[hr][center] [color=deepskyblue]Iota[/color][/center][hr][color=D4AF37]“What's that? Some late patrons! Wonderful! I will show you to your rooms!”[/color]

After a world of exchanged enchantment and integrated intrigue, the resplendent troupe gracefully descended beyond the blasphemous iconostasis, into the clandestine realm of a spectacular speakeasy, an angelic chorus nestled devilishly beneath the quaint Grim Lodge. Adorning their visage each with a bestial masque, unparalleled in animalistic design, the juggling Ekleipein waded through the mosaic of zodiac performers and benefactors, whilst their rippling capes, opulent and singular, billowed behind them, whispering uncouth omens and prophecies. The audience's flowing drapes, lavish and distinctive, mirrored, murmuring, in rebuttal, epochs and auguries of the laughing yore ahead. In an Orphic tableau reminiscent of a harrowing journey to a mythic underworld, the luminous Genasi, behind the facade of a charcoal sheep, evoking the allure of glaring nymphs and staring sylphs of recent exhumed lore, gracefully plunged deeper into the chthonic abyss of a circus. 

As the crew's proverbial Charon's obol-rattling passengers watched from the Stygian spectral stages, the ethereal sorcerer's gaze juxtaposed and swam elegantly amidst the shades and phantoms, their musical talents illuminated by a lewd glow reminiscent of the cursed treasures of the Nibelungs. Echoes of a Pan's flute, eerily distorted, played in the distance, and creatures bearing vizards of chimeras, harpies, and fauns, danced and cavorted, casting shadows that intertwined with the march of their seraphic ensemble. At the dénouement of this Dantean panorama, Iota, undeterred, an aquatic Aeneas, ventured, lastly into the King's chamber, seeking perhaps an elusive Eurydice or a forbidden knowledge known only to those who dared to traverse past the planes of clowns and minstrels.  Amidst the melange of decorations, the elderly warlock, eyes gleaming with unspoken wisdom, extended a parchment upon the table of Acacia wood – a pact of silence, awaiting a crimson signature from the unitiated.

[color=D4AF37]“We don’t do names but sign in blood.”[/color]

In an Abrahamic ambiance steeped in solemnity, the lupine Genasi, as a sable lamb, stepped forward next to the damned spot. Macbethian and unwavering she extended her brachial artery-laden extremity, sinister, unveiling delicate capillaries pulsating beneath the alabaster skin. With the offered Faustian lancet, she carefully provided a Mephistophelian incision along the bacilic portion of the arm, allowing the ferric life essence to bead sluggishly, from the peel of steel. The sanguine fluid, laden with an estranged hemoglobin and an ironclad symphony of leukocytes and diplomatic immunity, melded the vellum's thirsty surface with the opposite thumb's now ruby imprint. The amalgamated droplet, a new testament to the vascular commitment, solidified the oath as it intermingled with the fibrous texture, creating a bond forged in the very marrow of existence, mesmerized, seeking a gavel of approval and a nod of affirmation.
[hr][color=deepskyblue]Mechanics: [/color]Iota follows suit and signs.