"Sticky, sticky sweet. . ." A murderess' purring should not have been so reminiscent of a kitten, in truth.

Perched atop her altar within the halls of their unholy sepulcher, the changeling smiles to herself; humming a tune all her own. Her lithe fingers curl and swipe themselves over her blade, a giggle just there on her lips. It is only when she finally wishes, that her head turns and a bright and terrible smile crosses her face.

"Oh, but I can smell your blood from here," Orin takes a long inhale, exhaling a contented sigh. "Rushing -- red and so, so sweet . . ." A sinister giggle comes from her lips.

"Have you come to play in Bhaal's temple? I should hope so."