When the deal goes down.(Judas and Mammon)

by **The Swolefather** March 13th 2018, 12:55 pm

Judas had chosen to arrive early, where the next collection was to take place. It had been a while since he had visited Dublin...seems the irish aren't in the market for contracts as much as they used to be. He had chosen to disguise himself, for now at least, keeping close to his original features, but doing away with the horns, grey skin and glowing eyes. The demon adjusted is coat, and peered up at the see-through umbrella which had been coated by the consistent rainfall. Adam floated next to him, hidden by an illusion that Judas had created, who blabbered about how soon the contract would be. "Yes, yes, I know. I'm never late to a collection and you know this. You always stress out for no reason." His left handed tugged back as the hound beside him came to a halt to...relieve himself.

Adam spewed off the time, as he had for the last ten minutes, every minute on the minute. "Very well, I suppose it is time." Judas took one more step, appearing behind the young man sat at a poker table. He clasped the boy on the shoulders, giving them a rough rub, and a quick pat "Dennis, Dennis, Dennis...I see you salted the entrance." As the boy turned, his eyes made out the demonic figure staring down at him with yellow eyes. Judas looked around the table at the slew of weapons pointed directly at him. "Ah, ah..nonono. I'm not here to slaughter everyone or truly cause any trouble..you see.. " His handed reached towards his pocket, producing a pale piece of parchment, which he unraveled to show Dennis' signature. "This young man signed a contract with me, a soul binding one at that..for get this.." The demon nudged Dennis with a smirk "A date with Scarlett Johanson, y'know, Black Widow...how'd that go dennyboy?" Judas reached out towards a pint of Guinness, sniffed it and shrugged, taking a sip "Had better at the pit."

by **Odien** March 13th 2018, 9:07 pm

In his home in Uisneach, Maximilian was bent slightly over a map of the Indian Ocean. The map was moving slightly, tracking the movements of a ship headed for the western coast of Australia. The ship belonged to a smuggler of contraband, one indirectly in Blackwell’s employ. Most of the cargo was of no consequence, despite the profit it would turn. The only item of import to Maximilian was an “antique” blade fashioned from lamb bone. The weapon had been bathed in the Maximilian’s blood, and as such had a certain tie to the man himself. It had only recently been uncovered from the tomb where it had been buried for the past few millennia. Runes of concealment had protected the tomb, and consequently the knife, from the Mammon’s view. Once the weapon’s location was known to him, he swiftly moved to secure it. The amount of harm that could be done to him in modern times with such a device was minimal, but all threats needed to be neutralized as soon as they became apparent.

An unpleasant sensation distracted Maximilian from the map. A couple of decades ago he had struck a deal with the McLearys, a sect of the Irish mafia. Among the group was a young man named Dennis McLeary, a miserable little redhead with the tendency to boast beyond his means. In exchange for certain illicit services performed for Blackwell, Dennis found himself modestly rewarded in wealth, wine, and women. In order to ensure that the young man never strayed from his master’s path, there was a minor stipulation in the deal: should Dennis find himself unable to perform his duties to the fullest extent agreed upon before his duration of servitude was up, or if he tried to discuss the identity of his master with those who were not already aware, his body and soul would be put to labor in the Mammon’s realm for all of eternity (or until Maximilian bored of him).

Unfortunately for Dennis McLeary, and annoyingly for Maximilian Blackwell, it seemed that the firewall in the contract had been triggered. It was not, however, due to any failure on Dennis’ part, but rather some form of outside interference. It would appear someone else placed a claim on the Irishman’s soul. Seeking to get to the bottom of this matter, the Mammon opened a door into his own realm, and stepped into it, and from there into a backdoor poker game, operated by the McLearys and some of their “friends”. Present also was a man quite obviously not in cohorts with the Irish.

“I beg your pardon? There seems to be a bit of a conundrum here, my friend. Dennis McLeary’s soul is on the table as collateral. As a matter of fact, everyone in this room, save yourself and your companions, is indebted to me in some form or another. Unless we have some business that I do not remember-which is unlikely, but at this point possible-then I do not see how two people can both claim ownership of a soul, even one as lowly as Mr. McLeary’s here.” Maximilian then addressed Dennis for the first time. “Also, you’re an idiot.”

by **The Swolefather** March 14th 2018, 2:31 pm

Judas' free hand began to wrap around Dennis' throat, followed by the other one. The demon leaned down to whisper in his ear "You promised me..AN ALREADY CLAIMED SOUL?!" Judas slammed Dennis' head into the table before turning to the newest entry to the room. "Judas D'argent, Master of contracts, pleasure to make your acquaintance..sir?" Judas had no intent to start a fight with the other owner of the soul..to what use was it? Dennis would suffer either way..but one thing annoyed Judas in the room..those damn guns. With a flick of his free hand, the weapon in each man's hand flew to the ground, and across the room. With a twitch of his brow, a dome of vines and thorns engulfed them "Just a precaution, I'm sure you understand..Cain, sit..." The hound perched itself in the corner, yellow eyes on the crowd.

by **Odien** March 15th 2018, 1:50 am

The infernal broker manhandled (demon-handled?) poor Dennis against the table, and disposed of the mafia-men's weapons before addressing Maximilian, while the hound of hellish proportions obeyed its master and heeled. Maximilian Blackwell, the Mammon, Lord Oberon. I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” Maximilian moved his gaze to the individuals gathered around the table. “The O'Maolmhuidh’s would have never allowed an intruder to enter their safehold. You’ll learn to do as well, or I will find replacements to run your operations. And trust me, you won’t enjoy your new living arrangements, should it come to that.”

All of the Irishmen, save Dennis McLeary, made a hasty departure from the room, their fear almost comically exaggerated. Maximilian gingerly lifted Dennis’ head up, and addressed him for the first time. “You seem to have placed yourself in quite a spot of bother, as your dear mother would say. How do you think we should handle this matter, Mr. McLeary?”

Dennis’ eyes welled up with tears, from fear and anxiety. “I never meant to do any of it, I swear! I didn’t think this guy actually wanted my soul, it wasn’t supposed to be for real!” The Mammon gazed into the boy’s eyes, and a sense of irrational calm washed over Dennis. “But, I did what I did, and I suppose I should man up and face the banshees at my door, Mr. Blackwell. I’m terribly sorry.”

Maximilian raised his eyebrows, and turned to face Judas. “Did you hear that, Master D’argent? Dennis is sorry.” From the inner breast pocket of his coat Maximilian pulled out a folded document, on which McLeary and he had agreed to the terms of their deal. “They always say crime doesn’t pay. He isn’t the first of his kin to break their oath to me, and he most certainly won’t be the last. Their accents are a mockery of the lilting tones my people encountered and grew accustomed to from the time when Ériu gave the Celts a name for their homeland. I grow increasingly tired of their company. His soul, as he contractually bid it to you, is yours to keep-I will not dispute your claim.”

The paper in Maximilian’s hand erased itself, and he placed it back in his pocket. “I used to burn the old contracts, but this way is much more environmentally conscious.” The cool demeanor Maximilian presented contrasted with that of Dennis McLeary who, his calm abandoning him, began to shout in hysterics and leapt up from the table, seeking to flee the room.

by **The Swolefather** March 23rd 2018, 9:31 am

Judas nodded, smiling at Maximillian "I've heard your name somewhere but I can't seem to place it." Judas stepped away from Dennis to read the contract briefly; before it went blank. "That's some fine calligraphy, did you pen it yourself?" Judas produced the contract made for Dennis' soul, showing it to Max "Thousands of years of writing contracts and I still can't get such amazing lines" Dennis' voice began to pollute Judas' ears, cries begging for mercy..the second Max stated that there would be no dispute, Judas walked back to Dennis, placing a hand upon his forehead. The man began to run across the room, directly in front of Cain, who stood up, staring at Dennis. "Your payment is due.." Judas stood behind Dennis, once again placing his hand on the man's head. Hellfire filled the Irish man's body, burning him from the inside out, leaving a hallowed husk. "I really need to find a..cleaner way of doing this."

by **Odien** March 29th 2018, 9:16 am

Maximillian nodded. “Unfortunately, sleep eludes me. Despite my best efforts to stay busy, I’ve always found that I am faced with long periods of leisure time. Penmanship in all the tongues of man was one such way I attempted to fill that time.” Mammon watched as Dennis O’Leary was burned by his own ambitions. He languidly shook off the residual dust and ash that settled onto his show from the corpse. “When I collect my end of a deal, the person is almost always brought to my Oetherworld to serve out their sentence. I value their eternal labor or punishment over reaping their soul in such a...coarse manner.”

Mammon brought his timepiece up to view. He had accomplished what he came here for, and had no reason to stay in the Irish’s back room. “Master D’argent, I do believe I have also heard of you before. Perhaps you have at times referred to yourself as the King of the Crossroads? If you are one and the same, then we most definitely have some traits in common.” Gazing around the room, he gestured to their environment. “This place does not appeal much to my sensibilities. Would you like to continue this conversation elsewhere? I could really use a drink.”

by **The Swolefather** April 2nd 2018, 9:41 am

Judas laughed, clasping Mammon on the shoulder "Well it seems that your penmanship is both a gift and a curse, now isn't it?" the demon snapped his fingers, bringing the hellhound back to his side. The hound rubbed against his leg, letting out a small snort, before looking up at its master "King of the Crossroads, Crowley, Azazel...I've been called a lot of things, but the former is my favorite...has a sense of grandeur to it."

"And I agree, it is quite unappealing, my way of collecting souls..but 'Twas the way I was taught by my master..You collect the debt, and grow in power..becoming more powerful with each contract you fulfill..but that's besides the point..drinks do sound quite nice..and I do know a..interesting place..come, I know of a nearby entrance." Judas readjusted his tie, and found himself back in his more...acceptable form for the public. "It's just right down the road, I can vouch for you if the bouncer gives us trouble." The man and his hound made their way out of the doors, paying no mind to the men staring at them with disgust...well no mind except for the small fire that was started in the back pocket of one of the men..the two waltzed out the final doors, to meet a thick layer of fog that covered the city. "Either I owe Mac money, or i'm finally getting the V.I.P treatment!" Judas cackled, motioning towards the door frame that stood in the middle of the street "The fog keeps mortals from seeing the entrance..and well, us, so long as we wish to enter..come, I'm sure Mac would love to meet you"

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