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Myrenae listened to the Elder God's representative with minimal interest. Every single person seemed to be disinterested in how such a strategy could, and would be carried out. It won't matter who we're paired with? Really now? Was a classical example of groupthink going to have them rushing into this without hardly any forethought whatsoever?

Myr sighed deeply, "Solomon, I believe I comprehend the plan in it's entirety... We are going to implement a plan that would require the complete collaboration and passivity of all organizations involved, correct? What you suggest is that we all take up the banner of harmony and ignorance, and accept such idealistic drivel. Who is to say that Jack here, or Lord Sarith, wouldn't attempt to decieve and slaughter everyone, as soon as the group attains the Scales? Of course, the composition of the group is based on conjecture, but I think you understand my basic point." As she concluded, Myr impatiently began to roll her wrist, the bones pulling apart for mere second, and reducing pressure on the synovial fluid. She always cracked her wrists when she became agitated.

"And Solomon, we aren't thieves. There is only a hint of honor among them anyways. Practically every thief here would probably betray their "comrades," if they knew they could get away with no mortal wounds and a fortune to spend. The honor you speak of simply survives because the thieves guilds are a large network of suppliers - If you damage the sales or savings of a thief by killing or threatening his only source of a needed supply, of course the thief is going to try to exterminate you." She smirked acidly.

Myr took an insignificant sip of the wine that was poured for her before she continued, "Not one of us could be trusted to carry out the plan as it was originally intended. Our masters wouldn't allow it. Yes, I do realize that we will never obtain the Scales if we don't work together." She slowly motioned to the high, ribbed ceiling above them. "However, if by some miracle the plan does work accordingly to every precise detail, what do you propose we do with the Scales of Creation, and where do you intend on housing the artifact?" A few of the people that had accompanied her here uttered their agreements.

"Were you going to suggest a way of forcing each group to remain cooperative, or am I overlooking something crucially specific?"

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Solomon smiled again, an expression of glacial coldness. "Yes, there is something that is being overlooked. We all hate the Dozen more than we hate each other. Would you work with those around you long enough to see the high priestess of Pelor gutted like a fish? Or the most holy of the holy knights butchered like a cow? Maybe see the horror in the half-orc bastard's eyes as he sees his wife thrown to the troops to be violated and discarded?"

The smile became a grin. "Which of the Dozen do you hate, daughter of Asmodeus? Or maybe it isn't the Dozen you hate, but the others that follow their ideals. Let me explain something. If we tilt the Scales our way, the whole of creation will favor us. Armies will falter, kingdoms will shake, and gods will die. We know the location of a device that can command the universe, and the lot of you are going to pass it up because you are having a bit of a squabble with someone else who would gain from it."

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"There are three kinds of plan. The fast plan, the good plan, and the sneaky plan. The fast plan works because by the time anyone knows you're there, you're already stabbing them in the face. The good plan works because they know you're going to stab them in the face, but they can't do anything about it. The sneaky plan works because while you were listening to me explain all this, I stole your sandwich."

Jack shook his head, listening to the arguments of his "fellows". He stood again, addressing the crowd.

"I'm sorry my dear, but the solution of what to do with the scales is incredibly easy. We are following the Dozen's example by putting together a group of adventures, why not carry that further? The Dozen took the scales and split them into pieces; why not give one piece to each of our different factions? They can be split apart and still work; we've seen it happen. Why can't we do it that way?

Jack paused for a breath, his eyes searching the crowd.

"You know why they won? Why a small group of adventurers can cause such a difference? Because they can put aside their squabbles and work for the greater good. Well, why can't we put aside our differences and work for the greater evil? Who says? And if our masters don't like it, well, they'll be pleased enough when we succeed. You know why they sent second-stringers here? I'm not saying that everyone here is, but how many of the devil princes and demon lords do you see here? Any? None of us thieves are the heads of our guilds. We're here because we're good enough to get this done, but still expendable and replaceable. We're here because we can get the task done, but it won't ruin our master's greater plans. Isn't that how the 'good' groups work too? Did the Dozen start as the most powerful men and women in the world? No! They started as a motley crew."

Jack was on a role. He had never had a position of power or authority before, but the words poured from in a fountain, as he explained the things that were obvious to him. Adventuring was in his blood, wasn't it? It was his turn to change the world, his way.

"We don't really have a choice. We have to do this. If they have the scales, we're all doomed really. Because they'll remember... good always does. They'll turn it into a ceremony or something, and every fifty years or so, the Dozen's children will get together, and put the scales in place, and fix the balance in their favor. I've had enough of this argument. If you don't like what we're doing here, you can leave. If you do, you won't get a piece of the scales, and you won't get to send someone on the journey. But if you can't hack it, or you won't, get the hell out of here. Stop wasting our time."

Namfoodle reclined in the fine chair and listened to what had quickly turned into a heated debate. He peered at those who spoke, each making sense in a way; except the one in purple, too much insulting, too little persuasion, in Oneshoe's opinion. The undead devil-worshipping wench and the lowly pick-pocket had caught Namfoodle's interest most of all, though. He listened intently as they went on about being for and against the plan. Looking down at his staff, the thief began speaking again of worst-case scenarios and such. Suddenly, Namfoodle realized he was indifferent to the whole state of going-ons. Why should he care? All he wanted was lichdom and more power. He represented the Citadel nomes, yes, but he truly didn't feel as compelled as one should. Oneshore reassured himself that there'd be other things benefitting him along the way; maybe even lichdom itself. Then, the human thif stopped speaking. It was a convincing speech, for a human; no doubt about it. Then, Namfoodle stood up.

"I.. though I loathe to say it.. agree with the human. Many of you not in favor of this plan bring up valid and important points! But listen, if we do not do this, what shall we do? We have no other plans to turn to, and certainly shouldn't sit here for a week formulating one. We waste precious time as we wait, and surely the caravans of evil-folk coming to the citadel drew some attention to ourselves, no? We have to take this chance because its simply all we have! No longer do we have the strength to assemble unholy armies, or to create some doomsday weapon. Let us win the world before our old hatreds set in and we're at each other's throats. If someone were to steal a scale, or try to assemble all of them for their lord they'd surely fail. That over-ambitious faction would be targetted by all the others before they could make any progress. At least let evil itself win the world over before you try to steal the scales, for the sake of us all, including yourself. Now, can we just draw our damned sticks and get this over with? I know most of us are getting bored and irritated with the slow progress of this meeting."

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RPs:
Warhammer 40,000: The Inquisition Sci-Fi Rp. Go for it.

Myrenae fixed her eyes on the thief, speaking in an icy, bitter tone, "You presume that you are the one to choose, who is to go? And you've also decided on who will not get a part of the Scales?" She began laughing almost hysterically, except there was no hint of elation or humor in her chuckle. Only after a few brief moments did it cut off, abruptly. "I would have thought that those who sent for us would be given that priveledge. I suggest that you cease such barking of orders and decrees." She rolled her eyes, exceedingly annoyed, before turning her attention back to Solomon.

"Despite the fact that I have been contesting this plan, I was only desiring that the specifics be stated, in order to combat any doubts. We must have an acute sense of what must be done, in order for evil to succeed and thrive. We must know exactly why we are doing this, and how everything will fit into place - so we will not question our intentions later." Myr smiled diabolically as she went to answer the gnome's previous question, "And I would love nothing more than to torment Lianne Sol. To hear her shrieks of misery as she is..," Her eyes closed for a moment as she lightly shuddered with pleasure, deciding not to finish the thought aloud.

"Very well then. I have been convinced, for the most part. You have my support, but not necessarily the full support of King Asmodeus." Myr smiled mischieviously over to the gnome that had made it's presence known earlier - Namfoodle. "And Namfoodle has also brought up an excellent point; something that I've been pondering over throughout these proceedings. Any faction who would steal the Scales, will be obliterated. I hope everyone here recognizes this."

For the most part, the arguing and bickering was over. She loathed being a stick in the mud, but it was the only way to draw out the flat statements and declarations she yearned for. She sat down quickly, pleased to be out of the spotlight. Asmodeus had instructed her to make some of these facts known, and then melt back into the crowd. She didn't know whether the second part would ever be possible, after her 'performance'.

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The crowd chattered among themselves, though the bickering tone had leeched out and seemed to have been replaced by one of thoughtful consideration. Solomon looked around the room. "So what will it be, gentlemen?"

One of the Long fang tribe representatives stood up. He was an old man, wrapped in shamanistic totems. "We find the Dozen, tear their throats out, rip their hearts from their chests, and take back the world!" A chorus of cheers rose to this. The room had decided, though there were several knots of resistance visible. Solomon unrolled a long parchment. He wispered with the gnome beside him, put a line through something on the parchment, and turned back to the audience.

"Well, if we are agreed, we will select names. If anyone wishes to back out now, feel free to show yourselves to the door." He looked around, his gaze pausing on certain groups. Ater a moment, someone stood, a massive man in blackened plate.

"The Church of Bel wants no part of this. We fight, not resort to trickery. We will lend aid should your adventurers enter our realm of influence, but we will not involve ourselves directly." He turned and left, the two warriors with him hurrying to match his gigantic strides. Solomon looked around again. No one stood to follow the cult of Bel. He scratched another line across the parchment. Letting go of it, it floated in the air for a moment, before slicing itself into horizontal strips. He plucked out two, and put the remainder in a bowl provided by a steward.

"Those of you with sharp eyes and magical talent, please feel free to ensure that there is no trickery here." He stirred the names in the bowl, eyes clsoed. A few spilled out, only to be snatched up by the steward and tossed back in again. Solomon opened his eyes again. "The first group. The Drow Empire. The bards of Darkhallow. The church of Erythnul. The Knights of the Black Rose. The druids of Drake Spire. The church of Eblis." He raised an eyebrow at that. "Not a bad draw for the rest of you, having the demonic patron of refusal to surrender helping you. Please choose your representatives." He waited for the room to quiet a bit as the six groups picked who to send.

"Next group. The orc tribes. The People of the Black Blood. The cult of Prince Levistus. The Iron Dog bandit kingdom." He frowned at the next name. "I don't think any of us expect the cult of Levistus to work hand-in-hand with the followers of Demogorgon, so we'll send one of our own mages. And lastly, the monks of the Way of the Viper." Again, he waited.

"Next. The ogre kingdom of Boss Gramous. The Collective Assassins' Guilds. The church of Hextor. The Sorcerors of the Unseeing Eye. The church of Mammon the Viscount. The Shattered Moon cult."

"Next. The cult of the Devourer Worm. The Grey Dwarves of Low King Kdar Anvilcrusher. The mages of the Blackened Hand. The church of Archduke Baalzebul. The monks of Jokund Mai. The Frink Hivemind."

"Next. The Bone Reavers. The church of The Archduchess Glasya. The barony of Count Julius von Drak. The Ancient Order of Sin. The church of the Red Queen Wee Jas. The hobgoblins of the World's Teeth mountains."

"Last group. The Long Fang Tribe. The Elder Gods cult. The church of Asmodeus. The Plague Land necromancers. The Associated Thieves' Guilds. And... Are the Long fang Tribes still warring with the church of Malar?" A series of snarls from the animalistic priests of the Beast God answered him. "Alright, we'll send one of our own again. Namfoodle, since you made such a stir coming in, you get to go."

Solomon took another drink of water. "Those of you not called are expected to lend aid whenever those who were operate within your lands. Anyone refusing to do so will be dealt with. And please, bear in mind that Queen Harcona raised this Citadel by herself, in one night. Don't irritate her by letting petty rivalries get in the way, hmm? Now, each of the teams will be provided with several items that will prove invaluable. Teams, please assemble by the main gate."

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"There are three kinds of plan. The fast plan, the good plan, and the sneaky plan. The fast plan works because by the time anyone knows you're there, you're already stabbing them in the face. The good plan works because they know you're going to stab them in the face, but they can't do anything about it. The sneaky plan works because while you were listening to me explain all this, I stole your sandwich."

Jack looked around at the other Thieves' guild representatives. Two humans, who squirmed in their chairs, and refused to meet his gaze, and two halflings who were more busy stuffing their silverware into their belt pouches to pay any attention. Well, none of them seemed to be adventuring material. And besides, they had let him speak for the whole of them earlier, they surely would now.

"You," he pointed at one of the halflings, "give me your lockpicks. The rest of you, twenty gold each. Otherwise, I'll tell them that you want to go on this adventure of theirs." Molified, the two halflings and one of the humans threw purses and picks at Jack. The other human groaned, and stood, drawing his sword.

"Come on, Jack, you wanted this, it's your duty to go."

In a flash, Jack's red blade was out of its scabbard, and in the chest of the thief. Crimson blood spurted, the same color as the sword. Jack reached down, and carefully cleaned out the man's possessions. Forty gold, another set of lockpicks, two serviceable daggers. Jack sighed as he took back his sword, wiping the blade upon the dead man's coat.

He took his new possessions, and turned to walk out of the room, towards the main gate.

Sarith wondered, would he get the chance to go? It wasn't up to him, Madrigal, would surely want the thunder on this one...unless...he could coax him into thinking, otherwise...turn Madrigals, cowardice..against him, he grinned arrogantly, feeling quite witty. "To hell with this! This is all a setup! I swear it, they seek only to lure us into the open, pairing us with...lacking..comrades, Madrigal, I do believe, that this is [i]your[i] chance! You could die, and, prove to everyone that you're a god even in death, as you so often claim." Madrigals expression tightened, he was deeply contemplating these words, not sure what to think, he'd obviously been afraid of death, as Sarith, expected his cowardice would betray him.

"Who's to say I'd die?" Madrigal asked, arrogantly, but, that was merely a defensive tactic, he'd no idea that Sarith read him like an open book. "You would, you'd put up a great fight, but, there sheer force, and numbers would overwhelm you, for all we know, they could have lycans on their side...transforming into a dog for eternity...that is an unwelcome though." Sarith teased, the lycan suggestions really made Madrigals stomach turn, Sarith had to fight the feeling of laughter, he couldn't reveal his ploy. "Well, you should be the one risking your neck, not me, you're utterly useless to us, so, you'll go in my place, that's an order, and if you choose to defy me, well, then I will have you rendered a slave to my will." he threatened, keeping his authority in check, still cloaking his true feelings, he was quite convincing. "You can't do this to me! I don't want to die, yet! You bastard!" Sarith plead, deceitfully, of course, he wanted to go, Madrigals smile turned, wickedly, as if he had just sent Sarith to his damnation, but, in actuality, he'd done Sarith a great favor, he was dumb, but, valued his power, and, his skill.

Madrigal spoke up, his voice boomed, it was deep, authority entwined with his words "This...worm...will represent us." he was pointing to Sarith. Sarith turned around, and, let his smirk form, he'd done well, now he'd have his shot at greatness, he couldn't let anyone mess this up, he'd kill anyone who dared try. "I suppose I shall, and, I must say...the group is pleasing, balanced, as I proposed." He spoke up, trying to sound dismayed, but, it was hard when you actually weren't. He was content with everything, the group, the plan, getting away from Madrigal, maybe he'd even be able to kill Madrigal someday, he'd take great pleasure in that.

They'd be supplied with equipment, shoddy, of course, but it was better then getting ripped off by some half-rate merchant, trying to swindle, swindlers. He was headed for the gate, he was eager now, much more then before, before, he didn't think he'd actually be representing the necromancers. It was comforting to know a long fang was coming along, he'd absorb all the attentions, so, he could sit in the background castings spells to destroy his enemy. He was still uneasy knowing the thief was coming along, but, at least he wouldn't be trying to pick his pocket, they all had missions, the same one, and they'd all be expected to complete them, or face a terrible death, which, Sarith, personally wasn't ready for.

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I feel it everyday it's all the same.
It brings me down, but I'm the one to blame.
I've tried everything to get away.
So, here I go again chasing you down again.
Why do I do this?
It feels like everyday stays the same.
It's dragging me down, and I can't pull away.
Over and over, over and over you make me fall for you.
Over and over, over and over You don't even try to.
I try to live without you, every time I do I feel dead.
I know what's best for me, but I want you instead.

Hebrert sunk back into his chair as the others started talking. There wasn't a whole lot left for him to say, anyway. The representatives from the other branches of the cult weren't even looking at him any longer - he was no one special, and thus easy to ignore. Soon, even those that had glared at him before were ignoring him, caught up in the rest of the argument. Now, Herbert didn't at all mind being ignored, but at the arrogant tone of the others his vision went red and his teeth started grinding together. Neck bent, his face was hidden from view and none could see how close he was to exploding in a cascade of violent magics, and he fought it as best he could. After all, he wasn't much interested in dying then and there. It was only with great effort that he managed to hear the names being drawn, and by the time all the names had been drawn there were bloody trenches in his armrests where he'd dug through the wood with his nails. Two of them were still stuck in the chair. As the cults were drawn, the entire group broke into whispered arguments about who would go.

The different branches all wanted to push the responsibility onto the others, and no one wanted to accept it. It took about half a minute before anyone took notice of the purple-robed one, frozen in his seat. All of a sudden, everyone remembered that he spoke out and, gathering around his chair, they declared that he would be the one to go. When he made no sign of responding, one old, black-clad man jabbed him in the gut with a tentacled rod. Herbert's hands went slack and he doubled over, falling face-first out of the chair. He eventually crawled to his feet, coming face to face with the one who stabbed him. The old one repeated the verdict, and Herbert nodded. "Yes, yes, I will go". He tried to brush his robes off, but didn't manage anything more productive than getting blood all over them. Oh, well. At least this'd be the last he had to see of the Old One cults for a while.

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If your signature is larger than your post, you're wasting space. If your signature is larger than your average post, you need brain surgery. Or a brain.

The Long Fang cannibals were arguing. Most of the representatives were wendigos, which made the arguing loud and hard to follow, but it seemed that they all wanted to go. The shaman, a small withered man, sat quietly as the half-dozen snarling monsters shouted at each other over his head. He looked annoyed. The argument stopped when he belted one of them in the mouth with his staff.

"Kordun, you are an idiot. Brave, but an idiot. Resken, you've a whelp, and would likely get yourself killed in some humiliating manner. Hirkusk, you haven't even ascended yet. Nartal, this is a task for warriors, not shamans. Makoma, you go. And the first one who argues with me gets skinned." His eyes told them that it was not an idle threat.

The wendigo that broke off from the group was not the largest, but was close. As he left for the gate, be shrank in on himself. Fur was yanked backwards into the skin, tusks and fangs retreated into the gums, and muscles shrank down to a level that was merely impressive rather than massive. The man remaining looked a bit brutish, and the fur garment he threw over himself did not help.

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"There are three kinds of plan. The fast plan, the good plan, and the sneaky plan. The fast plan works because by the time anyone knows you're there, you're already stabbing them in the face. The good plan works because they know you're going to stab them in the face, but they can't do anything about it. The sneaky plan works because while you were listening to me explain all this, I stole your sandwich."