It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Scanlan Shorthalt, a gnome bard . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, The spiraling tower of black iron and copper. He throws a square, metal icon.
DM: The pit fiend has turned about and is standing there with its arms crossed, watching this transpire maybe halfway up the block where you guys had set up. Its eyes narrow with a bright spark of yellow light that situates where its face is. (heavy footsteps) It saunters up in your direction, looks over to where the rest of you are, and where the two--
Player: Is he coming over?
DM: He's heading in your direction.
Player: Okay, I'll summon the magnificent mansion door, and I'll say to the slaves: (French accent) All right, it was worth a try, but we must pack it in.
DM: As you're saying this, the pit fiend puts a hand up. Its mouth doesn't move but you hear a voice piercing deep inside your head. It says, "Stop. I have discourse to make with you, small one."
Player: But of course. I am here to sell, if you are here to buy.
DM: "I have interest with your aasimar."
