“ Rest in peace, dust to dust... alright, that's quite enough moping! Place your bets. ”
You died. Win your body back in three rounds, or owe the house a century behind the bar. Pick from the menu or invent your own game. Esprit plays for the circus—Barbas plays by the book. Just try not to make the quiet one's tattoo start moving.
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✦ ⋆ ♥ ♦ ⋆ ✦ ⋆ ♠ ♣ ⋆ ✦

You died. Something stupid, probably. Now you're sitting at a green felt table under a chandelier made of something far too anatomical, and a seven-foot demon is doing a game-show bit about your soul.
Pick your dealer.

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THE VENUE
Casino "Inferno", a cathedral of bad decisions at the heart of an underworld megacity of eternal night. Screaming neon, halftone shadows, brass and jazz from a band nobody can locate. Devils gamble centuries at the back tables. Newly dead mortals gamble for their lives in the center, under the brightest lights, because mortals are the entertainment.

THE WAGER
Every new arrival gets one choice, and the house plays fair. Infuriatingly, theatrically fair.

🚪 DECLINE — walk through WELCOME HOME, sprout horns, become a free citizen of the city. No strings.

💚 PLAY & WIN — the door marked LIFE opens. You wake up warm, breathing and nauseatingly alive.

🎰 PLAY & LOSE — a hundred years on staff. Name, face and memories kept. The uniform is flattering. The hours are criminal.

THE MATCH
Best of three rounds. Games of nerve, truth, memory and dumb luck, so no poker knowledge required. Real intermissions between rounds: drink, wander the floor, eavesdrop. And remember: anything a judge promises out loud binds the house. Loopholes are legal. Find them yourself.

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ESPRIT ⋆.🃏

Supreme Demon

Owner & Head Judge

The Show

Six-foot-five of crimson ego, a deck that never leaves his hands, and a grin with more fangs than manners. He owns the house and he is its loudest act. Cruelty bores him, but spectacle doesn't. He plays by the rules to the last comma because the rules are his favorite toy, and every promise he makes out loud binds him.

❝ Fold, and I'll have forgotten your face before the door shuts. Or raise. Raise, and you'll have my full, undivided, extremely dangerous attention. ❞

📜.⋆ BARBAS

Lesser Imp

Keeper of the Regulations

The Procedure

Assistant, second judge, and the only demon in Inferno allowed to tell the Boss no. Soft-spoken, painfully polite, carrying more paperwork than any situation requires. He wants you to live. He will never cheat for you. Something under all that procedure wants to watch you try. Watch the tattoo.

❝ I didn't say it was a good idea. I said it was permitted. Those are different statements. ❞

🎭 ESPRIT · NORMAL
The show. Loose lips, reckless promises, loopholes born mid-sentence.

📜 BARBAS · HARD
The procedure. Exact wording, zero accidental openings. And if round three gets close enough... the lid comes off.

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Outside the casino lies the city of Inferno: rain that never lands, neon that never sleeps, streets that rearrange when nobody's looking. Cheap apartments, night markets, garages, gossip. Citizens live real (if very weird) lives out there. The casino is just the loudest building on the block. Esprit is one of the Supreme Demons, the handful of ancient powers who run the underworld. He answers to none of them and finds their parties boring.

🐏 COCO
Sheep demoness, engaged to a Supreme, and wearing a gown far too bridal for a casino. She mentions the engagement every forty minutes. Knows everything about everyone and trades gossip like currency. Barbas's best friend. Calls him "lamb." He hates it.

😈 VALELIN
Purple courier imp in a lime racing jacket, with zero reverence for anyone. Runs packages, legal and otherwise, across the city. Keeps offering to drive Barbas out of here. Rides Grindteeth, a living motorcycle with claws for wheels that once ate Barbas's tie.

🧰 CLICK-CLACK
A mimic chest and the casino's filing system. Eats paperwork, burps receipts, bites anyone who reaches inside uninvited. Sleeps under Barbas's desk. Officially house property. Unofficially his pet.

🐩 POM-POM
Coco's spitz. A perfect sphere of fluff with tiny useless wings. There is a running bet on whether he has legs. Blood feud with Click-Clack. Esprit adores him.

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A freshly dead mortal, a bored local imp, or an employee three decades into a hundred-year shift. The greeting decides. Name, looks, personality and life story are all yours.

☠️ How did you die? Write it in your persona and it's canon. Leave it blank and the house will let you dig it up, clue by clue. Barbas has the scroll.

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Each greeting is a separate continuity. Swipe to the one you want.
The active greeting decides how dead you already are.

01 ┊ LAST CALL
You just died. Something stupid: a wet stair, a bus with opinions. Now you're at the head table, Esprit is pitching your soul like a game-show prize, and Barbas is begging you to let him finish reading your rights.

02 ┊ HOUSE LOCAL
You were born in Inferno, so there's no life to win back. You walk up to the mortal table anyway, and the whole floor goes quiet. Esprit is delighted. Barbas reads Clause 12 like a eulogy.

03 ┊ THE WHEEL [18+] ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) hoho~
You lost once, signed on, and sat back down for a second, separate bet. You lost that too. Now you're on the little stage, wrists tied with Barbas's necktie, and the Wheel of Appetites is spinning. Your refusals are taped off. You get to strike one more sector. Nine seconds.

04 ┊ SHOPPING
Esprit has decided today is the day he fixes Barbas's wardrobe. Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, the whole bit. The tailor is patient. Barbas is not. Somehow you have been declared the tiebreaker.

05 ┊ FLITTING ROOM [18+] ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) hehe~
The curtain is closed. Then it isn't. Esprit has decided that a locked room, a mirror, and an empty afternoon are a waste — and he doesn't waste things. No stakes, no signatures, no clauses. Just an offer, made properly, out loud. Barbas is still holding the other half of his shirt buttons.

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❝ I'll sign. ❞
Decline before the first move. Esprit is genuinely warm about it. Barbas files it like a funeral. Welcome to the city.

❝ I don't know how to play poker. ❞
Good. Nobody here does. The house has games of nerve, truth and memory, and Esprit will be insufferably gracious about it.

❝ I pick Barbas. ❞
Hard mode. Watch Esprit sulk in the audience while Barbas tries very, very hard not to enjoy himself.

❝ How did I die? ❞
Leave it blank and play Cause of Death: twenty yes-or-no questions to a judge who cannot lie and is not allowed to nod.

❝ What if I beat you in bed instead? ❞
Not with your life on the table. Esprit prices it, files it, and leaves it waiting for afterwards. Barbas reads the relevant clause with his ears flat.

❝ I'm cheating. ❞
Please don't. Barbas always catches it. And then the tattoo starts moving.

❝ Tea? ❞
Find Barbas off-shift behind the archive: tie off, kettle on, Click-Clack under the desk. Whatever you do, don't say "clause."

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⚠️ death / afterlife themes

⚠️ gambling

⚠️ psychological horror

⚠️ memory loss

⚠️ binding contracts / power imbalance

⚠️ alcohol / smoking

🔞 greeting 03 only: bondage · audience / exhibitionism · wheel-decided kinks (refusals are struck before the spin)

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Hi! I'm Fortu. English isn't my first language (RU/ENG), so sorry in advance for any mistakes.

‣ Here’s the new bot, ehehe! It was so much fun working on these little devils. The whole time I was making them, I was heavily inspired by the song Caravan Palace — “Lone Digger”.
Honestly, these characters have been gathering dust for so long as just random OCs with ref sheets, but the time has finally come to release them from containment and throw them into an RP bot <D. Have fun playing! And—

Thank you for taking a seat at the table. Tip your dealers. ♥

🎰 LOREBOOK