The Hemomancers Lounge

Scene: At dusk of night a pale red mist hangs over the steamy bubbling pools of the Blood Bog, its fetid and sanguine pools spawn forth all manners of bloodborne evil: The Vile Viscera Deer, The Sickly Skeleton Catfish, The Horrid Homunculous, The Failed Experiments of The Hellish Disgraced Hemomancer, Horrid Harold, The Viscous Phlegm Elemental, Axeseed, The Minophen: the Blood Dragon, Fran The False Pal, and The Humble Blue-crested Sparrow. In this dark corner of Tiberia lies a single Serpentine Hemomancer, of the highest caliber and of an at-present quite bored disposition... alone in his Blood Tower pondering the skull of his former mismade creations... He hears a single knock upon his door, 'at this time of night?' he wonders.

One knock becomes two, then three.
Knock knock knock.

On the other side of the door, a dark feline silhouette stands wreathed in the shadows. The shape's tail, that of a pantheran, flicks, agitated. "Sanguinious.", the guest's voice rings out, as the door inexplicably unlocks itself, and the figure steps into the confines of the grand tower, the moans of homunculi slain by Felos sounding in the gap of time where the door is ajar.

"I am Felos, of the Darkweald..." The pantheran's wooden paw clonks against the stone floor on their offstride, and they shake off their jacket, now that they're away from the elements. Normally, to see Felos is a dark omen. The shadowy feline only appears to mete out grim justice. But today, their visit seems more cordial, their wood axes remaining sheathed on their back.

"I wish to speak to you of a new theory on spellwork. A collaboration we may both benefit from."
A pendant is drawn from the inside pocket of their jacket, dangled from a silver chain. It depicts a split insignia, one half a blood-drenched heart, the other a druidic oak burl.