It had been on the of the rudest encounters to date.

No one had bought a thing, his shirt was muddied, and his case was broken. He'd near been hit in the head with it when they tossed it from a window towards the back of the Triple Serpents Guild headquarters.

In fact this very much felt like he'd been robbed. Actually, He had been robbed! The nerve, the scandal, the- Indignity of it all! And he was pretty sure the GuildMaster didn't even feed his cat all that well, or was it a small dog?

Shaking his head, that pavestone was harder than he thought it was. He stood with all the raging indignity that flowed through him and considered demanding his items back, he could likely force the issue with a bit of his hosts magic, and a few tricks of his own. No need to keep things strictly within the bounds of this Planar field. But too much of that action would certainly draw the wrong kind of attention from... Upper Managment. But he couldn't just leave this injustice unanswered.

He got a grin and pinched and let a hand slip free of the meaty costume he was wearing, to mortal eye's it would appear as if his arms were not moving, like his body was standing still, though only for a moment. He reached out with true form and force and pinched the air surrounding the foul establishment. With a tuck and a nudge, He stirred up the pot of the impossible and base nature of the Universe, the Unlikely and improbably boiling soup that all creation rests upon and started serving a heaping bowl of it.

It didn't take long for the effects to manifest, and force of ill ease began to settle, a subtle alignment of malefic and mischievous forces playing merry havoc amongst the works shops occupants. A force that would build for a few days before breaking, and then his little curse would be complete. And just to nudge it along, he slipped back into his Human shell, descending into Man's World like he was putting on a shoe in the morning, and added a pitch of Pnuema power to ensure certain items were in place.

The building prevented direct assault via wards and massive blocks of quartz salt sat about everywhere. But such barriers only covered the offices and safes where precious documents, and money were held. But they were not so helpful in guarding the physical structure of the building from outside influence. If they wanted true protection, they should've carved the whole thing from quartz salt. Amateurs.

With a delicate touch, he bent on of the crude tin oil lamps a bit, pulling it away from the wall ever so slightly so that it leaned to one side. it's oil no longer settling into a tidy pan, but now threatening to spill over it's rim. A dangling thread to suspend his hidden sword from. Like Damocles and his "covered" throne, a neat trick everyone was keen to borrow.

With that work done and his need for vengeance quelled he would watch from a distance as things unraveled, not today, perhaps tomorrow or the day after. He'd pinched together enough seething probability to trigger any number of disasters and hung them all on the little hook of a lamp in the main hallway overseeing the office of the guildsman who'd just robbed him. Big bald fellow with the tattoos and small dog, cat. Small Animal of some kind.

Seriously what is that thing? did they make it somehow? it hardly seemed within reason, otherwise someone else would want one and then the whole city would be full. Probably a foreign creature, some animal of non-local breeding, bartered and sold from a distant land and far from its natural habitat. Probably why it kept shivering, poor thing might not be eating right or getting enough warmth.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Well, with that chore taken care of, he was going to visit a tailor, get a new shirt, and then head home to fix the case he'd bought specifically to show his pens in, and was now flapping open with a broken latch. Somedays are harder for devils than others, but they tended to be rare. And he was determined to make this day as commonly easy as possible.

And if the Wizards of this town were going to give him trouble, he'd readily hand it right back to them. As for his needs of grand wealth and comfortable living, clearly a new strategy would be required.

As he walked, he stopped near a public fountain, intending to wash his face and maybe clean a stain off his trousers, the substance that bubbled up out of the bilge pump was brackish and muddy, smelled like the river near the tar factory and gurgled like a misbehaving animal.

He spat and backed away from wrought iron vent, muttering a different kind of curse.

"Blasted waters are filthy like mud! I couldn't wash a black kettle in that, A hog would refuse to wallow in the mud this water would make, I could spit into a bucket and boil it to death and find something better to drink."

He refused to drink the foul water, let alone let it touch his already ruined clothes. "Augh, there's a hole in the left side, must have been trying to cut my purse strings and missed." or it could've been a genuine attempt at a knifing, but failed to pierce his reactionary defenses. Apparently, Darwin had built up enough of a twitch reaction to getting stabbed that it could be considered a regular occurrence, which might have been worse in all opinions.

For once in his immortality, the demon felt the need to imbibe in a human temptation. Something to make the taste of humiliation to disappear from his mind. A brief affair, but one with the prickly sting of pride climbing his back.

Ah yes, to be human. What a rush, took him back to the days of his apprenticeship and possessing hapless fools toying with 'magic' planks of wood and making little pranks at the expense of superstitious fools. Those were the days of, I suppose you could call them naive youth, even though it would be better described in human terms as 'Two old farts learning a new card game'. At least there was a bit of cruel fun in it all, the recursive lives portion was a stroke of genius, Reincarnation, Pah. A fairy tale. No second chances here!

That thought knocked some sense into him for a moment. No second chances, right. This would be his only chance at a vacation for the next Millenium. He'd better get a move on and find something to make his life comfortable with. Humans and their money, what a joke. Ought to trade souls not gold, much less vulnerable to counterfeiting.

Or at least, that was the theory.

A loose paving stone brought him back to task as sweet pain bit his leg. "Ah, right. Money." he muttered. The easy option was out the window, and with the bizarre laws limiting the number of magic guilds within the city, It stood to reason he might be able to build one outside the City walls, but then getting profits back would exponentially more difficult than if he'd started within the crowded glut of houses and walls.

If he wanted easy living, he'd have to try something else or remove someone from the board. One seemed easier than the other and therefore was the natural solution. In a manner of speaking. Hollowing out his enemy and taking their place would be an amusing bit of revenge, the money would come naturally if they stayed the course already being sailed. Sounded nice.

Depending on the outcome of his little prankish "gift" it might be an option. but until then, something else might be in the cards.

Speaking of cards, what's to stop him from opening some gambling den in a back alley and swindling poor fools out of money? The answer was the unfathomably steep competition, and that might have been a fun idea, tearing through town on a bender and putting these whelps back in the cradle. but then it would inevitably lead to a mass onslaught of sore losers before the night was even over. No, he had a better idea.

But to discuss it, he would first need to quench his throat and fix his clothes.