The Ignus Fatuus was an ever busy, ever debauched and pulsated with an alluring and intoxicating primal pulse; the atmosphere itself seemed burdened down by the cloying cocktail of scents of perfume, sweat and alcohol. Here the worries and troubles of the world were stripped away as easily as clothes, pressed along by the consumption of all manner of drugs and alcohol leading to a stupefying maelstrom of corruption. At the centre of the storm, Erasmus stood and observed, like some voyeuristic addict; though he sometimes stepped into the madness. Too see but not touch, to smell not taste would take far more willpower than he could ever claim to possess but he was always careful not to get carried away by the rough waters that swirled around him. He’d seen too many creatures corrupted into nothing more than mindless husks to ever ward him away from that life.

Beyond that, his second calling always kept him tethered to a modicum of moderation and a grasp on sanity, that eternally satisfying sense of power and control which came from the flow of information. Secrets scurried their way towards him, carried along by a tide of money and favour that flows even easier than that of information in this city. Corruption lay at the core of Enigma, and it oozed throughout every part of the city no matter the denizens, their affluence or their supposed moral standing. It is what made the city so intriguing and so appealing, especially to a mind like his own. It was a haven and a hedonist’s dream, just the kind of haunt that Erasmus felt most at home in. 

It had been the murmurs of rebellion and even possible revolution from the darkest slums; a pro-human movement that sought to overthrow the ‘monsters’ that had established themselves as the top of the pile. As an elf, logic would dictate that he act out against such a pro-human and anti-creature agenda, but as a hedonist and borderline anarchist, it was an alluring potential. It was a curious movement, led by someone he’d only heard referred to as ‘Mason’ not that it meant anything to him. The true identity of their leader had frustratingly avoided his reach, ever dancing beyond his fingertips like smoke on the wind. It was not frustrating so much as challenging, here was a character that was able to avoid both the power of the Elders and the intrigue of his own network. Yet he could not let himself in to melancholy, the end of the night drew near; the last actions of the desperate unwilling to relinquish their otherworldly night drew near and their grim reality would settle in once again.

He stirred from his lounge where he’d been lazing alone for perhaps the last hour, time itself seemed to become convoluted in the club. Even after spending nearly every night here for three years it still carried out its designed purpose of drawing the mind into an almost lucid dream state; the body was abandoned and the senses overwhelmed. The club was rather unique in the fact that it possesses several distinct areas; there was a quiet bar out the back where many of the ultra-elite clientele haunted, there was the exotic rooms below where almost any desire was satisfied and others but where he truly loved was the Pit; where the young, the desperate, the lonely and the depraved gathered to form a kaleidoscopic clash of creation. He’d built a private room which hung over the room, allowing an observational wonder of it all. Few of his establishments could be considered quiet or tame, but then few could claim to be akin to Ignus Fatuus; it was every inch the suggestion of its name, a foolish fire than one could bask in the warmth just as easily as be consumed by the heat. 

As he watched the last vestiges of these frantic souls surrender themselves to the approaching morning from the most hedonistic of nights, a grim smirk betrayed itself unto his face. All these people, all the chaos they created when they came would soon spill itself out onto the streets of Enigma. Half of him longed for the status quo which would come from assisting the Elders crush Mason while the other longed for him to aid Mason to bathe the streets in chaos and blood. Just as he’d been torn asunder by his internal division, so could Enigma be torn asunder and then would the corruption truly begin to flow out.