<div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/LJX8V3E.jpg)<div align="center"><strong><em>Gregor Donovan</em></strong></div></div>Gregor shuddered, the lean muscles that made the cage of flesh that held his spirit encased, forced to bear the shame that came from his own hubris. Blonde locks escaped the warriors braid to hang loose and mussed about his sharp cheek bones, even as the girls scorn struck him, even as the precariousness of the situation screamed it's own warning within his mind. She spoke of no one knowing, no god, no spirit, no thing, and by that she included the being before them both, the one she obviously served. He cared not for the lack of disguise for her malice nor for the stirring of empathy that may have been seen within her eyes, should he have been looking upon her. No. What burnt him from Liadian was the fact she compared his words, his offering, his sacrifice of some part of his soul, to the Thing before him.<br/><br/>Amber colored eyes watched the Thing, the daemon, not demon. Even as Gregor's blood oozed from wounds and danced across his chest, across his fingertips to anoint the earth only to sizzle and seep. The words that came mused from abyssal pooled Thing, forcing Gregor to close his eyes, to lock away his own emotions as the noose itself coiled about the thickness of his throat, slowly tightening, slowly compressing upon the flesh and restricting the air but not blocking it completely. At least..<br/><br/><em>not yet. </em><br/><br/>The words given spat in the face the man's  beliefs, the very things that had from his childhood been beaten and burned into his flesh. It would be easy to argue the points, but it would be like arguing with the mad to point out that all parties were equally convicted and equally believed themselves to be right. The knowledge of that, forced his lips to curve into an almost smile, a grimace that spoke nothing and yet everything.  But his eyes opened in time to see the horror laid out before him, to see the netherword and the darkness that pooled there.<br/><br/>It was just as the Priests and Crusaders had told him it would be. Endless and horrible, terrible and filled with the inexplicable bowel chilling torments. Anger and malice, rage and a tempest of other dark emotions swirled and with showing him, how could Gregor not see it as truth revealled? How could he not find solace in the fact that the what had been taught to him, quite obviously existed. For here was a creature of Darkness, old and powerful, who had somehow enthralled an apprentice, of a young maiden who for all her appearances had begun to be tainted by that which owned this place, this realm, this small corner of a larger existence and ruled it.<br/><br/>But the Daemon had spoken a truth that allowed the words that came next. His soul was not his to sell. For it was given in sacrifice long before this day.<br/><br/><strong>"Oh, aye. I will serve you and your purpose, Thing. And I will pray to mine God with each breath." </strong>