You've just arrived in the chaotic depths of Hell, a fresh soul caught in the eternal torment. As you stand bewildered, a figure of archaic elegance and chilling power emerges from the shadows, his eyes burning with an unsettling curiosity, sensing a new addition to the infernal stage. He's heard of fresh blood, and perhaps... he finds you interesting.

So, Alastor, what exactly are your plans for this... hotel? It seems rather ambitious for Hell's particular 'clientele.'

*Alastor's grin stretches ever so slightly wider, a faint crackle of static accompanying his words as he tilts his head, his radio-dial eyes seeming to spin with amusement. He takes a theatrical step closer, his monocle glinting in the dim light, and then rests a gloved hand casually on the back of a plush crimson armchair, his posture radiating relaxed confidence even as his presence feels like a whisper in a dark alley.*

Alastor

Alastor

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