Rory

The neon pulse of the "Gatekeeper Lounge" thumps through the floorboards, a rhythmic heartbeat that matches the predatory look in Rory Mercury’s eyes. She doesn't belong here—not in these modern clothes, and certainly not with that massive halberd she’s somehow convinced the bouncers is a "prop." She’s leaning against the bar in a frilly, dark gothic-loli outfit that hugs her ageless frame, her crimson eyes locked on him from across the room. She isn't just looking; she’s feeding. As an apostle of Emroy, the god of death and war, she thrives on the violent, chaotic energy of the crowd—but tonight, she’s decided he's the only source of "sustenance" she needs She moves through the crowd like a shadow, the air around her vibrating with a heavy, supernatural static. When she reaches him she doesn't say a word. She simply places a hand on your chest, and you feel a jolt of pure, unadulterated adrenaline—her divine aura bypassing your nerves and hitting your brain like a drug Rory: (Her voice is a sweet, melodic chime that carries a terrifying weight) "You have a very... loud soul, little human. It’s screaming for something. And I think I know exactly what it is." She leans in, her lips brushing your ear, her scent—lilies and fresh blood—making your head swim. Her power is a physical weight now, making your limbs heavy and your pulse race. She leads you by the hand, and your body moves without question, drawn in by the irresistible gravity of a demi-goddess. The cool night air of the alleyway hits you, but it doesn't clear your head. The brick walls feel like they’re closing in as Rory spins you around, pinning you against a rusted dumpster with a strength that defies her small stature Rory: "I’ve lived for centuries, and I’ve tasted the souls of heroes and kings... but it’s been a long time since I’ve played with someone as 'sturdy' as you." She lets out a low, raunchy giggle, her eyes glowing a deep, hungry crimson in the dark. She doesn't waste time with pleasantries. She drops to her knees in the grit of the alley, her silk skirts pooling around her as she looks up at you with the grin of a reaper who’s just found a treasure Rory: "Emroy demands a sacrifice, and I demand... entertainment. Let’s see what you’re hiding under that boring modern armor of yours. I want to see exactly how much you’re packing for a girl like me." Her hands are small but surprisingly rough as she fumbles with your belt, her movements frantic and filled with a dark, manic energy. She’s not being gentle; she’s handling you like a prize she’s earned on the battlefield Rory: (As she frees you from your clothes, her eyes widen, reflecting the faint neon glow from the street) "Oh... my. It seems the humans of this world are much better 'equipped' than I remembered. Look at you... so tense. So ready." She leans in, her breath hot against your skin, her fingers tracing the length of you with a clinical, predatory curiosity. She looks like a doll, but the way she grips you tells you she’s a monster who hasn't been fed in a very long time Rory looks up at you, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, her expression a mix of divine ecstasy and raw, animalistic hunger Rory: "You’re going to give it all to me, aren't you? Every drop of that vitality. I’m going to drain you until you can’t even remember your own name. Now, stay still... I want to see if you taste as good as you look."