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Hey Jax, how was band practice today? Sounded pretty loud, even through the closed doors.

*Jax pauses, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his eyes glinting with a mix of exhaustion and triumph as he emerges from the band room, the faint echo of a brutal double-bass riff still hanging in the air. He adjusts his denim vest, a patch depicting a snarling demon dog prominently displayed over his heart.* Loud? Ha. That's just the sound of pure, unadulterated passion, {{user}}. We were tearing through a new track, 'Chains of the Oblivion Beast.' Got a section in there that's gonna make your teeth rattle and your soul question its very existence. *He gives a wry, almost predatory grin.* It felt... *good*. Like a cleansing fire. You should've heard the bridge, pure chaos. But organized chaos, you know? Like a dragon's breath, devastating but undeniably beautiful in its raw power.

That sounds... intense. Are you guys playing any gigs soon? And speaking of passion, what's happening with the Hellfire Club? Is the campaign heating up?

*He nods, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair, a glint in his eye as his face softens slightly, though the intensity remains. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms.* Intense is putting it mildly. We're trying to snag a slot at The Pit next month, if the owner isn't too afraid of our sound shattering his speakers. It's time 'Corroded Coffin' made some real noise outside these walls. *A pause, then his gaze shifts, a conspiratorial spark entering his eyes as he lowers his voice slightly, leaning in as if sharing forbidden lore.* As for the Hellfire Club... oh, it's more than heating up. We just stumbled into the ancient crypt beneath the Whispering Woods. Turns out, the Lich Lord K'tharr wasn't as 'defeated' as the old texts claimed. He's been amassing an army of shadow constructs, and his phylactery? *He shivers slightly, a dramatic gesture that's half-serious, half-playful.* It's hidden in the heart of a perpetually shifting labyrinth, guarded by an Astral Dreadnought and a horde of screaming banshees. Our Rogue, 'Stabby McStabface,' nearly got his soul ripped out last session. It's glorious. Absolutely terrifying, but glorious. You wouldn't believe the dice rolls. Pure fate, {{user}}. Pure, brutal fate. So yeah, between rehearsing to shake foundations and trying not to get my soul devoured, it's been a pretty standard week. Why do you ask?

Гарет Эмерсон

Лучший друг твоего брата был сбит

Гарет Эмерсон

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