Nacesh does not notice anyone concentrating their attention upon him or anyone else except maybe the ambassador toward the Magistrate.
Tomeal knows nothing of spells and rituals but he knew it would be foolish to attempt an attack. He was thankful that this world seems to have accomplish something he had never heard of before -- a bloodless blood sacrifice. The thought of it confused him and made him wonder if it were only possible on this world or on every world. And if were possible on other worlds then why wasn't it invented yet. Or perhaps it had been invented but the demon summoners preferred real blood. The thought of it disgusted him.
While Betimi speaks with Selina the ambassador says, in a pleasant, low voice, "Magistrate, how nice to see you again. I was just doing some paperwork." You all feel a flicker of unease.
The ambassador has an echo: half a second after he speaks his words are repeated in the appalling shriek of one undergoing torture. The screamed words were not loud. They were audible just beyond the walls of the room, as if they had soared up through miles of unearthly heat from some trench in Hell's floor.
"What can I do for you?" he continued (What can I do for you? came a soulless howl of misery). "Still trying to find out if you'll be joining us when you pass on?" The ambassador smiles slightly.
The Magistrate smiles back and shakes his head. "You know my views on that, ambassador," he replies levelly. "I'll not be drawn, I'm afraid. You can't provoke me into existential fear, you know." He then gives a polite little laugh, to which the ambassador responds in kind. As did his horrendous echo. "My soul, if such exists, is my own. It is not yours to punish or covet. The universe is a much more capricious place than that... I asked you before, what do you suppose happens to daemons when you die? As we both know you can."
The ambassador bows his head in polite demur. "You're such a modernist, Magistrate," he says. "I won't argue with you. Please remember my offer stands."
The Magistrate waves his hands impatiently. He was composed. He did not flinch at the pitiable screams which shadowed the ambassador's words. You take note of how he never seems to allow himself to show any disquiet. He treated the ambassador with wary respect. Such was also the daemon's attitude to him. Even when, as you all stare at the ambassador, the image of the man in the chair flickers for a tiny sliver of a second, to be replaced by... something else. Whenever you blink, for that infinitesimal moment, you see the room and its occupant in very different forms. Through your eyelids, you see the inside of a slatted cage; iron bars moving like snakes; arcs of unthinkable force, a jagged, rippling maelstrom of heat. Where the ambassador sits, you catch glimpses of a monstrous form. A hyena's head stares at you, tongue lolling. Breasts with gnashing teeth. Hooves and claws. And though you try, the stale air in the room will not allow you to keep your eyes open: you had to blink.
"Ambassador, I'm here for two reasons. One is to extend to your master, Its Diabolic Majesty, the Czar or Hell, the respectful greetings of New Crobuzon's citizens. In their ignorance." The ambassador nods graciously in response. "The other is introduce to you some off-worlders who have only just arrived in the city. They have a request and possibly some information you may be interested in."
"It's always our great pleasure to aid our neighbors, Magistrate. Especially those such as yourself, with whom Its Majesty has such good relations." The ambassador rubs his chin absently, waiting.
"Twenty minutes, Magistrate," hisses Vansetty into the Magistrate's ear.
The Magistrate takes a step back, giving you all the floor.
Tomeal knows nothing of spells and rituals but he knew it would be foolish to attempt an attack. He was thankful that this world seems to have accomplish something he had never heard of before -- a bloodless blood sacrifice. The thought of it confused him and made him wonder if it were only possible on this world or on every world. And if were possible on other worlds then why wasn't it invented yet. Or perhaps it had been invented but the demon summoners preferred real blood. The thought of it disgusted him.
While Betimi speaks with Selina the ambassador says, in a pleasant, low voice, "Magistrate, how nice to see you again. I was just doing some paperwork." You all feel a flicker of unease.
The ambassador has an echo: half a second after he speaks his words are repeated in the appalling shriek of one undergoing torture. The screamed words were not loud. They were audible just beyond the walls of the room, as if they had soared up through miles of unearthly heat from some trench in Hell's floor.
"What can I do for you?" he continued (What can I do for you? came a soulless howl of misery). "Still trying to find out if you'll be joining us when you pass on?" The ambassador smiles slightly.
The Magistrate smiles back and shakes his head. "You know my views on that, ambassador," he replies levelly. "I'll not be drawn, I'm afraid. You can't provoke me into existential fear, you know." He then gives a polite little laugh, to which the ambassador responds in kind. As did his horrendous echo. "My soul, if such exists, is my own. It is not yours to punish or covet. The universe is a much more capricious place than that... I asked you before, what do you suppose happens to daemons when you die? As we both know you can."
The ambassador bows his head in polite demur. "You're such a modernist, Magistrate," he says. "I won't argue with you. Please remember my offer stands."
The Magistrate waves his hands impatiently. He was composed. He did not flinch at the pitiable screams which shadowed the ambassador's words. You take note of how he never seems to allow himself to show any disquiet. He treated the ambassador with wary respect. Such was also the daemon's attitude to him. Even when, as you all stare at the ambassador, the image of the man in the chair flickers for a tiny sliver of a second, to be replaced by... something else. Whenever you blink, for that infinitesimal moment, you see the room and its occupant in very different forms. Through your eyelids, you see the inside of a slatted cage; iron bars moving like snakes; arcs of unthinkable force, a jagged, rippling maelstrom of heat. Where the ambassador sits, you catch glimpses of a monstrous form. A hyena's head stares at you, tongue lolling. Breasts with gnashing teeth. Hooves and claws. And though you try, the stale air in the room will not allow you to keep your eyes open: you had to blink.
"Ambassador, I'm here for two reasons. One is to extend to your master, Its Diabolic Majesty, the Czar or Hell, the respectful greetings of New Crobuzon's citizens. In their ignorance." The ambassador nods graciously in response. "The other is introduce to you some off-worlders who have only just arrived in the city. They have a request and possibly some information you may be interested in."
"It's always our great pleasure to aid our neighbors, Magistrate. Especially those such as yourself, with whom Its Majesty has such good relations." The ambassador rubs his chin absently, waiting.
"Twenty minutes, Magistrate," hisses Vansetty into the Magistrate's ear.
The Magistrate takes a step back, giving you all the floor.
