#vmain

[pentious]

@bigspinachpuff

"I'm sorry, are you 'Kronk'?" Pentious asked after tapping the strangers shoulder. They're holding a rather illicit item, though it has 'if lost, return to Kronk', with a crude but recognizable self portrait drawn beside the words.

[pentious]

With a newly established hotel, would come staff. More and more wayward souls found their way, so many hoping for a free ride in turn for labor. Which, it was a free ride to begin with. But the princess of hell was oh so generous, fastidious in proving her father wrong. And so, became everyone else's problem.

Sir Pentious had been given the role of hotel doctor. Having practiced medical malpractice in life, it was a strange change of pace. And yet.

After a recent execution, one of the hotel residents had barely gotten out alive. And angelic scimitar had cut his leg clean off. But not clean enough, there was a yawning maw, where the bone protruded like a seeking tongue. Rather gruesome, unpleasant. The entire morning had been spent wasting time taking care of the sinner, but with the job done, Penn could finally fucking relax.

With a bloody white coat, a one-eyed mask hanging from an ear, and currently removing some pretty nasty gloves, Penn walks by the front counter. The gloves are tossed into a garbage that is not meant for medical waste, before the snake wipes a hand across their forehead.

After that, a stiff drink is ordered at the bar. And, oh joy, a new patron. "When did you walk through the door?" Pen asks the stranger, taking a shot in the meantime.

[pentious]

@alteregozowie

Night drapes the corridor in shadow. Overhead bulbs hum a warning unseen. Shadows stain the carpet, and Pen pause before room 8, drawn out by the fragile hush of the night.

They down the hall, making way to the bathroom as an excuse to be out this late. But really, they wandered like this most nights. It isn't always that their skin prickles like this, something feels heavy, and they stop to look behind.

[pentious]

@band-of-demons

Hither and thither through the halls, late this night Pentious wanders. Aimless, amiss. The quiet din of slumber is reassuring, as it ebbs under door-cracks and key-holes.

The peace is broken by a miasma, a feeling in Pent's lungs. That was usually anxiety, or Alastor. Hoping for the former solo, the latter would be both.

Ah, to know you is to love you, and it seems you know, after all. "H-hello?" They venture, not at all eased by the creepy-ass atmosphere.

[pentious]

Open; Rare comfort

In the shimmering depths of Hell, where fire and brimstone are often expected, a surprising calm had taken root. The landscape is not a battleground today, maybe even mundane! The eternally damned can finally find a moment of serenity.

The sky above is a muted canvas of dusky purples and deep reds, softened by the gentle hum of distant, lulling chants of worship. The air carries a faint aroma of smokey embers, a warm and encompassing smell.

Pentious is staying in a cottage by the Lethe river while the hotel is... Renovated. It's like a flower - Cobbles together with molten cement. For now, you head to your desk. On it rests a collection of handwritten letters, tea, and a battered, dog-eared book you were buried with. Across the room, a gentle knock on the door stirs them from your reverie. Opening it, they meet a neighbor: a Lethe-drunk soul, who's had so much of the river water that they can't remember a single thing from life.

She invites you to a potluck that the locals are having. It promises simple fare—a stew of root vegetables, wild herbs, and a hellborn desert that one of the few impa in the area is excited to share.

It's nice here. It's the only place that feels calm. Even then, there's always the foreboding under current of why It's like this.

Here, in this sequestered haven, routines flourish: quiet mornings spent tending to personal matters, afternoons dedicated to sharing stories of long past lives (of those who remember), and evenings under the ember-lit sky to watch the roiling red abyss above.

And so, their day in this peculiar corner of Hell unfolds.

The meal later that night is held at a long communal table, not too far from the river. Pentious brings dish to pass, and immediately poaches what their seated neighbor had brought. They ask the other, "Oh, this is amazing!" Eyes shining, "What is this?" He actually remembers to swallow before speaking again.

[pentious]

@thehazingang88

Pentious had been wandering the halls of the hotel late that night, unable to sleep. In recent months, everyone was getting along so well and-- oh, he just felt so. Estranged? Not right, in any case.

Slithering along the west side hall, he hears foot steps and what sounds like frustrating grumbling, though he could be wrong.

Looking around, his hood fans when he makes for a door, trying to open it before whoever it is can see him. Jerk, jerk. Fuck it's locked. The steps get closer, and he has no choice but to embrace the chagrin smile on his face and wave to... Vaggie! It's Vaggie. That is somehow a relief, because it could have been Alastor. Still, their shoulders tense. "ERM, hello. You're on a stroll too, I see."

[pentious]

Open; Voracious

The depths of Hell; the ancient city of Dis crumbles under the weight of forgotten divinity, fallen gods wander, destitute. Amid perpetual twilight, the once majestic marble columns now serve as relics, telling of an era whence hell was as rich and lively as heaven. Oh, could you even believe it? And yet, restless sinners clash for scraps of power in the labyrinthine streets.

A serpentine androgyne surveys the recent aftermath of the last exorcism. Their name is Pentious, and here, they have been scavenging materials with which to build a defensive machine. Now that they have friends to worry about-- some of their best ideas come to them.

Tonight, the air thrums with a terrible weight. Quiet, as if animals are ready to flee before an earthquake hits. There it is. A piercing cry echoes from the depths of the city, drawing leprous gods, desperate sinners, and curious demons toward the central square.

Pent pockets the copper scraps he's found, looking frantically in the direction of the scream, the sounds of flesh ripping and gorey mastication harmonizing.

About to run for it, he stops just as he remembers today's lesson. "Help those in need." Oh, FUCK. Fuck you Charlie. Seriously.

Making a dash for the shadows, Pentious keeps close to the alley walls as he tries to get closer, keeping an eye out for anyone dangerous. They finger a trigger on their pocket, just in case.

It takes a solid minute, but they finally reach the gurgling screams.

[pentious]

@arachnaemboss

How long had it been, perhaps a century? That would make it... 1988. No, definitely later than that. Pen had lost track of the years.

Everyday sinners were coming in with a strange technology, some have been murdered with CD players, tape players, some buried with their favorite DVDs. Ah! Even the errant 'smart phone'. Useless without its network, but a small brick in an empire ready to be built. And with more deaths every year, hell was beginning to modernize. Faster than it ever had at least, what's to say at glacial speeds. Blink and you'll miss it.

There were parts of hell that were a little more than detritus, rubble and dust perfect to take cover from impending exterminations. Other areas had been fixed up, such as the hotel at the center of the pride ring. This was once and edifice to the king, a castle of sorts. But it's hallowed halls had seen better days. Light rays and dust motes, tattered curtains and thread their carpets.

Pentious had been out from the hotel today, scavenging for materials to complete the project that had been moving along painfully slow. And hours into only an ankles depth worth of luck, Pen swallowed their pride.

Surprising how an information stealer didn't have much information known on him, but some people knew his haunts. And at risk of being double dead, was braved anyway.

A knock to Zestial's door. Despite themself, Pent gave it a rhythm, --..--.