Iblis didn't seem to mind the squeeze, and even gave Mary a tired smile. Then, there was the council. She squared her shoulders, wiped away any trace of tiredness, and stood at attention, as Mary interposed herself at the lady's accusations. Iblis put a hand on Mary's shoulder, flowing past her with grace. Her pink eyes shone with that gentle quality that was the truth of her, hidden by so much posturing and power. She wanted to care for those she loved.... which were all. Those were her true duties, as a reaper, as godmother to the dead, and the damned. She missed her lantern, so. She walked with a flowing grace... on the air? She stopped walking, letting her legs hang, and floated above them, folding her arms behind her, her entire body on display. Her eyes... they glowed with a light that seemed to darken the room around her, instead of brightening it, a vulgar display of power she found absolutely tasteless... but felt absolutely necessary.
"I am the Iblis. Deceiver, in the elder tongue." A truly ill fitting name... given to her by one who did not understand the truth of her nature. Deception wasn't at the core of her being. "I am an archnecromancer. Capable of feats beyond any you have ever witnessed. I dream of empire... and approach you with the offer to join me in this venture. The living have their own struggles... but the dead have a greater purpose. I dream of a utopia... the Deadlands. Where reign the strongest, and where oppression of the dead is but a fading memory. Appropriately prepared, this land will willingly be offered the dead of living nations, who would find it more than expedient to ship off such... problems... elsewhere, especially for favors of economic and military value. This land will be self sustaining, will grow... and will bow to none. I offer you the chance to help found this venture... and retain places of influence and prestige in this new land. Not rulership, however... I will rule. For a time. Once it has reached the point of self sustenance, I will abdicate. I understand you may not trust me, and my intentions in this... but I take no pleasure in the trappings of power, in rulership. I find it burdensome. I will handle military affairs, as well. And I can subject myself to a rite of sealing, that when the time comes, I will be magically compelled to honor my word and abdicate the throne. Insurance. The people will elect their own rulers, who will rule only by the consent of the governed." A lofty dream... and perhaps, if they succeeded, it might mean something. For now, though, Iblis needed simply to collect a war machine. "My power will make the deadlands what it is, however. That is the true... sales pitch, here. Many have tried for such ambitions. For me, with my power... it is an easy thing." She waved a hand, and a black mist seeped along the floor. A dark, necrotic force made almost manifest... a corrupting influence. As it swept past the feet of the vampires, they would feel it... power. Power and vitality flushing into them, their senses sharpening, their bodies strengthening, their minds focusing more than they ever had. "The deadlands will feel my influence, and all the dead upon them will know strength and vitality that they haven't since they were living. Here, the dead will reign supreme... where holy powers are weak, and the strength of the dead is enhanced, greatly. And to you, as a personal boon, I will offer the rites of the Blood Moon. Vampires will feel... far, far greater an effect than this." It would skew the balance of power, greatly, in the vampires favor. They may have heard of the blood moon in legends, but only so. It was a bold claim Iblis made, but the gloom she spread so casually was very real.
She drifted down to the ground, stopped floating, her eyes fading back to pink. She turned, hair brushing back into her face, as she peered over her shoulder at Maryabelle. She crooked a finger, summoning her to her side.
