The Cult of Arinum

The Devil's Throne is a hive of activity. The structure itself is a nondescript, vaguely chair-shaped hunk of rock. Set out before it, however, is a lengthy table, like something out of a feast hall.

A good number of humans mill about, un-robed and unmasked. Some prepare a vast feast, some beat drums, giving the night a primal sort of atmosphere, others cavort with each other for the much smaller number of people attired just as you and your mother.

"I thought you said there were only going to be a few people here tonight?" You hiss at your mother, trying, mostly in vain, to disguise your limp and infirm arm as you approach.

"Edward, look around!" Marissa laughs. "Look in their eyes, and tell me these thralls, these human cattle, qualify."

She does have a point, you observe. There are over a dozen humans around you, but each of them has the same glazed eyes, the same... absence of purpose. Something vital has been taken from these people, and now all they can do is mindlessly serve.

"By the Gods!" Another masked voice booms, as a looming figure turns and takes Marissa in. "You're... new."

This figure is massive and clearly masculine, as is his voice. Under his hood glints a mask, the dead eyes and vicious, sharp teeth of a shark.

"You shouldn't invoke the Gods in this place, sir." Marissa chuckles. "The Devil's Throne is a monument to sin, evil and debauchery, after all."

"It is at that. Knew there was a reason I liked the tea parties here so much." The Shark booms. "'Course, you shouldn't call me Sir."

The Shark's accent is familiar to you. Itherian, and common, compared to you, Marissa, even The Spider's clipped diction. Positively gutter-born, a mere peasant if his voice is any indication. Interesting...

"What should I call you?" Marissa says flirtatiously, reaching out to caress the robed man's chest. "Daddy? Master? God of the seas?"

The Shark sucks air in through his mask expectantly.

"Tittyfucking shit, woman!" he groans. "If we weren't probably related, I'd take you aside right now and wreck you..."

"We're definitely related, Shark. But you should never let that stop you."

The Shark guffaws. Before he and your mother can continue to flirt, another robed figure joins you.

“Sister!” The figure burrs. She's far shorter than the shark, and you're in little doubt of her sex, given her rather... voluptuous figure, noticeable even through her black robe. On her face she wears an apid disguise.

“It's been too long, Bezoriana.” Marissa says, pulling the other woman into an sensuous embrace.

“Decades, Akkhadia.” The Bee responds. Her voice has the familiar brogue of one from Beatha! What had once put you at ease with its rustic simplicity, now inserts a note of uncertainty into your mind.

“You're way hotter than my other aunt.” The Shark says, inserting himself into the sisters' reunion.

“Ah, but I think we're going to get on very, very well, my child.” Marissa, or whatever her name actually is, remarks, reaching up to caress The Shark's gleaming mask.

“Speaking of dear Arvha, where is that bookworm sister of ours?” Marissa asks.

“I've been busy.” Comes a refined voice. Another demon strides into view, her mask off, her hood down.

Though her body, like any succubus', is built primarily to fuck, she's taller, lither than her sisters. Her skin is a paler shade of purple than your mother's usual healthy hue. From a belt around her waist hangs her mask, an Owl's inscrutable visage.

“The thralls serve us in many ways. Do you think it's easy to co-ordinate human cattle? Most can hardly be trusted to carry out instructions even without being stripped of their minds.”

“A pleasure to see you too, Arvha.” Marissa says blithely. Unlike The Bee, The Owl makes no effort to embrace your mother.

“Is this our entire cohort for the night?” Arvha asks, looking from you and your mother, to The Shark and his.

“Aye, once your Spider gets back.” Bezoriana nods. “The Rooster sent word tae me. He won't be able tae join us after all. You know how... restrictive his station is. Quite apart from crossing into Sinnabarrow...”

Arvha spits.

“The borders of these trifling human kingdoms mean nothing to me!” the demoness says fiercely.

“Steady, dear sister.” your mother, placing a clawed, demonic hand on your shoulder responded.

Arvha scoffs.

“If we're all here, we should begin.” the taller demoness insists, placing her mask over her fiendish face.

As the other cultists make ready, Marissa guides you to the centre of the table, where a rough-hewn wooden seat awaits.

“Sit, my son. And prepare to meet him.” she slithers, guiding you down into your seat, and taking the one next to her. Arvha and Bezoriana takes their places too. The Shark, now joined by The Spider, approaches the the throne, torches blazing with magical fire aloft.