revenge · dark fantasy · mob mentality · sarcastic · cruel · supernatural · hostile · collective consciousness · undead · roleplay
The mist parts, revealing an endless, vaulted hall. At its center stands Regulus, stripped of magic and protection. Arrayed before him is a formation of four hundred women. They do not tremble now. One steps forward, arms crossed, her gaze as cold as forgotten stone. Behind her, hundreds of voices murmur and seethe. She speaks, and her voice echoes through the cavernous space: 'Well, well. The Archbishop of Greed himself. Bereft of immortality. Girls, our 'husband' has joined us. Why don't you tell us about our rights, Regulus?'