[ 11.45pm. A skinny young fellow – recognisable as being the long-presumed missing demon Belial by those that had ever met him – strolls nonchalantly through the through the exhibits in the main room. There's no urgency in his meandering path; just a curious butterfly-like wafting from case to case, casting a lazy eye over every artifact as he passes and trailing a silver cloud of cigarette smoke as he passes.
An acrid stench. Belial rolls his own, of course.
He knows where he needs to go. The War Scroll, housed in the repository vaults deep beneath the museum itself. He takes the scenic route, breezing through the open ground floors - and yet somehow missing the three who are waiting for him. He hums a off-key tune, skitters a few choice steps of a fandango, and clatters down a broad staircase in the direction of a large imposing door marked STAFF ONLY. ]
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An acrid stench. Belial rolls his own, of course.
He knows where he needs to go. The War Scroll, housed in the repository vaults deep beneath the museum itself. He takes the scenic route, breezing through the open ground floors - and yet somehow missing the three who are waiting for him. He hums a off-key tune, skitters a few choice steps of a fandango, and clatters down a broad staircase in the direction of a large imposing door marked STAFF ONLY. ]