into the woods earlier to try to take advantage of the distraction of the fairy party to get out the music boxes. Unfortunately, they were surprisingly loud—not so much that the other group could hear them, minus perhaps those with superhearing, but enough to get them in a bit of trouble.

They have barely had a chance to put the music boxes away and get Sariel's warning—someone's coming—when a group of armed guards surrounds them. They are all wearing some sort of uniform in silver and blue, but other than that, the only thing common among them is that none of them are Sith. Some are covered in leaves and mud, some are wearing blood-soaked hats with the still-wet blood trickling down their cheeks, some have no skin, veins and muscle showing. They aren't even all humanoid—you see a large green dog in a blue and silver bandanna among the lot.

What they all are is armed, however.

Sariel raises his arms immediately, palms out. Elluka looks between him and the group in a frantic what-to-do gesture and then raises their own, trying to hide mouse-Cys behind their raised arm and the fall of their hair.

"Were you the source of the sound we just heard?" one of the blood-hatted fairies asks, in a surprisingly lovely voice. "Or should we be looking further afield?"
You've all eaten, digested, rested, and—well, whatever else you got up to as the afternoon progressed. As the sky starts to get dimmer and it moves towards sunset, Sariel gets up.

"Well. We should go now. Unless you're intending to drag this out and make us go and try this again at sunrise instead."

"I think now is better," Luka agrees placidly. "I think at least three of us wouldn't want to do this during the day. Also, it's sneakier."

Kieran calls out, "Last chance for bathroom breaks or equipping ourselves, I guess. Consider this our save point, need anything before we hit the dungeon?"
You hardly feel the change as you slip between worlds—no jolt or jerk or sudden awakening. You ease gently into a new reality, a lingering warmth on your skin.

It's a bright and sunny day—a bit nippy, mind you, hopefully you're wearing at least a light jacket—as you find yourself not in a summoning circle, but rather, in a pleasant looking field with a truly breathtaking view:

Down a rocky path, you can see a pleasant-looking three-story cottage, smoke pluming and spiralling into the crisp air from the brick chimney.

"See," says Sariel, brushing his gloved hands together and looking smugly over at Elluka, who is sitting perched on a high rock and looking bored. "I told you I could do it."
Hello again friends ❤ Let's get this show on the road again.

New to Demonverse, or wanting to get caught up? We have some brief summaries and an introduction (and some cute art) available, as well as a full story thus far summary!

Please also hit us up on Plurk ([ profile] demonverse) if you want to get a rundown on anything, or to figure out if you want to play ❤

As always, the most important thing to remember when signing up is choose a character that will be willing to get involved with stuff. If your character is a misanthrope that will refuse to try to save the world or become friends with NPCs, it'll be a lil difficult to work with and will not MAXIMIZE FUN. Not sure if a character is well-suited? Ask and we'll be happy to suggest!

For this particular game, we'd love if everyone was available for each timeslot, but understand that's not always possible. However, please keep in mind that if you aren't OOCly around we'll have to handwave that your character was there the whole time. We can make it a little whimsical sometimes, but please make sure you're cool with that, and consider if the amount of time you'll be available is gonna be enough to be involved!

Each timeslot is about 2.5-3 hours long. We've set them at around 3 hours but may wrap up early depending on when we reach a stopping point.

Please comment to the post below with the attached helpful tiny form, and remember to follow us on Plurk.

Game Times
Thursday February 16th ❤ 6PST-9PST
Friday February 17th ❤ 6PST-9PST
Saturday February 18th ❤ Noon PST-3PST
Saturday February 18th ❤ 7PST-10PST
Sunday February 19th ❤ 1PST-4PST (& Epilogue)

Much to the relief of most of the party, Belphegor quite unceremoniously takes his leave—one minute he's there, the next he's not.

Your personal belongings are returned to you—cellphones, wallets, whatever you had on you. Maon, helpfully, gathers up the items from Tsuyukusa and Bakura. Anything else stays behind in the rooms. Probably doesn't matter—it's not like this place is going to be in business much longer.

"I'm clearing out whoever's downstairs," says Tristan, in a voice that offers no room for argument. "The rest of you can meet me down there in a few minutes. After that, I'll get you home."

For some reason, nobody seems to be in a terribly good mood about all of this, but hey, questionably free grilled cheese.

. . .

When you head downstairs, you find the attached booze and grilled cheese bar, as Tristan promised, totally empty except for the serving and kitchen staff, and it's probably best not to ask questions. Cheerful pop music plays on the radio overhead, and there are several long wooden tables with a rustic sort of decor. There's also a television currently playing some sort of Sports, and a few quieter areas with some comfy chairs and maybe some board games.

If you try to leave, you'll be stopped—so just settle in and order some food for now. It's not on your tab.
You each exit your rooms and move into a narrow, brightly-lit hallway. There are thematically appropriate framed pictures on the walls: a sunken ship, a spooky ghost, a bloody murder, a creepy seance.

There's some sort of mild indie music being played on the radio, from the speakers embedded in the ceiling. In the small lobby, there's a big sign: BILL'S ADVENTURE EMPORIUM. There's several fancy-looking ferns, a table full of magazines, and red chairs for those waiting to enter. An empty blackboard is displayed, along with several rows of tiny lockers.

There is a receptionist typing disinterestedly at the front desk, and a fairly well-dressed guy leaning up against the wall, watching as you all filter in. He's in his late thirties, has tousled dark hair, an angularly handsome face edged with a perpetual five o'clock shadow, and is wearing a black suit and grey shirt—suit jacket unbuttoned, not bothering with a tie. His eyes are the only thing about him that seem put-together, sharp and alert under lazy lids.

"Hey, good job," he says. "I'll get you guys up on the blackboard, and we've got some 10% off tickets for the grilled cheese place downstairs."
You are in a small, square room—no more than five or six paces across in either direction. The floor is a sanded-over dry wood, and the walls appear to be mottled stone. There is one door, very clearly locked, and one window, which is painted over entirely in blues and greens, light filtering in from behind it as if shining through water. There is a piece of red tape stuck to the bottom edge of the window where it is sealed to the small wooden ledge. A variety of shells, sand, and other debris are on the window ledge and beneath it

There is a table in the middle of the room, and chairs around that, and it seems to be set up for tea? A captain's rolltop desk also sits down here, one leg broken so that it's tilted onto its side. There are what appears to be barnacles on all of these pieces of furniture.

One wall is a huge mural, depicting some sort of monstrous humanoid covered in tentacles rising from the ocean depths. The details of its face are missing, as is a piece of the sky, and what appears (from the legs) to be people facing it — there are three smooth disc-shaped cutouts missing from it.

Beyond that, the contents are even odder. There is one very large treasure chest resting against one wall, locked with a combination lock. A ship's wheel is propped up in one corner, balanced on a coil of rope. A scuba diver's helmet leans against another wall, next to an anchor. Several casks are in the corner.

The sound of waves rushing and flowing fills the room. Everything has a faint brackish smell.
You are in a small, square room—no more than five or six paces across in either direction. The décor is cramped, black, and gothic a darkened library jammed so full of books and antiquated furniture that you have to be careful moving around to avoid everything.

There is a single window on one wall—covered with heavy red curtains for ambiance, but you can see that it's boarded over on the other side.

The second wall has two large bookcases full of nicely bound books. Between them is an unlit fireplace with a lintel that has several figurines and candlesticks on it, and above that, an absurdly large portrait of a very unfamiliar and gothic-looking noblewoman. Displayed prominently on the fireplace is also an antique gun. For some reason, the painting and the gun have garishly orange pieces of tape stuck to them.

The third wall has a lamp, a liquor cabinet, and a music box on a stand. There is a small stairwell here that goes straight up to the ceiling and then abruptly stops. The outlet for the lamp also has tape on it.

The final wall has a door, which is heavily padlocked, a grandfather clock.

The center of the room has a squat, round coffee table with a ouija board on it. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, some sort of twisted monstrosity made from animal skulls.
You are in a small, rectangular room—about ten paces long and six across. A fairly cramped classroom, with a heavy desk at the front of the room underneath a chalkboard that could use a thorough cleaning. There are four rows of student desks, with 19 desks total. A low set of bookshelves run along one wall, lined with books and binders, some school supplies, a globe.

The back of the room has a single door out, which appears to be firmly locked, and the three windows are heavily boarded over and marked with a line of red tape. The tiles under your feet are scuffed and unpleasant with a thin layer of slimy dust.

Hanging from a hook near the front of the room (was that once meant to be for a slide projector?) is a tied and knotted noose, swaying slightly in a non-existent breeze. You can smell blood in the air.

Across the chalkboard is scrawled:

As you take a look around, a bright red clock up on the wall starts to count down from 60 minutes. Underneath, you see the small bright pinprick of light on a camera and speaker.
Hello friends ❤

We'll be running a short Demonverse mini-game this weekend—sort of a test drive, intermission game. Our goal is for you/us to be able to:

Play for a few hours Friday and/or Saturday
Get a feel for the general aesthetic and characters in Demonverse
Re-establish and get refreshed a little bit on the timeline and re-grounded in the world…
… before we run another full "plot" game and pick up where we left off sometime within the next month or so

Between now and the next game we'll also be getting fully caught up on plot summaries, etc, so that when we pick up for real we know what we were doing, like, two years ago.

This is a good chance to jump in if you haven't played before so you don't just get immediately rocketed off into stuff you don't understand. Or at least that's our goal. And if you can't make it or this is a bad weekend for you, it's okay, you won't miss anything dreadfully dire.

With that in mind, please fill out the form below and comment under the time header that works for you.

Hello friends ♥ CAN YOU BELIEVE IT HAS BEEN SIX YEARS SINCE THE FIRST GAME? We're so so so happy for the players that have been with us since the start, those that have joined along the way and stuck with us, and look forward to welcoming any new friends that might want to play with us in the future!

We have two things for you—a short fic that I think we meant to share in the Spring but for some reason totally forgot to, and an announcement that the next game will be the weekend of October 9th-11th! postponed.

How long has six years been? Well, long enough for this to come about in realtime:

Kieran hit SEND and stared at the screen with a thousand-yard stare . . . )
Elluka pays for a cheap hotel with a name and face that isn't their own, claiming their friend needs a place to sleep off his drink and they want to keep an eye on him; they shudder rather thoroughly when they get up to the hotel room and shift back to their normal body.

Jamie will arrive shortly, of course, as they settle Zan in.

"He's still coming out of the effects. I'm no expert with incubi ... personally speaking... but I am with possession, and I'm guessing it'll take him about a day. You want to let him come out of the sleep on his own... trying to wake him up artificially could cause some confusion or harm, between the mesmerism and the prophecy and the rest."

Elluka hesitates, looking down at the sleeping form.

"But what do we do with him...?"
It's early morning by the time they tidy up the house and fix the windows—leaving it as neat as they'd entered it, Tristan promises—and head out. Tristan seems to be itching to just get away from the place, though they can't return to the church, and it's now New Year's Day—so they head back across the border to the house in New York. Even Sariel comes along—albeit reluctantly—at Tristan's suggestion.

"To my understanding," Tristan says, "the kid's with Sera right now, which I'm cool with. I was a bit rough on him, so he might be sleeping it off for another little while—and like you all said, he might be a bit freaked out to see a dozen people staring at him. So let's leave him there for now. I can send you all home." He pauses.

"But if you want to come back soon . . . I can bring you back. No agenda necessary. If you don't want to come—well, let me know, and I'll try not to bring you."