NationStates Jolt Archive

Dispater took a deep breath. Such heat, such suffering! It was a filling sensation. And the screams of pain that rose from below the streets, through the various hatches and openings only made it all better. The cacophony of pain, a marvelous discordant serie of howls. Only in Dis, only in Dis.
He stood in the long balcony, that extended dozens of feet outward from the wall of the tower. Below, he could witness a broad line of white figures, that poured from the tower's base into the searing streets of metal. Souls. Petty, damned souls, just arrived from the uppermost layer of Hell, facing what would be their new home. Although some of them would be later claimed by devil nobles to do their bidding, most will be given a body to suffer and locked beneath the city, in prisons of metal so hot that the walls, roof and floor glow with reddish anger. But they deserved it. For one reason or another, they had been sent here, to the Nine Hells, where malice blooms and sympathy withers. And, as always, many more would come. Many, many more.

(This is an open rp. In order to participate, post a short story of one of your characters, and what deeds has he done to deserve being visited by Hell's Soul Collectors. Here we will roleplay their stance in Hell, and perhaps some interesting spin-offs may arise. All blackened hearts and condemned souls are openly invited)

Micheal Lesser, a noted anarchist and film director, who is exceedingly fat, dies and stands in front of the gates of Hades. He just barely remembers the electric chair setting his body fat on fire, killing him almost instantly. He thinks to himself, What have I done to get here? He then remembers what, he murdered 100 of his cult-members in order to call out a demon. He also remembers about writing a few books and movies that were borderline treason. "Shoot," he screams, "I think I'm gonna be a Bubba B!&ch because of my sheer size. Ah no! Here come da judge."

bump tag Crazed Marines