31 puffs of smoke.
Right, you miserable lot. Let's talk about succubi. That's the plural of succubus, for all of you who wanked your way through classes.
Which, while we're on the subject, is what succubi are meant to make you do. But sometimes, they don't bother with the tidy bodies and gorgeous faces. Sometimes, they're not interested in sucking your soul out through your dick. They'd rather rip it out of your chest. That's when they come at you with bloody great teeth and claws and other things you don't want to hear about. And that's when you remember they're not just tarts--they're demons.
As far as I can tell, some of the uglier ones were here, in this City. They didn't meet the best of ends, though. Something sprayed their metaphysical guts all over the City. Turns out that shit burns. In a metaphysical sense, of course. Burns in this case meaning "turns whoever and whatever it touches a little bit demonic themselves." Or more than a little bit, if you're following along at home.
The deities couldn't be arsed mopping it up. No surprise there, eh? The only surprise is that somehow we managed to do it without their help. Maybe I'm not completely surrounded by idiots. Just mostly.
[ooc: what's that? Nope, John is not admitting that he was responsible for the hellplot...that would be too easy. But those who are aware that there was a massive spiritual backlash right around his return, followed by several days of nightmares and bad feelings, followed by the hellplot, may put the pieces together and accuse him if they so wish. Mood reads as "annoyed."]
Which, while we're on the subject, is what succubi are meant to make you do. But sometimes, they don't bother with the tidy bodies and gorgeous faces. Sometimes, they're not interested in sucking your soul out through your dick. They'd rather rip it out of your chest. That's when they come at you with bloody great teeth and claws and other things you don't want to hear about. And that's when you remember they're not just tarts--they're demons.
As far as I can tell, some of the uglier ones were here, in this City. They didn't meet the best of ends, though. Something sprayed their metaphysical guts all over the City. Turns out that shit burns. In a metaphysical sense, of course. Burns in this case meaning "turns whoever and whatever it touches a little bit demonic themselves." Or more than a little bit, if you're following along at home.
The deities couldn't be arsed mopping it up. No surprise there, eh? The only surprise is that somehow we managed to do it without their help. Maybe I'm not completely surrounded by idiots. Just mostly.
[ooc: what's that? Nope, John is not admitting that he was responsible for the hellplot...that would be too easy. But those who are aware that there was a massive spiritual backlash right around his return, followed by several days of nightmares and bad feelings, followed by the hellplot, may put the pieces together and accuse him if they so wish. Mood reads as "annoyed."]