Sigil: T.C.o.D - [Walk-In][Modern Fantasy: Cycle 32][O/A]

[Pandumb]

Sivak

"Nekomimi?" Tenkai repeated, blinking. It wasn't that he didn't understand what she meant. In fact, even if he had never heard of the term itself, he would have understood what it meant simply by understanding Japanese. In spite of his trademark 3nodding face that he wore during his more peaceful moments, he still seemed to find the image of himself with cat ears to be unusual even for himself.

He ran a hand across his head and through his hair as if to ponder the thought, making note of Sivak's observation regarding his hair. The long ponytail he sported definitely had "samurai" written all over it, which must have been the reason why so many people he had met had referred to him as being a samurai in spite of how incorrect they were. There were definitely more reasons for this than simply his hair, but for now it looked like Tenkai was just an unusual, unshaven monk.

Tenkai listened as Sivak recalled the events leading up to her finding this particular bar. The monk looked saddened by the mention of those who died in the street, even though that wasn't particularly uncommon for Sigil at certain points in its history. It was one of the city's most common occurrences back in the period known as "Hard Times", and in the Hive it was practically an everyday occurrence no matter how well the city was doing. Though much has changed since then, Sigil was far too vast a city for anything to be unexpected.

For this reason, Tenkai didn't seem to notice how nonchalantly Sivak spoke of this occurrence. He had met a number of people who looked at the suffering people had to undergo in this world each day and hardly batted an eye. This would've displeased Tenkai greatly had he not understood what led people to feel that way about the troubles of the common mortal. For some it was a matter of experience, nothing more than a byproduct of the rampant suffering in the world as many came to expect it rather than find it appalling. For others, it was merely a coping mechanism that allowed them to go on with their lives in the face of something they felt they couldn't change. Tenkai had long since ceased to be surprised by the former, and he felt great sympathy for the latter.

As Sivak went on, Tenkai was able to pick out her mentioning of the name "Tres" as well as his absurdly mispronounced surname. It seemed that Tres managed to get around to just about everywhere these days, even with the responsibility on his shoulders in regards to the UWP. Sivak's powers of observation seemed to be pretty keen if she could tell that there was more to Tenkai than simply being a monk. Indeed, there were so many odd and unusual features about him that he couldn't be just a simple holy man. She could easily make out the steel and leather gauntlet around his right hand, and there was no telling what that stick-shaped item wrapped in cloth at his side was. And yet, somehow...

"I am just a humble monk, Ms. Sivak," said Tenkai. "Nothing more than that."

...he had said this without the slightest hint of subterfuge. It was very clear that there was more to Tenkai than what he was letting on, but as far as Sivak could tell, Tenkai was telling the truth. Lying was a skill that many a silver-tongued thief used as their bread and butter, but Tenkai was no rogue and hardly looked like the type of person that would ever be good at lying. No one who kept a panda as a pet could have that kind of guile.

In truth, the best way to convince someone to believe that you weren't lying was simply not to lie. As far as Tenkai was concerned, he was just a humble monk.

"But who was this person that ended up stranding you on the streets of Sigil? Are you trying to find your way back home?"

[Deus Ex Aizen]

─ R a v e e n a L a v e n d r a S e n a r i a ─────────────────────────── ♋ ─ ─ ─

The Aftermath - Back to Illmater's Mercy Hospital

There was a deafening roar, and then there was no sound at all. Raveena could not see beyond the white blaze of flame, the churning ground beneath her--she was sinking into the ground as Obsidian thrust violently into the air. Walls of dark glass erecting in the eight foot span of energy she fed to the Star Mage. There was nothing but white. The pain of her body was gone, the sound of her screaming was gone. No more mage. No more portal. No more death. No more God. There was nothing left but the vast stretch of white forever.

---

There came a time--and for how long until she vaguely realized, Raveena had no idea--when the vague, shapeless forms loomed over her. The distant, muffling of voices. Were they urgent? Curious? Like a haze over her mind, there was no helping her lack of motorskills. Her lips parted yet nonsensical words spilled out. The dim light hurt, nor did it help her to focus on whatever had unearthed her. Her body was virtually non responsive, and up, up into the air she went, as though she were floating. The light was bright and dull at the same time, an ever-present orange twilight. Her body was crumbled, searing and red from second degree burns, her clothes barely considered clothing anymore, singed and burned off of her. Her pretty porcelain skin was mottled with red, black, brown, green. Ugly bruises, dried, flaking blood and some fresh. Ash and perspiration, dirt and filth. The groups of Enforcers sent in to rescue survivors from the rubble extracted her and carried her off.

Raveena couldn't distinguish between rationale and whimsical. She saw the dark, vague shapes and cold fear crept along her spine. Her PTSD triggered the color to her brain, for she saw dark things--and to her, dark was associated with the very organization she was never sure she had truly escaped from. She writhed and flopped like a dying fish, hardly putting up a fight. Her once deep blue eyes seemed dull, grey and lifeless as inhuman sounds of pathetic struggle ensued. The warm glow that surrounded her body gave way to a sense of Euphoria. The magic was saturating her skin, coursing through her veins, tipping her off there was a mage among the group. It could not be helped, and there was no fight left in Raveena as the lids of her eyes grew heavy and she lost her consciousness again.

---

The steady emotions cascading against her skin like a gently cresting tide stirred her. A mage healer was digilently concentrating, her soft pink aura pulsating as she worked. Lounging at along the floor were two large wild cats, nestled within one another. Jesta' and Seraph napped lazily, patiently passing the time--no doubt until the Empress was conscious again. Her lips were terribly chapped and dried out, cracked and thinly spread with dry blood. Her eyes felt heavy and her body felt weakened but she could feel her body's accelerated recovery process. Easing into the bed she was placed upon, the world shifted between vague and sharp images. Pain radiated from every part of her body. The Mage looked stern, her voice strained as she informed Raveena, "If you move I will break all your bones and keep you here." Now she paused from her work, the aura fading away as she set her sights on Raven, "You've been through too much, General. The only threat left is the the loss of your life. I've examined your record, you are notorious for not receiving full care. You will not move from this spot until you are fully recovered."

Raveena nodded feebly, the strict order she nearly agreed with. The Mage watched her with a leering, un-trusting gaze before she resolved it was safe to take a break and give her time to rest, swiftly leaving the room and closing the door behind her. Raveena's tired eyes followed her, unmoving for several moments before pain shot through her body as she lurched upright. Hissing as she pulled the IV from her arm and extracted herself from the bed, she limped for the door, her long hair matted and filthy from the Ground Zero Ertai ordeal. The halls were relatively quiet and Raveena--anxiety high--snuck through the halls to find a staircase. She nearly rounded the corner and made it out undetected when there was a distressed shout behind her. Working the kinks out of her stiff joints, Raveena half-stumbled half ran down the stairs until she barreled into the emergency exit, setting off flashing lights and blaring alarms. I was a terrible, awful sound that made her temples throb. Her fingers trembled and twitched as adrenaline coursed through her body.

She had to get away. Raveena tolerated hospitals as long as she could before her stress took over. They were too sterile, too organized, too much like OXY. The constant reminders and fear made her feel hunted and unsafe. Her clothes had been replaced by a hospital gown to maintain modesty, yet she had the notion that wandering around the city in a hospital gown would garner more attention than the disaster that took place not so far from where she was now standing. Taking the back way she avoided the confused gazes, wandering several blocks before randomly changing her course. Why was she so afraid of her subordinates dragging her back to the Hospital? Her fear of OXY had increased lately, and she never took that as a good sign.
Slumping against a wall, Raveena slid to a seat and half-curled up, "Tres'..." She croaked with her raspy voice. She couldn't think straight, she couldn't concentrate well enough. In her mind she could hear her mental voice. Raveena pushed, she needed to convey it. She needed to focus and concentrate just long enough to--

TRESONDROS

Raveena gasped at the white-hot pain that shot through her temples, even as she mentally shouted out Tres's name. Her entire body went limp as the mental effort sapped the only bit of energy she had left, passing out and slumping onto her right side against the wall.

─ ─────────────────────────── ─ ─ ─

☽ ♋ ☾

Filler post until I can comfortably use both hands again

Fierach

Tres Escuffaun

Glory Sieg

Scalar Warfare

Not Roen

count_zantara

Tenkai Matsumoto

Red the Ambivalent

[Deus Ex Aizen]

Astrella Badrii'ya Kruiba
Ground Zero - The Hunt Continues

Red moved from the two men and Astrella parted ways with Bravot to follow her. The talk with Bravot and the new acquaintance both unsettled and perturbed her. It was a waste of their time in her opinion. Red's energy was infectious, leaving Astrella in as much a hurry as the Psion. Her bell anklet chimed, robes dancing around her ankles as she practically ran after Red.
She had never seen Tresondros in person, though on the flat image displaying panels. He was an impressive size next to the scruffy, shady-looking man and the young Monk that joined him. None of them appeared pleased to be in one another's company.

The entire area was decimated or burning. A strange Obsidian construct was vibrating with ethereal energy, giving off a low hum that was barely audible among the recovery process going on around them. People were pulled from rubble. Mages were doing their best to clear debris with their latent talents. Medical teams were running around while security was setting parameters. There was intense communication and organized chaos. Astrella's keen grey eyes set their sights on Tresondros. The questions burned on her tongue, the Kruidian Queen at the end of her patience as she tried to exercise more control.

She had come so far and it seemed all the world was in her way, moving at their own slug-slow pace. The taste of success was so strong that Astrella craved it at any cost.

Where is she? Where is Raveena?

Astrella was eager to find out.

Red the Ambivalent

count_zantara

Tres Esctuffaun

Not Roen

Nathaniel Arkchion

[/quoted]

[YummyBiscuits]

Deus ex Aizen

Red the Ambivalent

The Reader

He didn't like the light. That was Jean's first impression of the city, it was this hazy sort of pre-dusk that did nothing to his deathly pale skin and did nothing to warm the chill that covered him from head to toe, so like ice he was. But every single one of his instincts screamed at Jean, in little voices that sounded just like the voice of the girl he had killed, and a thousand other's besides, mixed into this weird warbling tone that would have driven any other man to gibbering. For the first few hours in the city, Jean had to constantly stop himself from turning into a dark alley way or into some bar which had natural lamplight, just low enough that he could rest his eyes for a while. He was positive that if he looked into a mirror, he'd find them bloodshot.

He also didn't like the amount of people running around. Every now and then, he found someone who was running from the opposite direction, and more than once someone bumped into him, leaving some manner of dirty stain across his shirt. He was a vain creature, and when he turned to see if there was any chance he could turn and bring about some manner of retribution, he was forced away by the light. He had to suffice with running a magicked hand over his clothes, dislodging the dirt and letting it fall around his boots.

He stopped for a moment, underneath a shop's overhang. A beat up, old metal sign which had obviously seen better days read in some odd typeface "Shoppe of the Faeborne." Magic, obviously, and he could smell it in the air. But he had in fact noticed something as he moved through the streets. The running people had increased in number, and looking around the street, more than one person laid down on the street or the sidewalk, and after peering into a tavern, he noticed that quite a few people had gone in there. Their clothes were covered in fine dust, they were dirty and exhausted - worse for wear, and Jean could feel the vestiges of fear and utter terror clinging to them like the redness around one's eyes stayed for a few hours after a good old sob. What was going on?

"Mage's Guild Disaster." A man said, as if to answer his question. "Something or another happened over there. Cager's are all sorts of scared, half the city's in a snit."

Jean looked over, and saw an elf leaning against the outside wall of the tavern he had looked into, his bright yellow hair and eyebrows adding some sort of depth to his bright green eyes. Jean could swear he saw more than intelligence swimming in that wide-eyed gaze, as if he felt all to smug about pointing it out. But there was something else, some sort of sneer to his expression that left Jean's eyes drawing close together.

"Amoril. How did he know I'd arrived?" Jean didn't do anything to hide the displeasure, and... anger? tinting his voice darker than it should be.

"When you walked through that portal. You know how wide his gaze his." The elf, Amoril, gave a wink before giggling, a tinkling little thing that sounded as much like hand bells as it did anything else.

"He's given you a few hours to look around, acquaint yourself with the city, or stretch your legs, whatever." Amoril gave a toss of his head, moving away from the wall. He went to brush his hair back, and the few rings on his fingers, bright gold, gave away his allegiance. The brooch of the double-headed eagle on his collar, hidden by the folds of his shirt a moment ago, did nothing to help. He wasn't even going to pretend he noticed the obvious quality of Amoril's clothing and how absolutely gaudy it was - so like him, Jean noted - all silks and velvets and good leather. b*****d.

Jean was quiet for a while, and as if the elf was expecting some snide reply from the demon-kin, he too waited, long ears perked up for any sound. When nothing came, he snorted derisively and withdrew, melting into the crowds not a second after he took his first step.

A God knew his own, Jean had to remind himself after Amoril had left. In the manner of the old saying he'd heard some earth-dwellers say a few times, Jean shouldn't have been surprised at all. Their mutual lord had a thing for knowing everything, for arranging things just right, as if his empire were clockwork instead of a living, coagulated mess of people. The old man had that kind of power, the work in real time and in the same moment send a message across planes, and then a few minutes later realize that the message had gotten through and it was received with something akin to vigor. He was also a b*****d, he had lived too long and instead of addling his brain into bits, it had only made him sharper, as loathe to admit it as Jean was, and even knowing that, Jean was still a bit on edge over the whole thing.

And I'm his Prince. Dammit.

Jean brushed some of the hair from his eyebrows, mussing it back so it framed his face well enough that people's eyes would be drawn to his own. He mused for a moment how unlike him it was to let himself get so perturbed, he was normally an island of calm, with the occasionally breach that left him snarky and his tongue more rapier than flesh. He needed a drink, and he wondered for a while if a bar around here would be serving his preferred drink, catering to the demonic and the undead or what have you. Was it worth the look? Then the prospect of the so called disaster weighed on his mind, and that curious part of Jean's mind broke through, forcing him to smile lightly and shake his head gently. He knew then why Amoril had mentioned the disaster, He'd probably told him to do so, completely expecting Jean's curiosity, and daresay his hunger, to betray him, and make him go look. Surely so he could report back, tell the old man things he hadn't seen nor cared to look for, so Jean Baere could start working for him early.

Was he that easy to read? After so many years, probably.

So he wasn't all too surprised when about an hour later, he was right upon the so called Ground Zero of this disaster. The first signs of it had been a few wrecked buildings, one or two nothing more than a few big chunks or stonework or wood and a few standing walls, leaving him to step over as many bits of rubble as he did blood stains. The second sign, which he noticed more directly, was the cloud of blackness that clung to this place, leaving it a whirlwind of fear and terror and the agony that came with death, the sort of power center that would stay on the city for a good long while, part cancer and part ley line in balance. He liked this much more, and feeling the power around him as one might feel magic or tension in the air, Jean could feel the bloodshot and engorged vessels in his eyes heal to something more presentable, and his skin take on less of a flushed hue. He'd walk gracefully between the larger pieces of rubble, avoiding the people that were carting the dead and the wounded away, until he reached an erected barrier where a few men were standing, all well armed and all managing to look just as menacing to the passerby as they thought was necessary to make sure the public didn't come snooping around this place, where it was still dangerous. On a lesser note, they were there to make sure predators like him didn't come looking for a snack, but were they thinking that far ahead?

"Sir, you'll need to stop and go back." One dared to say, stepping forwards and tilting his helmet slightly.

He looked Jean in the eyes, enough of a channel that he was entrapped just as quickly as he got the words out of his mouth. Jean smiled lightly, patting him on the shoulder and looking to each of the soldiers in turn so that they were likewise caught in his illusion, his glamour, the obvious lie they'd believe. They didn't see it coming, and good enough, a few whispered words were enough to get him through the barrier and into the real mess.

"I'm a doctor, here to help, here are my papers." One probably heard, while another would have been positive there wasn't a person there in the first place, and still a third and fourth would talk about how great it was that their superior officer had given them the next few hours for free time, so they could cope with it all.

Unimpeded, Jean would work his way across the post apocalyptic-styled waste, buildings here and there shattered and still enough bodies to fill an entire country's morgues. Closer to the center of it all now, The Reader could definitely feel the power growing, the terror more concentrated as whirlpools of emotion tended to follow in patten. It was the same across a good deal of the universe, where great and terrible disasters had broken the normal fabric of reality. A holocaust here, and years later, a demon could go there and use that emotion for a wide range of things, from a simple snack for the emotion-eaters like himself or for dark sorts of magic for those who were so inclined. More than once, Jean had to stop to brush bits of brick dust from his clothes or to shake blood away from his boots. He'd finally stop by a dying woman.

She was thin, and not only naturally pale, but further made just about ghostly by the loss of blood. It made her look like a figure carved out of some ashy stone, and the only reason Jean knew she was alive was the fact he could smell it on her just as much as he could look and see the terror pouring out of her every inch. Please not today, don't let me die, Lord. She prayed internally, calling for some myriad God to come and take her away from this catastrophe. She was too out of it to realize that someone had approached, and that this handsome man was not only perfectly clean and handsome to boot, but he had brought the stump where her hand had been up and licked delicately at the blood coursing out of it still. He read her memories then, tasting them as he tasted the terror that had been imprinted upon her blood like a brand.

A wave of flesh and teeth and god knows what else, all sorts of bone and scary things. A giant thing that blacked out the sky and cast her in shadow, men that weren't men running around and dropping from the nearest alley way to gut her then and there. Then the man in the armor who had stepped in front of her and cut them down, destroying the little orbs that tried to find purchase in something else. Then that wave of flesh which destroyed him utterly and took her hand and most of her leg. It had burned as it moved past, closing the wounds for the most part but leaving her weak and defenseless in this place. Gods, help, anyone help, please, please! She had screamed more than once, until she was so weak that her voice just wouldn't work any more. Then the terror and all those other black feelings, bitterness and anger at whatever that flesh thing had been, hatred aimed like a blazing spear at the giant thing before and after it had fallen over along with all of the men that weren't men.

Jean let the memory fade from his mind, and deciding there was no saving this one, pulled the knife out of his waist, moving his sword out of the way so it didn't interfere. It was quick, and she didn't even gurgle when the last of her blood leaked from her neck. She'd be with her Gods now.

Jean rose from his position. It had been well hidden, explaining why she hadn't been found yet and why she probably wouldn't have been found in time. And he was no healer, those things weren't allowed to his kind after all, and he wasn't about to make her one of his kind or anything like that, The old man would see that as too-like-himself and rant about it for days. He wiped the blade on the side of the girl's dress, and breathed in deeply, trying to remember exactly what had moved him to giving into the idea of mercy and killing her before acute blood loss did. It was uncharacteristic of the devil, to offer mercy when a long and painful death would have been more than enough to sate his hunger for a few days, if not a week if she were potent enough. It was rare he got that kind of chance, and still, the hunger burned at the back of his mind, stronger than even a starving man would experience, he knew, from his time in life. No, no, it was just weird. He shook his head for a moment and stood in silence before he let himself untangle from the woman's deathbed.

He was coming closer to where most of the action was, people working at rubble or carting the dead and dying off were becoming more and more common. It was all promising, especially the two beauties who were walking away from a man. He went ignored, but the two women, they looked promising. And he approached them, a handsome man with a sword at his waist and a charming gleam in his eye.

[SIash Ex]

[!]Sigil City :: Market Ward[!]
...Carnivore…
[]~O~[]

The Tiger snarled in the pit of him; goading Eric on as his opponent attempted to shift into a well-executed, albeit poorly-timed, side-kick from the left foot.

Kicking, especially while within hand-striking range, was tricky at the best of times...and this was not one of those times. The Thai brawler would, instead of moving away, step further in; driving to the inside with his own left leg, and then hooking that fist directly into the knee of Jinsoku's incoming leg.

Aiming to drive the unforgiving points of his knuckle-dusters home.

Knuckle-Dusters :: Constructed of durable Titanium, these weapons are only remarkable in how simple and effective they are! Adorned with four, inch-and-a-half long, spikes on there striking surface; these fist weapons have been coated in black paint, and tempered to withstand strikes against other weapons.

"RrrrrRRAGH!!"

He'd pair that crippling blow with an under-the-leg catch from his right arm; looping it under the other man's calf, and then pulling it further into his punch. It meant taking some of the kick to his chest, of course, but Eric didn't care...The pain was fuel.

Gas on an already consuming fire.

ImNoHero

[SIash Ex]

[!]Sigil City :: Market Ward[!]
Black star…
[]~O~[]

[!] ~“Into the opera like moths to a flame…”~ [!]

The mystery of life, whether living or dead, is oft times perplexing.

Events have a funny way of unfolding, and even the most seemingly normal interaction of man…and myth…was, once, unnatural. Realistically speaking, all things are finite; a multiverse of bits and pieces, just waiting to fall apart.

But not Jak Savage.

While it is, essentially, a fact that money can not purchase happiness; it shouldn’t be forgotten that money is particularly effective at buying everything else. All the ingredients of a self-satisfied, and well-sustained, heavy-metal Legend could be found in all corners of creation…Even the means by which to attain supernatural fame, and unparalleled mastery of the six-stringed guitar.

So, as the City of Doors returns…awkwardly…to a semblance of stability, something wicked wanders into town; a monster bred by fame, and weaned on the powers of Hell its self.

/= /= /= = =

”Okay, Savage…Listen…Focus! I’m gonna need you to lay low for a bit…just until I get some paperwork squared away with the City officials, alright big guy? Okay? Savage?”

The nervous, but otherwise well-put-together, little imp hopped around on one foot; waving his short, reddish, hands about wildly. It was obvious that he spoke to a patch of deeper darkness at the back of their limo; a pair of long legs, bound in fitted black jeans, signifying his presence. A single point of light could be seen, glowing dimly, in the approximate area of where Savage’s mouth -should- be; non-specific features somewhat visible in the shadow.

”Uhhh-huh…Whatever, H.S.”

H.S., who had long been Jak’s manager, would reach up and gently press the bridge of his hooked nose; half-closing his yellow eyes as he felt with the opposite hand to worry with his slicked back hair. He had to give it to his ‘client’, the guy knew how to press his buttons. It was a gift…a natural-born talent. That said, the little hell-spawn had no reason to complain; his association with the Devil-Blessed front man had proven mutually beneficial on an unprecedented level. H.S. had done very well for himself, professionally; sharp-dressed, and rolling in mountains of cash.

Not to mention: the continued favor of his Master down below.

”I know you don’t care, but Jak…baby!…Work with me, here! Think of the ticket sales, man…THE SALES! Sigil? The City of DOORS? You’ll have access to the whole cosmos, the entire brea…”

On, and on, he went; regaling the completely uninterested rockstar with all the reasons why he -shouldn’t- do something. Honestly, Jak was bored…really, REALLY, bored. Staying on tour meant long hours on the road, or in the sky, or slipping between dimensional spaces. Not much tail to chase in the reach between worlds, and nowhere to booze up or buy drugs…The dry spell had ended, it was time to get out there!

”Right, cool, whatever…You go do stuff, H.S.”

He shifted forward in his seat, and went for the door; popping it open, and stepping out into the light before the imp could so much as go after him. Savage, who was nearer to seven-feet than six, easily withdrew both himself…and his instrument…from the car. His stylized guitar, the Axe, was literally as much its namesake as it was designed for music; hosting blades on the sides of its body, and a reinforced neck/handle.

He’d quickly sling it over his shoulder, and allow the instrument to hang across his back by the strap, before leaving his befuddled manager sputtering uselessly in the back-seat.

”Hmmmm…”

Jak ran his left hand through his mop of silver-white hair, and allowed his dark eyes to survey the area. Sigil was, by design, an older-seeming city. The touch of technology here, and there, was obvious; if not somewhat subverted by the heavy magical influence, as well. Not that he put much though to any of that…in fact, he was looking for neon.

The universal sign that meant “bar”, “alcohol”, and “girls” in no particular order.

[!] ~”…Spellbind their senses to follow the hero!”~[!]

“Trexasle”

[SIash Ex]

[!]Celvion -> Sigil :: The Mage's Guild Ruins[!]
The Wanderer…
[]~O~[]

A bolt of lightning severed the night sky like a blade, and rent the air with a thundering roar. Shadows slipped across the forest floor as though thrown into action by the retort, and gradually took shape in the shifting light overhead. Humanoid forms, and yet far too fast…too agile…

And yet, frantic…as if hounded!

”What was that thing?! It killed Voros before we could even turn around, and then vanished!”

The speaker was mid-stride, his comrades barely able to keep pace despite his burden; a mass of clothing, and unconscious flesh, draped over one shoulder. No one else dared speak; occupied with the terrain, even as they nervously regarded the churning clouds. Where had this unnatural storm come from?

Rain pelted them now, steadily growing stronger as they ran. Try as they might, even their ears could not detect the nearly silent footfalls that assailed them even now; masked by the downpour, as they in fact were. One dared hazard a glance to the rear, and saw the all-too-familiar glint of silver…just before it separated his head from the neck that once held it.

The whole of him, with nary a whisper, reduced to ash in a plume.

Two down, three to go, the Wanderer thought with a smile; a hand flashing out from beneath the trail of his cloak to collect the spinning razor, returned from its fatal flight. He was as a ghost…practically flying through the dense boughs of the trees above his prey. Not that they could see him, or had…

Not yet.

The remaining Vampires, as this is what they most certainly were, had yet to notice their comrade’s destruction; too consumed were they by the fear…All those who served the darkness had heard stories; tales of a hunter that stalked evil in the night, and gave no quarter. A predator -of- predators…

Their internal reveries would be cut short by the descent of a cloaked figure; dropping into their path, and standing with hooded-head bowed. They could’ve attempted to flee…turn back, or even run around, and yet they did not. The mind’s eye had driven them from a threat they could not see, but here…in plain view…was what appeared to be a man. Not some fierce monster, or beast…No different from the girl they had taken.

”Was it you, then? Are you the one who…Wait. Where is Gygot? Gygot! Where…”

The Hunter lifted his head, then; another spear of electricity ripping through the night, and revealing the obvious smile upon his clean-shaven face…And the scar that had been spoken of in hushed whispers, and reverent tones.

”No…No, no, no!! It can’t be you…we didn’t know she was under your protection…”

Carefully, as if handling an infant, the speaker would gently place his cargo upon the soaked ground; allowing her limp body to settle into the forest floor before slowly lifting his hands. The terror was evident in each of their eyes, knowing that they faced their greatest enemy. The dread finality of death lay barely concealed beneath that smile, and they knew it.

”They are -all- under my protection, parasite…”

A pair of blades would emerge from the veil of his cloak; silvered-edges glinting in the sprite-lightning above, as the rain-drops pattered noisily against them. Those swords, so thin and slight of frame, would be their undoing.

Until the world began to shift before his emerald gaze.

Distortion, and light, filled the air; violent winds ripping at the Wanderer from all sides as a cacophony of sounds assaulted his ears! What had been the woodlands he knew so well would seem to zoom away beneath him…lost in a vortex of scintillating radiance. His eyes flitted from side to side, and he fought to keep a grip on his weapons…and his perceptions.

A field of stars, and inky darkness; dominated by a mountain of sickly-seeming flesh, and glass-like eyes. It was so distant, even here in the unknown reaches…He could only imagine the truth of its size before it, too, fell away.

What came next was unfathomable; a sea of writhing tendrils, and grotesque forms. A night-terror given form…with giants of maddening shapes lumbering, or flying, across their world. As before, the visual moved on…Leaving him confused, and afraid.

He beheld once proud planets crushed to ruin, and the vast celestial phenomena that circled them…Gazed upon the majesty of multiple suns, and their worlds; newfound understanding blossoming in his mind, as more mysteries revealed themselves. Time fluctuated before his eyes…Stars blazing to life, burning with great purpose, and then swelling into death as he sped along his errant course.

Somehow, the warrior knew he had passed through a veil; zooming past planets entrenched by vast armadas of what appeared to be strange ships…Their weapons rending surfaces to glass, and destroying lives by the score. He had no time to feel remorse, so caught up was he in the experience of seeing. His road reached an end…He could feel it.

Something…no, someone…waited for him at the end of this dreaming reality; a fixed point in the weird, and winding course of events he could barely process. And then, he was upon her…His body coming to an abrupt stop within feet of her naked form.

An image of perfection held in place by the very power that had drawn him, and held him, here.

It was the last thing he remembered…one, final, poignant vision of things beyond his scope…before awareness closed its doors to him, and left him oblivious. His eyes fluttered closed, and he collapsed to the shattered ground in a heap.

His journey having only just begun.

Scalar Warfare

Tres Ecstuffuan

Glory Sieg

SpiritArcanis

Dues ex Aizen

[Hitomi Ishida]

On a rooftop near the Mage's Guild:

With Li and Kali.

She had been expecting it to be a bit longer before she heard a reply from the man, going about settling herself to gaze off at the obliterated structure before her. Kali who had been grooming herself had already begun to grow impatient. The creature wanted to hunt. She was hungry and agitated. Hitomi could feel it through the bond they shared. The Phegan wanted to spread her wings and sink her talons into something. To feel still warm flesh slide down her gullet. The platinum haired woman could feel the primal urges in the back of her own mind, attempting to move to the forefront as Kali projected the images into her mind. The words to dismiss her companion began to slip her lips when the sound of a familiar voice broke the wind to reach her ears.

Azure eyes drifted up to the hovering form above her. She shifted a few strands of platinum hair from her face and smiled. Feelings of disdain and irritation emanated from the creature beside her, and it even let out a small cry. The sound was screeching and threatening, followed by a snap of her maw, but otherwise Kali did nothing but glare. Hard violet eyes narrowed at the man with an intelligence that one might not suspect in such a dangerous looking creature. Aside from her rather obvious outburst of distaste, Kali did nothing.

Hitomi continued to watch Li and realized that his attention was drawn elsewhere. She turned her eyes, not nearly as perceptive as his own, towards the people down below. From her current perch, she could barely make them out, but there was obviously something serious going on. A wonder came to mind, whether or not Li was involved with it at all. She didn't get a chance to pose the question. The man landed beside her and began to speak.

She had a great history with him. One that spanned many lifetimes. Complicated and interesting, they always managed to find one another. It was almost like fate. Yet strictly in the platonic sense. Something kept them bound together. She wasn't at all surprised that he was already in this place, in Sigil.

“Yes. I'm starting to remember what took place before we stepped through the gate. I was expecting us to arrive together.” Her legs had been dangling over the rooftop, and she pulled one up to bend it, bringing her knee to her chest. “As to why I was sent here, in the midst of chaos, I do not know. I think perhaps the Door sent me to where I needed to be rather than where I wanted to be.” She shrugged. Upon her arrival, she was lost and confused. She had elected to stay out of the battle at hand, but had the urge to play warden to those in need. The longer she stayed, the more powerful the urge had become. Until she found herself in her current location.

She noticed that Li's eyes slipped back down to the people gathered near the destroyed building and her own curiosity peaked.

“Do you know those people below?” None of the assembled looked familiar to her, not that it mattered. Her memories, her history, it was still a bit hazy. That tended to happen when you lived one lifetime after another. If she did know them, it was from another life. Her most recent experiences were coming to the forefront of her mind. "Is it coincidence that you're here?"

li the fox

[count_zantara]

Deus Ex Aizen

The Great Absolute

Iris Lunaria

Destructive Forces

tresaxle

YummyBiscuits

”Slash Zinrai”

Red the Ambivalent

Tres Ecstuffuan

”Buxom Bandit”

Scalar Warfare

'Not Roen”

Arbitrary Fate

Shockingcat

LADY KAMA SUCCUBOSS

Fierach

Glory Sieg

Fiend the King

SpiritArcanis

Wyvern

Lucid Red Herring

Colonel Iyam A Heita

Thomas Bravot and Tonro the Bronze

And Company

Ground Zero—Mage Guild

As the strange group drew closer to the carnage, Bravot was surprised at the ingenuity it took to destroy so much in relatively so little time. At most, it'd been an hour or two of fighting but this looked the sort of warzone that only six months of continual religious fighting could bring to a place of interest.

Or a afternoons barbrawl from a pair of half-gods.

Noticing Red making her way over to him, Thomas raised an eyebrow as the group made it's way through the crowd of onlookers, the UWP Enforcers opening a passage for him, muttering under their breath all the while.

”Come to the Swan when you find who you need and Ravenna. I'll get the....possibly three of you set up off over on the edge of the Forest. I have a little castle in the depths that needs new tenants. The last were unfortuantly eaten by the Ent Ambassador after a altercation.

If you find the Empress, give her my well-wishes.”

Standing there for a few seconds as he watched Red and Miss Astrella head into the destruction, he turned to a pair of his bodyguards.

”Jerimiah....Anton. Go with her for support. I have a sneaky suspicion that there is going to be trouble.”

With a chuckle as the two blond haired Aryan men seemed to stiffen in their suits, they gave the Master Librarian a little nod before falling into step behind the two females keeping a shaded eye out for troublemakers.

Standing there at the edge of the collapsed Mage Guild, the dapper Master Librarian smiled slightly behind the cigarette burning in the corner of his mouth; his sapphire eyes taking on a slightly ominous glow. And he began to speak in a very obscure tongue of Naga to his two remaining guards.

”I want the sappers to begin work now. They have, at most, six hours. Start at the L-Line and Iota Platforms of the Tunnels. They should be in position by now. I want the Archives found, the Vaults emptied and everything that can't be taken, destroyed.

No survivors.”



With a nod, one of the remaining duo pulled out a phone and send off a simple message.

GO

MEANWHILE: UnderGround

Far in the tunnels under New Gotham...I mean Sigil, a group of bored workers could be found playing cards at one of the forgotten subway tunnels. The smell of cigarette smoke and laughter echoed in the shadows as the Foreman came in and in his rich German accent got them to work digging into the side of the tunnel with a large eviscerating machine.




Back at GROUND ZERO

Taking a drag of the cig, he flicked it out of his mouth with a little twist of his tongue and watched as it fell into the gapping hole. For all intense and purposes, the Mage Guild was dead. He wasn't sure about how many of the Council had survived beyond Master Jace, but it couldn't have been that many. Which meant that it was going to be fun to be a mage for the next few weeks without any support. He would have to get with Personnel later in the day. It would just like the various other factors in the city-state to jump into the situation and try to grab up as many wounded and mentally damaged Wizards, Warlocks and Sorceress' they could at bargain prices. Most of the Necromancers, Enchanters and Transmuters would gravitate to the new Lich-King Ursan for various reasons or to the Library. The Nercos because they do love a undead wizard who's on top of his game, the Enchanters because they keep getting slapped down by The Man for mindwipes and slavery and the Transmuters because those people just get under everyday peoples skins.

That s**t can get nasty.

The Illusionists, Evokers and Conjurers would try again for their own respective guilds or try to go solo. The Diviners and Abjurers would probably have come out of this situation the strongest; one for knowing that the Guild was a stupid place to be the other for knowing how to keep their head on straight.

A lot of the weakest were probably dead as well as the strongest...at least the overly-heroic or authoritative ones.

God Above and Below, he loved a good dust up of the status quo. It just got the blood pumping in all those delicious, demanding ways. As long as it wasn't something that he had a huge stake in, that is.

”I want a command outpost set up here within twenty minutes. Save as many as we can, help out our Brothers of the Mage Guild best we can. And get that bloody Prism over there on a truck and back to the lab. I don't know what the hell it is but it looks expensive...and dangerous.”

With a soft laugh, he leaned on his cane, the red marks on his unblinking face still shifting under the false-cloaking field around his ravaged body as the duo behind him began to make phone calls, more and more members of the Reasonable Men in Black driving in large military-like vehicles, helping with triage and pulling more people out of the rumble as only a well-oiled machine can do when there is MONEY ON THE LINE.

And as long as people were focused on the surface and rumbling of trucks and bulldozers, they wouldn't notice what was going on beneath their feet.

A Little Time Later



Bravot would find himself still on the edge of the crater, sitting under his umbrella sipping a cup of coffee as his little minions worked behind him, Tonro the Bronze finally pulling him out of the demolished building that Liams Wind-Storm had thrown him into, still cradling the weapon he'd just got in his lap as his bare feet dangled over the edge, grumbling to himself as he ran a oiling cloth over the tool in his lap.

Bringing the cup of coffee to his pale lips with his only working arm, Bravot continued to stare at the floating female, wondering what her game was. She seemed to be at the very center of all this ruckus, but not one of the reports had spoken the same. Some said she closed the portal, others that she was a villian and others just gibbered banging their head on the wall trying to claw their eyes out.

Those last were amusing.

And so he sat there under his black umbrella sipping his coffee watching her wondering her story and where the ******** his Ninja had gone to.

b*****d hadn't reported in yet....that was out of character.

And at that thought the absence of the portal seemed to crack slightly as a body fell from the healed rift and went tumbling down into the crevasse. That brought a slight smile to the Librarians face as he and Tonro watched the body bounce from metal girder to chunk of asphalt and so on until it finally came to a stop about halfway down the hole.

"Well that's unusual....hope that these jumpy people don't kill him on principle."

[Scalar Warfare]

Sigil, City of Doors - Market Ward - Branzell's Boarding House and Tavern

= The House That Magic Built =
The Mage...

Smoke curled from the mage's lips, locked into a seemingly permanent sneer as he indulged in his pipe, a luxury that despite being a master of flame he indulged in rarely. However, reclining as he was in the common area of the tavern and boarding house, he felt relaxed. It was not the relaxation of the knowledge of safety, but rather of a job well done. The bitter leaf of tobacco smoldering in his hands was his reward for himself... after all, if not he, then whom would give it?

The wooden chair creaked as he shifted, his features otherwise obscured in the flickering lantern light by his dark hood, once more returned to his head. To the barkeep, he was but a strange man that enjoyed his privacy, and paid well for the exclusive use of his upstairs suite.

Spirals of vapor masked him, sitting off to the side. The tavern was quiet this evening, only a few diehard regulars moping about the bar, already intoxicated. For now... all was well with the world. He'd given time for his apprentice to learn her duties, and sent her off to acquaint herself with the city and recover more mundane supplies. In the interim, Fireside allowed himself some rest... and carefully planned his next actions, the gears turning in his sharp mind even as his body languished in the shadows.

Techpriest Enginseer

[Techpriest Enginseer]

[Sigil, City of Doors - Market Ward - Branzell's Boarding House and Tavern]

Through the front door he stepped, looking about cautiously from side to side, even behind him as the door came to a rest and the bell hanging above it chimed to announce his arrival. He was shorter than the average human male, resting at 5'4 and probably no more than 120 pounds soaking wet. The black cloak that wrapped around his frame hid his face from immediate site thanks to the hood, as blue eyes scanned the bar area for a brief second before he fixed his eyes on the man he was sent to meet. He wanted to make sure nobody followed him from work directly, his paranoia ringing strong through his mind.

With heavy footfalls his work boots stomped against the floor, moving past the drunks and the free spirited folks as he stood over Fireside. This type of meeting was an uncommon occurrence for the young man, but he still had enough experience to know what to watch for. The reclining in the chair, the smoking, the public meeting... all of it cleared in his mind before he slowly sat down across the table.

"Fireside, I need to see payment."

It was all he said as his raspy voice crawled out from behind the cloak. Looking directly at the man could reveal that his face was scarred horrifically, results from years of service in various mercenary groups. The scars crawled down his right cheek and onto his neck and across his Adam's apple. His gaze was unwavering as he looked Fireside directly in the eyes and let his left hand rest on the table, a small scroll poking out of his sleeve revealing the wax seal that kept it rolled.

"Once I see payment, we will begin discussions."

Malarn never took chances, always wanted to see the money first, and most importantly trusted nobody.

Scalar Warfare

[Scalar Warfare]

Sigil, City of Doors - Market Ward - Branzell's Boarding House and Tavern

= The House That Magic Built =
The Mage...

The pyromancer exhaled sharply, casting a cloud of smoke that washed over the table and briefly fogged the newcomer's face in thick, acrid haze. When it thinned, his gaunt hand was cradling a small leather pouch, drawn by cord and richly oiled. Fingers massaging the bag like a stress ball, the faint clink of metal within was just audible enough to indicate the contents before the magus deposited it carefully in front of the contact.

"300 electrum. Unminted... you could counterfeit a new standard if you wanted to. Not that I care what you do with it." he muttered, his voice barely audible.

The mage leaned back again, arms disappearing into broad sleeves, pipe still firmly wedged into the corner of his mouth, betraying little emotion, if at all. Beneath the shadow of the hood, only the glowing embers and the faint magical fire in his eyes smoldered ominously.

That was the bulk of his remaining wealth... this information would do well to be of use.

Techpriest Enginseer

[Techpriest Enginseer]

[Sigil, City of Doors - Market Ward - Branzell's Boarding House and Tavern]

When the bag hit the table, Malarn lifted it up and gave it a ball park weight in his mind. It felt like 300 electrum when held, and truthfully even if it swas short a few pieces this was better than his salary had been for the past year. He slid the pouch open and peeked inside, using a finger to knock about several pieces to give them a quick glance to ensure he was getting un-minted pieces.

Satisfied with his findings, he quickly retied the top of the pouch and let it slip down into his cloak's pocket. His wrist flicked out as the scroll shot across the table's surface and stopped directly in front of the magus.

"I bring good news and bad. Two of the items you requested are in there, but the third was sent out this morning. Turns out it was a higher priority item than expected. The cube and the hat are still in the vault and I wrote down directions to get to it once you are inside."

He drummed his fingertips on the table as his fingernails, long and dirty from a days work, added little hollow taps to the beat.

"This next part you better take notes, because you screw this up and you might just find yourself in a pine box."

It was more information than what he paid for, but the safety of him once inside would be beneficial to both parties if this plan was going to work.

"Also, come alone, we can't risk having two people sneak around. Guards may be stupid, but they aren't afraid to pull an alarm."

Scalar Warfare

[Scalar Warfare]

Sigil, City of Doors - Guildhall Ward - Ruins of the Mages' Guild

Judgement of an Artificial God - Aftermath

The Sunlight Hurts My Eyes...

--------------------------------------------------

The rumblings of planar earth rolled past her, but she did not feel them. Vultures, scavengers... they were the first to arrive on the scene of calamity, but she did not heed them. Cocooned in a fetal fortress of her own design, Elianna's mind was withdrawn, and nascent, shielded by reflex in the face of the terrible power of the artifact.

Shielded within, but exposed without, her form shivered in the hot winds, not cold but naked all the same... and slowly, as the power ebbed, she unfolded, the staff in her hands slowly lowering itself back to earth at the edge of the crater, floating down ever so gradually. Her long, silver-azure hair whipped about her spectacularly, obscuring her just so, preserving that seeming irony of modesty that belied some deeper truth of her actual self.

But as gentle feet alighted upon cracked pavement and the rubble of apocalypse now, a sudden shift in the air whipped her hair back, revealing her astrally perfect form clothed once again, the final ruffles of diaphonous satin and lace coalescing into being around her throat, their shimmering fabric the very stuff of the stars woven into magical girding.

No longer star cultist, but the more refined image of a true sorceress, Elianna's beauty remained undiminished, resplendent in iridescent satin pulled taut across her torso, accented and chinched with low-slung chains of metal, ample sleeves and loincloth whipping about her legs like the arrival of a goddess incarnate.

And in these few moments, she might well have been. She knew it not though, her breath coming swift and hard, heavy-lidded eyes surveying as if anew the sheer scope of the destruction around her, and the wake of her handiwork. Her gaze alighted first upon the strange man sitting at the edge of the crater, drinking coffee as if perfectly at home, then to the scenes of industrial and manual cleaning that had already started moving in. The broken, shattered bodies of the slain, the collapsed buildings, the towers of smoke, the quiet-toned survivors, and the small group of remaining heroes.

All these she surveyed, and tears welled unbidden, stifled only with a bitten lower lip, and a shudder of horror. Then she beheld the crater itself, the still-active eldritch device whirling about a now self-contained rift that deflected the sight, difficult to understand by pure light alone. And in its shadow... the battered body of a man? The mage masters she had expected to survive, but he was neither... how had he gotten there?

With a sharp intake of breath, the star-studded beauty leapt down into the crater, newly formed filigree heels navigating the sloping rubble at a dead, loping run as if sturdy flagstones instead of jagged, tumbling rocks, dodging both dislodged pieces of masonry and jutting rebar with ease. Panting, she arrived at the prone form, kneeling over him, checking for pulse.

"Please be alive..." she pleaded.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aetheric Essence
0
NULL

Tres Ecstuffuan

Glory Sieg

Slash Zinrai

SpiritArcanis

count_zantara

[SIash Ex]

[!]The City of Ruins[!]
Okay...
[]~O~[]

[!] ~”Those who fight change are doomed to die, while those who accept it merely survive…”~[!]

With a sputtering cough, Rowena would rocket back to awareness; a wave of pain assaulting her senses with no remorse.

"Aaaaah! Mercy...W-what happened?"

It came back in flashes of light, and sound...Her world rocking dangerously as the pyramid began to sink, and the building nearby collapsed upon her. Dust still filled the air, and in the murky gloom she could see that -something- had shielded her from a worse fate; the crystal she had once protected now glowing brightly upon the destroyed ground. Its shape had changed, transitioning from puffball to solid quartz...or, at least what appeared to be quartz.

The Lady attempted to rise, but felt the weight of heavy stone pinning her leg to the ground; a sharp ache running through the Master's ribcage. Clearly, she was hurt...and badly!

Before she could attempt further action, Rowena heard the tell-tell approach of others; their gruff words, and quick commands, filling her with dread. This was no search party...not for the injured.

A glint of steel caught her eye...the blade of her sword peeking from a pile of rubble nearby. If only she could remove her limb from its entanglement, and reach the weapon! Her hands fumbled desperately at the boulder that held her down, smearing blood across its surface as the female warrior's fingers ripped from exertion.

"Come on...Come on, Rowena!"

Pure, glistening, tears streamed down her dirty face; crimson locks shaking with each, and every effort. The rock began to shift, but only just so...Desperation, and the will to defend her charge, driving her on.

[!] ~”…Only those who effect change, who lead it, may find prosperity.”~[!]

count_zantara