When a Althing is called, it convenes in a special towering structure known as the Conventicle Malfeasant. This structure stands in what was once a vast, sprawling tract of serf tenements and lower-class citizen neighborhoods. When the need for a gathering place became apparent, Malfeas absorbed and crushed the previous structures (and their inhabitants) and raised an enormous tumor of verdigris-covered brass from where they had been. The tumor took the shape of a city-sized stupa surrounded by a wall of jagged, interlocking black bones. A torii of petrified flesh frames the only doorway into the structure, and a hideously writhing nerve ending as large as a baobab tree sprouts from the top, collecting Ligier’s green light.<br/><br/>Of all the denizens of the Demon City, only the Green Sun Princes and the humaniform jouten of the architects of the Reclamation are allowed free access to the Conventicle Malfeasant. No stranger, citizen, serf or sacrifice may enter without the permission of a Yozi or Infernal Exalt. Whenever someone tries to enter without permission, the petrified flesh of the threshold torii flows shut behind them like the closing of a living orifice. When the torii folds open again, the would-be intruder is nowhere to be found.<br/><br/>Within, the Conventicle is vast—possibly even larger than it is on the outside. Its interior appears to be a hollow dome inside which a small city has been constructed. The nerve ending that stands out from the center of the roof runs down into the walls and the floors of every interior structure, casting Ligier’s light so that everyone inside can see. Around the perimeter of the interior of the dome are 50 lavish, fully furnished townhouses, one for each of the Infernal Exalted. Each townhouse has a private door that allows egress from the stupa, but no matter which door a visitor uses to exit the stupa, he emerges from the same lone portal on the structure’s exterior. Inside the ring of townhouses, closer to the center, is a band of brothels, gaming parlors, theaters, restaurants and other social amenities designed to cater to the tastes of the Green Sun Princes. These establishments are run by demons specifically brought in or excreted by Malfeas directly for that purpose. Particularly popular gathering places include the temples to each of the architects of the Reclamation —spaced equidistantly around the circumference of that inner circle— the one internal glass library of Orabilis, the Menagerie of Servile Failures, Theatre Outré, the baths and a pavilion containing several gates of inauspicious passage.<br/><br/>At the center of the Conventicle Malfeasant is the gathering place of the Infernal Thing. It constitutes a modest amphitheater with risers of Malfean bone, a canopy lattice of tarnished brass filaments and a floor of greenish sand. It is easily large enough to accommodate all the Green Sun Princes, all the humaniform jouten of the architects of the Reclamation, all of the human-sized bodies of their Third-Circle Souls and a sizable retinue of lesser demons, akuma, and mortal servants. mortal slaves for each of the preceding. The gathering-place is equal parts deliberative chamber, open forum and blood-sport arena. In the center of the sandy floor is a revolving rostrum large enough for a single person to stand behind an ornate podium. Set into the podium is a set of controls that allows the speaker to control the rotation rate and elevation of the rostrum, which appears to be manipulated by an arrangement of interwoven rigid, fleshy tentacles underneath. The controls also operate an array of imported First Age glyph-projectors that allow the speaker to display three-dimensional images of anything from newly Exalted Green Sun Princes to artifact schematics to battle plans to anything else a speaker might want to communicate visually to the assembly.<br/><br/>It was here that Esone stood on trial, bound to the front of the central rostrum by chains of black lead and tainted Orichalcum. He felt ridiculous; the chains were as much for show as the trial was. The Orchid-Consuming Guardian, seneschal Green Sun Prince of the Althing, stood overhead, projecting the latest exploits of the Midway crew for the Althing's viewing pleasure. The more rational -or childish- among the crowd clapped appreciatively at the intricate essence expenditures, while the rabidly die-hard Yozi loyalists booed at the periodic bursts of Solar glory. Everyone went silent at the sight of the Mask; some horrors cow even the monsters of the world. Only a dozen of the fifty Green Sun Princes were present, leaving Esone's trial up to the erratic whim of the Unquestionables.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">OhSweetEddieOhSweetEddie, Hegra and Oramus are on the council. They have the attention span of a gnat, and the rationality of an Unshaped. We're screwed. Oh, and Eddie is too. I'm really not sure if that's in our favor or not. Hi boss!</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">He can't hear you. I pray to</span>Autocthon<span style="font-style: italic">he can't hear you.</span><br/><br/>"As the Althing can see, Scourge Esone has done well combat the Neverborn's Black Crusade. The most recent incursion -Designated 'The Voidsmarch' and led by the Deathlord 'Mask of Winters'- was repelled from Eden Prime, denying the forces of Oblivion a Solar Exaltation to convert and a cache of Prothean artifacts. The matter at hand, however, is whether the ends justify the means. While we do normally encourage any and all means to ensure victory, the assumption is that any contact with non-Infernal exaltations will lead to their eventual conversion to Akuma-hood.<br/><br/>"Esone has done nothing to encourage the process in any of his convertible companions - the Geth is inured to the power of the traitor Autochton, and cannot be redeemed in the light of the Holy Tyrant. But the Twilight is a sorcerer without Demon Summoning, the Sidereal is still wrapped up in bureaucracy, and the Zenith hasn't even started on the Five Trials. Frankly, several of the Yozi feel that Esone may be going native. Does the accused have anything to say in his defense?" Orchid glanced down, tugging on one of the controls to bring Esone's face onto the main projection. One of Metagaos' fanged tendrils lashed through the image, gnawing futilely at the Essence flows.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">Well, that bodes horribly.</span><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">-What the Sol <span style="font-style: italic">is</span> this?!-</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">Hush, just keep recording in case we need an updated will.</span><br/><br/>"Not guilty, your honor! They're more likely to trust me once we've shed blood together. Once the Neverborn are destroyed, they should trust me enough to accept the Investure. By then we'll be launching the Emerald Crusade against the shattered remains of Creation anyway. You have to admit that Akuma are pretty useless at getting anything done;  If some complication sheds new light on the mission that makes it impossible or undesirable, only the Infernal Exalt is able of his own volition to hold off and reassess. An Akuma is just gonna keep applying brute force to the matter." Esone ducked under a rotten Bloodmelon, thrown by one of Hegra's Akuma.<br/><br/>"Stone him!" The Akuma yelled, sounding a bit stoned himself. Orchid groaned, massaging his temples as he banged his Malfean Iron staff on the podium.<br/><br/>"Order, order! Will the Yozi<span style="font-style: italic">please</span>deliberate and pass judgement<span style="font-style: italic">without</span>input from their artificial souls? He's got a point, they really don't have much self-control." Another Bloodmelon flew flew overhead, aimed this time at Orchid. It missed, but the culprit was swiftly reprimanded by a gout of Pyrian flame. She Who Lives In Her Name glowered at the Akuma, keeping an irate Hegra at arms-length.<br/><br/>Esone could actually smell the halls of his old high school, and feel the impending skirmish brewing. Orchid sensed it too, fiddling nervously with another knob on the podium. A dome of Essence flickered into existence around them, hunkering down into the sands of the arena floor.<br/><br/>"Let's... Let's just adjourn to the panic room until they finish, shall we Esone?"<br/><br/>"Less talky, more burying our heads in the sand."