A collection of names.
To be written into memory.
Only two more yet to be named.

Dyn'yer'zhead.

The beholder, one with a voice like grating horses and an attitude against the warlock to match. As ugly as he was tenacious, too many eyes, not enough personality. Nearly foaming at the atrocious mouth from which the thing spat out each harsh dissonance. It was rather difficult to understand without having to rupture one's own ear drums. And for that reason, there was a pause, the longest pause of a few seconds between them. Where the two men, or at least the umbral one believed the creature was a male, saw each other, eye to eye to eye to eye to eye to eye to eye to eye. It was difficult to stare down those eyeballs but in that moment of silence the message exchanged was clear. The bile and venom felt in that godsawful voice, returned with a more soft spoken calm. A sly knowing glance at understanding her warning now about this entity named... Dinner's-Head. Something like that, although the acquaintance easier on the eyes, in more ways than one, had warned earlier of not crossing or getting this being crossed. Hence perhaps any name calling would have to be withheld until someone other than beholder pronounced his full name.

"Forgive me, but beholders are uncommon sights. You must understand my... Caution." Played to amount of ego-stroking. By guile or by charm, with an apologetic nod, the warlock sought to diffuse what animosity the talking head had. To which before it was finished another from the party rushed into the interrogation with a question of her own. A frozen throne appeared, the benefits of being surrounded by copious water was it not? Such a paradise for spellcasters who shaped the waves and seas. A cold-hearted maiden perhaps? As the turns turned into a winter's flurry, the click of daggers for heels dug into the earthly flesh. The fallen's infernal gaze became drawn into the storm approaching. Who was this? This dark lady who melted her shell of ice away to reveal the pallor of drow skin? Ah the cold never bothered him anyways. For what a pair would they make at night? For is it not said that there was never more a perfect pair than cold and dark?

Koan.

Another question posed. Something about drinking pink? Nevermind the luxury of drinking underwater, but the curiosity of who this girl was and the queerness of her question. Illogical as it seemingly came out of nowhere, but a refreshing break from the mangled mess of common the beholder bellowed out. A voice sweet as it was disarming, like the aasimar's but more... Persuasive? Where one had the child-like innocence, the half-drow's voice had the sultry allure that would melt a heart down in a different way. Was this some, hazing rite? A slight confusion raised a single brow as the beholder faded into the backdrop, and the aasimar's touch seemed a distant memory. And soon it was her dusky fingers that gripped his shoulders. Hands clenched around his throat, tight, but not as tight as a collar. Gripped and led to the siege perilous, as his shadow hound melded back into the ground to become a normal shadow. It did not like what was happening evidently, and cared not enough to stay. Or was it the warlock himself that recalled the shadow? In case he needed to escape this... Ritual.

Pink to red, or indeed pink. Pale cheeks flushed in silence, as the strange jester worked her magic. No, not the magic she had used to craft her chair and don her false face, but one that utilized her true face. And perhaps the somatic components of this ritual were, far more erotic than most? The grinding motions made across the shadowy armor, solid but not solid. Indeed with her gyrations, the entertainer may feel the true nature of Sauron's dark armor. It was, never truly there, not all the time at least, but she surely would have understood the moment her hands touched his shoulders that there was more give to the armor than expected. At which, what her rhythmic actions would feel may surprise her, or perhaps even excite her as a surprised Sauron watched half-mesmerized, half-confused.

Then there was the exquisite pain. A cut from an edge of ice, cold but not numbing. A delicious release, inked with crimson as the fallen one's blood washed the waters with its incarnadine taint. His soft gasp of surprise and ecstasy audible only perhaps by the woman bleeding him. Harvesting his blood into the unholy grail, a sacrament of wine, chilled as he watched her with golden glow. It seemed only they existed for this moment, this basking of beautiful pain inflicted upon his red cheeks redder. Yes, strange as she was, this was a more welcome greeting as his scarlet anointment as the sanguine rain showered them with mercy and carnality. A slow nod offered himself to her, transfixed by the moment in their public privacy. Their eyes met his eyes, all three of hers reflecting his own form seated upon his icy restraints. His shadow self in the very pupil of her third eye which opened like a deadly blossom upon her fair drow brow. A kiss drew him into her spell, deeper as she demanded more of him. Yes, a tithe given freely, and in place of a dark shadow, he would have a Queen. Not dark, but beautiful and terrible as the dawn, treacherous as the sea! Stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love her, and despair!

Despair. Reality snapped back, or rather the Koan did. Pulled back by a hand which grabbed her by the nape. Pulled off and peeled off, by a pair of clawed paws. And yet another pair of eyes now dissected Sauron as he sat back in the crafted chair. A deep inhale taken as his cheek still bled away slowly. A superficial cut, and a baptism in blood. His senses returned from the high and stimulation, recollecting his thoughts and hair. What had just happened? Was this not a test they conducted to every newcomer?

Nemiea.

"My apologies. That was... Unexpected." The answer to the feline-lizard came. Her eyes were mixed, an interesting note although perhaps it was expected of one who mixed their blood? Ah to speak of blood while having enjoyed shedding your own. The warlock himself was no proponent of piety and holiness, with all the vices that he had sanctified as the norm. The moment of cold heat gone, as the dark aasimar unfolded himself from his seat with the shadows composing his armor seeming to condense around him tighter. As a man may zip up his trousers and tightening his tie to be more presentable after such a lecherous show and afterglow. Oh that's right, they were doing all this in public were they not? Perhaps the drow would offer to cut more places across his excited body, already waiting to feel her frozen blade lacerating across his flesh. "Please, do not chide her, Koan was it? Enthusiasm Nemiea, it was certainly an experience to enter this group." 

Jill.

"So... Jill. Is this the freedom you have found?" A question of his own now posed. A strange lot of friends she had for one so young. But who was in charge? Dyn or Jill? As it seemed one had the bite of a leader, while the other had more the charisma for it. They were drawn to her authority it seemed, or at least that was what the dracofeline suggested with her plea. "It is Unique."

[hider=mechantics]
Insight Roll to determine the nature of Koan's antics: 1d20 + 0 = 4 + 0 = 4.
[/hider]