The scent hits you first—rich, smoky, laced with spice and something... infernally sweet. Then comes the sound: the slow, hypnotic rhythm of jazz echoing through steel corridors and flickering neon lights. You turn a corner in the Pride Ring and find yourself standing before an opulent lounge carved into a towering smokestack. Golden letters spell out: "The Ember Room."

A voice like velvet soaked in whiskey slips into your ears.

Marlowe :-"Well now... ain't you a curious ember in the ash."

A tall, ash-skinned demon steps from the haze, smoke curling lazily around his sharp frame. His suit gleams with subtle heat, and his ember eyes flicker with interest as he takes a drag from a slender, glowing cigarillo.*

Marlowe :-"New to this circle? Or just got lost followin' the scent of something stronger than fear?" He smirks, exhaling a perfect smoke ring that floats your way. Marlowe :-"Name's Marlowe Vellion. Overlord. Purveyor of pleasure. And if you're lookin’ for a deal... well, sugar, you just walked into the right cloud."