The City of Durem - A GM Thread ♦ WALK-IN/OPEN

[Fiend The Bunny]

arrow Downtown Durem Alley - ******** you!!

Woosh

The off balance dip sent the uppercut sailing into the sky with such force James actually left the ground. Now James was a pure boxer, but had he been a complete striker, a knee at this moment from rear left leg would have sent Marcus to dream land. Unfortunately, the drills of punch punch punch had left James with no semblance of a desire to throw anything with his lower body, so without incident he landed once more on the ground.

Suddenly, and without much warning, the tendril forced its way through James shoulder, barbs forming outside of his range of vision and drawing backward, slamming into the rear of his shoulder and latching deep into his skin. They drew blood, but worse still was the sizzling reality. The acid was burning away his clothes, and preparing to eat his flesh. It wasn't as rapid as previously believed, but the effects were instant.

Soon, he was shirtless. The acid burning the surface of James skin in a way which left a foul expression on the boxers face. He didn't make much noise, no grunt of pain or yelp at either the shoulder or the acid. Boxers were drilled to never scream or yell in a fight, as it was a signal for the referee to stop the fight.

There was no referee, but the training paid off in making James appear impervious to pain. The off balance landing left his right hand out of contention for another follow up blow to the face, the stumbling lean to the right Marcus did took his head even further off line of the lead right hand. So, with no other choice James reacted.

He placed the flat of his left hand on the crown of Marcus's head briefly, and with sudden force slide his palm across the side of Marcus ducked head while bowing his arm, slamming his elbow directly into the strange man's temple. It was a devastating shot, with full hip rotation. Difficult to avoid due to the off balance lean and the nature of the guide of the attack, being the motion of the hand.

The elbow would likely get covered in acid, but at this point James would take deep hideous wounds to survive. There was no wild expression, no vicious smile. James eyes were simply slammed open, wide as could be and deeply focused.

Character Art [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Unspeakable Tragedy

[Better Than Gore]

THUD!

James' elbow would indeed connect with the right side of Marcus' head, colliding with his temple, forcing even more off-balance and dazing him quite a bit. Upon impact the elbow crunched Marcus' skin, like weight atop thin ice, sending a crack that splintered off wildly in different angles across his face. As the blow forced Marcus' head left, the skin would fall off in a dramatic fashion, a couple pieces here and there hanging on momentarily before meeting the same fate as those that came before it. What had been revealed was more ooze, leaking from the wound, sizzling anything in its wake, including James' attacking elbow.

Yoink!

Marcus' left arm would pull in a downward motion, in an attempt at forcing the fighter to move like a marionette, and to leave James' shoulder open for an attack. Right as this opportune moment presented itself, Marcus lunged forward, due to his head already being lined up with the area it wouldn't be that much of a stretch. Marcus' mouth opened widely as it dove for James' shoulder. Was the crazy guy about to bite him? Yes, yes, he was.

Poppoppoppoppop.

Barbs broke free from Marcus' lower jaw, moving an inch from his skin before spiking upward, barbs also came from Marcus' forehead. As strange as it looked, they truly never stopped growing; instead, they would grow until they met one another. A giant maw aimed to sever James' arm from his torso!

Fiend The King

[ArtOfTheWild]

In a deserted alley fairly close to Durem's Red Light District.

Sehra was nothing, he could feel nothing, he could see nothing. He was in darkness, lost in a colorless void,vast and far beyond human comprehension. It was a crushing space, lacking light, sound. His mind was blank, his body broken. And when the world decided to reshape itself around his tattered frame he lay crumpled in a bloody heap. His were arms bound together by large metallic shackles engraved with strange runes and markings. His back was bare, and his chest tore open diagonally from shoulder to ribcage. His breathing was shallow, almost nonexistent, the only sign to even suggest he was breathing was the smoke that escaped from his mouth when he exhaled.

The mustered up his remaining strength and rolled onto his back, his crimson hair cascading out of his face to rest in a pool around his head. There was a terrible scare crisscrossed into his skin, with blood still seeping from it. The man let out a weak whimper, almost sounding as if he uttered a word, or name perhaps, before losing consciousness and returning to the darkness.

As if on cue, a crow- with feathers darker than midnight landed lightly on the man's chest. It's eyes shimmered with a golden hue as it stared down, then cawed once and began preening , and as it did so, shimmering sparkles fluttered down from it's feathers and landed on the male, and as they settled the sparkles would seep into his flesh. This went on for several moments until the bird took to the sky again.

The man seemed to had regained much color and was breathing more steadily now, his wounds seemed less threatening. He was still very much out cold, but a few more feet away from death than he had been a few moments ago. If someone were to spy upon him now, he'd look like a sleeping gent.

Aside from the gash in his face and wounded chest, that is.

[Flakkky]

arrow Close to Durem's Red Light District.

When Rhonda first found him, she leaped in surprise and bolted at first, not to run away but to go fetch someone who she know would help. Now that she brought him along from the motel they rented for a couple days, she was surprised to see he was in a better condition than before.

"Look! Look! I swear he was about to die and I panicked, Joe!" Rhonda fluttered about and raised herself into a rampant fit of worry. She felt like if she didn't calm down her own heart might leap out and worry over the bruised and battered man for her. The thought was ridiculous but she was an excitable woman with a dancer's body and a cute, doll-like face.

Joe'mante, unlike her, observed the fellow on the ground silently and critically. When Rhonda practically screamed for him to come running out, he thought of the worst. This was bad, but it was not at the top of his list of things that could go bad. Instead, he crouched beside the strange man, checking over his vitals and gazing over the wounds he suffered that were visible.

The handcuffs to his wrists made his eyebrow raise, but he didn't tamper with them. When he noticed, Rhonda gasped and reached from them. Joe smacked her hand away lightly.

They glared into each others eyes and silently disputed the matter. They have spent well enough time to talk in gestures or looks and know what each other were saying. It was a relationship they had as teacher and student.

"I'll do my best to heal him further. He's wounded well enough and whatever did this to him aimed to kill, but, everything else after depends on him." Joe went to work, manifesting his power after a slight amount of concentration. Rhonda saw as soon as it started, she had trained herself to perceive the energies of the soul, especially her teacher's own.

Joe's soul was displayed in bright lights of different colors. His aura exploded around him in a wave of shooting sparks and leaping flames. White, gold, red, and violet covered his body and heated the surrounding area with his presence of power. The atmosphere jumped with energy, almost like the leftover electrical residue after the strike of lightning. It made the on the back of Rhonda's hair stand and her actual hair started to frizz out. For those who did not have a sixth sense, Joe's eyes glowed like his aura, noticeable to all who looked into them.

Joe implemented Infinite Sight and the weight of his gaze bore into the man. It saw the color and shape of his soul, the dimensions and power of its existence. His sight allowed him to feel his emotions, if there were any, wash over him like a wave, tingling his flesh. His ears attuned to the inner workings of his body, the flow of his blood and the beat of his heart. It was overwhelming at first, but like the aperture of a lens to a camera, he focused it till he read just the bare minimal he needed.

With everything set, Joe held out his hands and they glowed a brilliant gold. A welcoming and friendly warmth emitted from them and washed over the hurt fellow. Joe slowly and carefully, mended the handcuffed man's injuries as best he could. Of course, he wouldn't come out perfectly heal, but his state of well being should be better off than it was a second before.

Rhonda's big, brown eyes watched over his shoulder. Her plush lips pushed forward, shaped as an 'O' from amazement. As always, she was awestruck by the many uses Joe powers had. The power of the soul was a wonderful thing and she wondered, would she ever be as good as her teacher?

[Fiend The Bunny]

arrow Downtown Durem - I guess our journey ends here.

Panic.

It was easy to be brave when you weren't facing death, it was easy to stand tall in the face of legendary murderous brawlers when you knew they could only return your blows in a fashion to which you could fathom.

It was not so easy to be brave when a man you could not predict attacked you, when that man then became a beast, when the reality of what he was so beyond what a human could hope to fathom and what your mind struggled to accept.

James was not brave today. The jaws clamped tight to his right arm just where the arm met the shoulder. James wanted to lash out, he knew that he needed to lash out if he wanted to survive. But he wouldn't, he only wanted to run.

He tried, boots digging into the ground and trying to back pedal with all his might. The jerking pull stopped any attempt at that, shoving him closer. Fight or flight mode had kicked, an embarrassingly, James chose flight.

James wasn't meant to be a fighter. Less then three weeks ago he was a free lance motorcycle mechanic, an national level amateur boxer but never close to a championship, and feared ever having a run in with his fathers old life. Fighting in this alley reminded him why it was folly, why he didn't have a dyed blonde mohawk or a bad attitude.

He was just a twenty one year old former high school athlete, and a coward. His left hand shot out, trying to push Marcus away at the chest to no avail. The pressure was becoming too great on his arm, and as it dug deep into his skin he fell onto his back, kicking out with legs in another vain attempt to pry himself free of the strange creature latched onto him.

CRACK!

The bones in his rotator cuff and upper arm shattered under the immense pressure, blood now pouring from the wound and creating a literal puddle in the alley. He was fighting back now, slamming his left fist helplessly into the side of Marcus's 'jaws', but the material was well beyond what his human hand could hope to penetrate laying on his back.

His flesh began to part deeper, muscle and tendon being exposed bear to the world. His body shivered in extreme pain, his voice crying out in what could only explained as a shrill scream of pure pain and terror.

Then nothing, the pain was too much. The blood loss too great. His body didn't want to fight back anymore, his brain wanted to fight back even less. It just wanted the pain to stop, and stop it did. In the blackness of unconsciousness he would never feel his arm being separated from his body, or his very life draining from his exposed artery. The arm gone about half way into the shoulder.

There was nothing James could do any longer. If death was what Marcus wanted to deliver, he easily could. It was likely James would die either way, the rate of blood less was phenomenal. It was beautiful, in a way, such a brilliant brawler laid out in his own blood. Nearly drowning in it.

Character Art [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Unspeakable Tragedy

[Better Than Gore]

"Liarliarliarliarliar!" That was the last thing the fallen brawler would hear before slipping unconscious. Taking his arm was almost too much on his conscience, luckily for the monstrosity that too would be gone in due time, his sanity was the first and the rest would surely follow. Blood decorated the wall of the alleyway, the severed arm provided a nice gush as it was thrashed about in the maw of the beast, and the alleyway was his canvas. A collage of black, and red. What a gorgeous sight.

By the time the man woke up... Marcus would be long gone; however, something told the creature that this wouldn't be their last encounter.

Fiend The King

[ArtOfTheWild]

arrow close to Durem's Red Light District.

Sehra inhaled sharply as the sense of comfort washed over him. He could feel the pressure of the heavy darkness lift from him, as the man went about healing him. He was confused though. Unaware as to how he got to this state in the first place. All he could comprehend was a sense of being in conflict,the bitter feeling of betrayal, and the festering sting of anger.

His eyelids fluttered and he groaned softly as his mysterious wounds knitted themselves closed, and though the scars remained, there was no threat of him bleeding out like some sort of gutted pig. Sehra's eye's flicked open after a moment, a look of pure confusion and surprise plastered across his face. He snarled, as he swiftly rose to his feet, quite unexpected from a man who had just been creeping into Death's embrace.

Sehra's hands would grip at the man's shirt tightly, his strange eyes darting from this man to his female companion. He spoke, more like asked questions in rapid succession, unaware that the man probably could not understand a word he was saying. But there was an urgency in his voice, a small twang of fear that crept into his syllables.

"Amirilan ela anirela tycilnya?", he asked frantically.

"Amire ilma aey tyaetyca?", his voice rose as his hands began to glow with a slight orange hue.

"Amirama ils E?", this question was accompanied by a rough shake that sent his chains rattling in a metallic chorus. Sehra's gaze fell to the shackles on his wrists, and his demeanor swiftly changed

"Amira.. Amira ils E el nyirilella?", he muttered, "Amira irilela aey feylw sa?"

His grip slacked and he released the man, still staring at his wrists. This was wrong, one does not chain a djinn, more specifically, the offspring of one. To do so meant a life of servitude, a life of slavery. The life of the Oilccal, the Fallen.

It would seem, that Sehra had not forgotten everything entirely. He could recall his name, and what he was, but any more than that sent his mind spiraling. As if he had been twirled and shaken about. He staggered backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing abruptly on his bottom.

"Irilela E faal oemlailnal?"

<What is this place?)

<Who are you people?)

<Where am I?)

<Why.. Why am I in chains?)

<Why have you bound me?)

<Have I been forsaken?&

[Fiend The Bunny]

arrow Downtown Durem Alley - 10:33PM

One and a half hours. James had been completely unconscious for quite a long time, and the vast majority of his blood had left his body at this point in time. As his eyes fluttered open they were not clear, glazed over and barely cognizant to the world around them. It was dark and quite cold, the walls of the buildings protecting him somewhat from the wind.

James rolled to his stomach, the muscles in his back and left arm working, hand planting on the ground. James looked toward his right shoulder, confused at why he felt nothing. His glazed over eyes barely registered his reality, but it did register it. He sighed slightly, struggling to his feet slowly and leaning his left shoulder against a nearby wall, using the arm to guide his stumbling form out of the alley.

His shambling form was headed precariously toward the only destination his shell shocked mind could hope to muster, he was stumbling and tripping himself toward The Yard. Toward the only doctor or true home he knew, to Syndri and to The Front.

The Front could protect him from that beast, James felt its weight on him. Tasted the fear it gave him and would be forever gripped by it. He needed their protection, that was all his cloudy mind could tell him. He needed their protection, and he needed medical attention.

So with a shamble he headed towards the outskirt of Durem.

Exiting the City of Durem - Entering The Yard.

Character Art [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

[Flakkky]

arrow Close to Durem's Red Light District.

Joe's Infinite Sight helped him with many things, but it did not translate mysterious languages and dialects. The man was in shock, raised back from the dead and was likely to be a danger to himself or anyone near him. Joe'mante handled it calmly, even while the strange, revived person grabbed the front of his shirt and spoke gibberish.

Rhonda jumped back, surprised by the sudden turn about.

Joe stayed his hand and didn't move. He watched for himself, through him and over him the energies that transpired. He definitely noticed the orange glue to his hands while he seemed to take offense to the chains that entrap him.

"I'm going off a limb here, but I'm guessing you're confused and don't know why you're chained up?" Joe slid his hands into the pockets of his pants and watched him coolly. The man was hysterical, but he was definitely out of the ordinary and with Joe's sight, he could see he was not a mere man. Yet, at the same time, the Spirit Warrior didn't know what sort of creature he was.

The two, dark skinned, humans could be alien to him as he was to them. Rhonda, though, didn't catch the hint that he could be something entirely inhuman.

"Joe, just don't stand there. He must be foreign. What if he's like those human trafficking victims, it's like the third largest crime ever!" She gestured with her hands and was very adament about her words. The look in her wide and concerned eyes bored into him more than her reasoning.

Joe mulled it over. He already expended a large amount of energy to regenerate his wounds, most of them that is. While it didn't force him into a state of cooling before he could use his powers again, it exhausted him some. The energy wasn't free after all.

"Come on, Joe, look at him. He's all scared and freaked out and those handcuffs and chains ain't doing him any good. So, y'know, go make the spirit pew-pew and break 'em." Rhonda nestled against him and looked at him with one of her puppy dog gazes. Her bottom lip stuck out and tremble while her overwhelming large eyes peered desperately at him. She was an inch taller than him so she stooped low just to make herself a bit more feeble and begging.

Joe'mante grimaced. "Or we find a locksmith."

Rhonda pushed off him and stroll toward the strange fellow with a bright smile. "Let's find a locksmith, I'm so happy the idea came to me!"

Joe sighed and kept close watch of Rhonda. The girl presented herself to the chained man with hands up, fingers splayed in an act of friendliness. She approached him slowly before she crouched to meet his gaze, if he was still sitting. She reached one of his hands and rested hers on top of it reassuringly. Without knowing it, Rhonda gave off an aura of attraction, not in the physical aspect, but to her character and genuine concern for her well-being. Though, while being beautiful herself helps a lot, her true intentions being displayed as a source of energy to feel for, was trustworthy, if he choose to accept it.

"We won't hurt you. My teacher just healed you and if you come along with us, we'll get you to a locksmith to see about those chains." Rhonda made gestures towards his handcuffs and chains that bound him. She would grab them and tug them, making it seem like they would break apart at the location of wherever they were to go. To Joe, she looked ridiculous, childish even, but who knows, Rhonda has yet to fail to reach to other likewise folks.

[ArtOfTheWild]

arrow Close to Durem's Red Light District.

"I'm going off a limb here, but I'm guessing you're confused and don't know why you're chained up?"

Sehra frowned, he didn't understand. Was that a threat? A command? A declaration of love? The djinn had no idea.

"Sehra ela lacilela ane lela. Macaillaa sa." (Sehra is slave to none. Release me.)

"Joe, just don't stand there. He must be foreign. What if he's like those human trafficking victims, it's like the third largest crime ever!"

Sehra had no clue as to what was transpiring. He sat, dumbfounded until the woman approached him, it was then his nose wrinkled and he snarled once more, baring his at her. She stepped to him, like one would approach goldenfyre cub, her hands up and fingers spread as an indication to do no harm. He could feel something waft from her, like a cooling breeze, and it settled him. She spoke and moved her hands to and fro and before he had realized, she had touched his bindings.

Legend has it that if you were to rub a magic lamp a even magical genie would pop out, grant three wishes and retreat back to the lamp. Yet in actuality, these genies were really being punished for their misdeeds, be it starting a plague, interfering with natural selection, or just plain eating people.

It was like mystical being community service. Bad djinn does crime, djinn police seal him away and banish him to the mortal world. He keeps djinn powers and what not, just can't ascend back into the home realm for centuries. There are several variants and levels of this punishment. Each crueler than the last and this, however was one of the nasty ones.

Upon coming into contact with the binding, the chain that joined the two metals together fell away in a blaze of dazzling light. The shackle's that once linked his hands together dissolved into nothingness. The woman, would soon realize that a mysterious symbol would ink itself onto her right wrist. And Sehra could only watch in dismay as the same marking appeared onto his own.

He had been tricked.

The djinn rose to his feet, infuriated. His eyes blazed like fire and his mouth billowed smoke.

"We aey mailceja amirilan aey irilela wela?!" (Do you realize what you've done?")

To her, it would appear as if the man had instantly started speaking the native tongue, but to her companion, nothing had changed.

"You have used your magic manipulate and bind my spirit to yours! I will destroy all that you love and rip the flesh from your bones, I will- urk.. hakk--" Sehra broke off midsentence, his left hand raised engulfed in an unnaturally white flame. He stood there, stuck briefly before the fire in his hand was snuffed entirely.

Rule number one. Bound djinn may never, under any circumstance harm their 'Sillaanamla'.

After a moment Sehra fell to his knees, golden tears brimming in his eyes as he touched his forehead to the ground where this woman stood.

"I am Sehra.. I am yours to command.. What.. What will you have me do?" his voice, though submissive enough- sounded strained, almost as if he was choking on the words as he spit them out.

[Tindome]

Chinatown

Crystalloid

Nadine, normally being quite the connoisseur of redheads, took a moment to recall who specifically he meant - the mention of ravens helped jog her memory. "Oh! That guy? Uuugh." Her disproportionate features made her face of displeasure all the more grotesque, sticking out the full length of her prodigious tongue to express her disdain. "Was his soul in danger? When I left it was still just his colon." It was easy to joke now that the danger had long passed, now that fear was so far gone as to not even be a memory. She sucked on her cigarette, let smoke billow gently out her mouth to surround her face as if to match her companion. It was a cruel joke, nonetheless, one that said volumes of her opinion of the man. He’d become indistinct in her recollections, as most people did, but she retained the strong impressions she’d developed around him: possessiveness, obsessiveness, apparent stupidity - it did not take much for Nadine to decide someone was stupid, and she loathed wasting time on such people. The only vivid memory that remained was of a cute boy being shot in the head for no goddamn reason, and it was the one she thought of first when the ‘suicidal human of red hair’ was mentioned. The outrage of that moment had never fully faded, and she never thought of it long enough to wonder why.

"You seem to have come out okay, at least. Thank goodness for small blessings.” The sentimentality of this statement was smothered with a red bean cake, bespectacled gaze turning to the street thoughtfully. Smokey didn’t mention victory - the bird, then, must still be alive somewhere. Nadine generally tried to remember as little as possible about unpleasant things, and so she did not dwell on details about that filthy bar, and especially not exploding birds. But: she had gone this long untroubled by youkai, and it wasn’t as if there was anything to be done if that changed. No point even thinking about it, really.

“He’s dead if he’s lucky,” she decided, the throbbing in her head tamped down with grease and salt and lukewarm coffee drinks. “No offense to your noble assist,” she added quickly, lest Smokey think she thought he’d endured explosions for naught. “Dude was just awful at being alive.” Another lychee was consumed, a look on her face unrelated to the sugary treat. “Bluh, let’s all agree to never talk about those awful people again.”

The mere suggestion of unhappy memories had soured her mood, and she began forcibly sweetening her disposition, fixing her face back into a saucy grin as she took another drag of her cigarette. “Aw snap,” she teased, “did Smokey piss off the popo? Start a gang war? Get chased through the streets by adoring fans like the Beatles? I dunno if they make hats and sunglasses and trenchcoats in your size, but we should totally find out. I’ll turn on some music, you can try on a bunch of disguises while I shake my head in disapproval, eventually you’ll give up in disgust and that’s when we’ll find something perfect. Then the girl of your dreams will fall in love with your alter ago, and there’ll be a lot of drama around that until you finally reveal the truth and it’ll turn out that the magic was inside you all along.” The butt of her cigarette was used to light a new one, then dropped into her mostly-gone coffee with a satisfying hiss.

“I thought I saw something about you on the news,” she murmured as an afterthought. “Don’t remember why, though - was sort of busy at the time.”

[Flakkky]

arrow Close to Durem's Red Light District.

Joe appeared at Rhonda's side the moment the strange man lifted in an uproar, spewing smoke and glaring at his pupil with eyes of fire. The words he spoke were a mystery to him, but Joe saw the aftermath of the light show the chained man produced himself. One moment he was bound, the next moment his cuffs disintegrate into the light. While he didn't see the newly form tattoo on Rhonda's wrist right off the bat, he saw the mystical link that appeared attached to Rhonda's soul, coming from this stranger.

Joe felt that THEY were tricked. "The hell is wrong with you?"

Rhonda stepped in front him, stretching out her arms to guard between Joe and the man she could somehow understand. The ink that manifested itself on her wrist astounded her, but before the matter can escalate, she had questions of her own.

"What do you mean, what did I do?" She asked.

Joe paused from confusion and thought, she can understand him now? However, even when nothing he said made any sense, he could depict a threatening rant from the average explanation by the look on his face and frightening rage. The fright on Rhonda's face told him enough.

"This ends now!" And it did, when the foreigner's hand lit on fire, emitting a blazing white flame. From there, he fell to the ground swiftly and bowed. From enraged to subservient, Joe was completely thrown for a loop.

Rhonda, on the other hand, stepped around Joe and to him carefully. She was dressed in white shorts, a pink halter top, and pink flip-flops. From the strange creature's level, he could see that her toenails were recently polished. From there, her smooth, cinnamon legs led up into a shapely and youthful body. She glanced at Joe and knew he was stressing care in his gaze. She looked back down at the fellow and crouched.

"Um, I really don't understand what's going on?" Rhonda glanced at a brick wall uneasily. Was this man some magical bipolar weirdo who gets off on scaring people after being revived? The answer to her question was as ridiculous as the situation they were placed in.

"What is this thing on my wrist? What did my 'magic' do? Who are you Sehra?" She had millions of questions and after spitting just a few, Rhonda gazed over his form. Now that he was all cleaned up and lively, she noticed he was...attractive in an inhuman way. Like some ethereal creature, shaped as a human, but clearly not. Perhaps like a demi-god even.

Her curiosity grew further and she didn't mind lowering down onto her hands just to look into his eyes. Her brown eyes were large and soft and were akin to that of a watchful child. "Whatever I did, it was a mistake, so, no need to rip my flesh from my bone."

Joe stood there silently. He was completely out of the loop. Still, he watched carefully, ready just in case this was all a crazy ruse. He's tempted to give the guy a good wallop and drag Rhonda off.

...

In the mean time, a dozen of hoodlums trampled down the sidewalk, causing a ruckus. They were a minute from the alley where they solicited and watched the proceedings of the city with a nasty interest. Until they reach their destination, they kicked over trashcans, struck mail boxes with bats, and slit the tires of cars.

[ArtOfTheWild]

arrow Close to Durem's Red Light District.

Sehra's gaze rose from the ground to meet the woman's. The look in his eyes was a weary one. The stress from this whole ordeal weighed on him like a ton of bricks. It was so much to take in so fast. The male released a feeble sigh before placing a hand on his chest and simply stating, "Genie.". He didn't quite have the time or energy to physically explain the complexities of what had just transpired, so as she neared closer and closer, he opened his mind and pressed his forehead to hers.

Imagine, a realm where time and matter could be shaped by will alone. Anything could be crafted and pulled into existence merely by thinking it. Imagine beings as old and as the universe itself; A great phoenix, limitless and immortal, burning through the heavens for all eternity. A wolf, as large as a mountain itself, yet fast enough to run to the stars and pluck one from the sky before one could blink. A dragon made of earth, spewing magma and reshaping the world as it desired. A giant spider weaving webs of gold fire. Beings vast in power and in number came together and offered a piece of themselves to create their own children.

Velea, as they called themselves. Demons, genies, or faeries, to those who tried to comprehend their existence. Tremendously powerful spirits, often seen as tricksters, capable of rewriting reality itself. That power came from centuries of merely existing. Eons of practice and knowledge.

Sehra was young, a mere three hundred year old nyyf (cub), with no real comprehension of his place in the universe. He had never willed himself into the mortal realm, nor had he sought to. Yet somehow, here he was. He shared his feelings of confusion with the woman. For the moment, she was able to more so sense the message he was trying to relay than hear it.

He needed her to understand that something she did, disarmed him. She'd made him feel at ease just before she laid hands on his bindings. That tattoo they shared was a physical manifestation of the contract she had unwittingly enrolled both of them into, and there was a great price to be paid if it was to be undone. Blood was to be shed and souls were to be lost. This tattoo bound his essence to her, meaning if she were to die- he would soon follow in the most painful manner imaginable.

The image of a young man standing over a woman with a knife lodged in her chest presented itself before the woman. Soon, the man looming over her went rigid and began to hover, before arching backward as if struck by some terrible agony. He wailed, and thrashed about as his skin crackled and sizzled like a piece of meat set to flame--

After a moment Sehra, leaned away from the woman and slowly rose to his feet, glancing to the man that accompanied her, "Thank you." he stated, in English, apparently, he'd borrowed the language from the woman during the exchange. He gently touched the scar that marred on his face, it was still quite sore, but.. It was healed.

The young Velea could sense the crowd before he could actually see them, he could practically taste the malice in their heart and it nearly choked him. He felt a certain unease crept into his belly, it was as if nausea had crawled into his center and settled.

There was conflict in the wind.

[Flakkky]

arrow Close to Durem's Red Light District.

Rhonda's eyes widened and her body turned rigid as their foreheads connected. She envisioned the grand scheme of creation, or a version of it, and was locked there on the ground, watching it before her eyes. She oo'ed and awed, flickering her gaze at the corners of space and time to take in everything the genie was trying to explain. This was larger than anything she had experienced before. But, of course, the tale took a turn for the worst, and when the image of a woman dead and the man burning like he was in the fires of hell arose, she felt herself drain of color. At the end, Rhonda stood up woozily and looked at Joe with his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised.

Joe stayed his hand and waited. He fumed slightly as this transpired and him left out of the circle. It wasn't usual that his student was a leg up on him, leaving him dangling and trusting her decisions. But, for once, he decided to let her go at it and make of what this man was.

When he received the thank you, Joe looked to Rhonda who nodded. "Don't worry about it. Now, what is all this?"

Rhonda regained her composure. She sorted through the massive amount of information and left the questions hanging in the back of her mind. She picked one word to explain it all. "He's a-"

However, there was a malevolent force of numbers brewing close by. Joe felt it right after Sehra and turned around to the entrance of the alley. Around the corner, a rambling, loud, and mischievous bunch of young men trampled in and slowed down to a stop when they saw the three. Joe counted thirteen burly men of all shapes and sizes, but all of their minds were alike. He read into their souls and saw the stacks of evils, recent evils in fact, that bore weight on their morality. He felt their emotions push past him like a great wave, and it said nothing good would transpire from being in their presence. He could smell the drugs they've taken and he could see they were beside themselves, out of their peace of mind artificially or not.

Rhonda glanced at Sehra and saw his nausea. She reached down with the hand where her tattoo manifested on and grabbed his. Again, her aura of reassurance would wash over him, either by design or simply because of her nature. "Don't worry, Joe got this."

Joe'mante unbuttoned his blouse and revealed the mass of muscles. A broad back and chest and large arms. He was as stocky as he was fast, and he easily appeared to be in better shape than all of those men combined together. Still, if taking off his shirt would win the day, many action stars would have ended the movie early.

The hoodlums started forward. The grins on their face were cruel and despicable. The leader, brandished a metal pipe and pointed it at Joe, then at Sahra, and lastly on Rhonda. His gaze lingered at the beautiful girl and he licked his lips provocatively at her.

"You're in a bad situation. You must be scared right now. Here's the deal, I'll let you two go," the gang leader said and pointed his weapon at Joe and Sahra. "You go and leave her with us. Don't worry, we'll keep her in one piece."

Joe's eyes squinted. His glare carried a foreboding message. "I'll give you all one chance. Either you leave. Or I'll deal with you, painfully."

They laughed and persisted....

[Pandumb]

arrow Downtown Durem

Lokas Samandar

There was visible tension in Tenkai's eyes as Dzan pulled out that lighter. The monk had maintained his distance from the cyberpunk as he walked away, making sure that he was still between him and the oil tanker. Still, Tenkai wasn't one to pull the same trick twice. He wasn't about to cut the cigarette a second time and leave himself open to an opponent that was fully expecting him to act. The way Dzan edged towards the oil tanker was clearly an intimidation tactic. Had he wanted to blow the tanker, he would've done so already, and that would've been just as much a risk to him as it was to Tenkai and Lokas. Dzan wanted to make his escape. Everything else was just saving face.

Nevertheless, Tenkai had said he wouldn't let Dzan kill any more people here, and he had stuck to it. The monk was fully prepared for Dzan to just throw that lho-stick into the fire in an attempt to send them all to Hell, whether Dzan realized it or not. Tenkai wasn't making any wasted movements or overt gestures of intimidation. It seemed that neither he nor Lokas would allow him the pleasure, and Tenkai's eyes never left the cyberpunk until he was well out of sight.

With Dzan gone, Tenkai relaxed his stance, taking a moment to reflect on those last words he had said. There was no doubt that he'd be back, and if not him, there would always be someone out there who wanted nothing more than to cause misery and wreak havoc on the world. But that had always been a fact well before Dzan, and it would be a fact well after he was gone. The world was full of people with great potential for power, and many of them misguidedly used it only to bring more suffering. But Tenkai stood by his words. Just as there would always be people like Dzan, so too would there be people like Tenkai and Lokas. Whoever came after Dzan would have to deal with them all the same and they, too, would be driven out in the end.

The monk turned towards Lokas, who was still carrying that fairly dangerous-looking firearm and no doubt was still trying to decide whether Tenkai was a friend or foe. No, that wasn't it. It probably didn't matter if Tenkai was on his side or not. He could see it in his eyes. It was a kind of distrust you only acquired as a means of survival, a wariness that kept you alive when faced with the madness of the world. Here Tenkai was, a swordsman Lokas had never met before that had practically dropped out of the sky in the middle of his scuffle with Dzan. The gunman had practically zero context as to why Tenkai was even here to begin with. Tenkai had to admit that his distrust was not entirely unfounded.

Regardless of whether or not Lokas knew that the monk was not his enemy, Tenkai had already decided that Lokas was not his. With so many civilians still fearing for their lives amidst the chaos, the last thing either of them needed was more fighting. Although Tenkai knew there were casualties as a result of this encounter, it could have been a lot worse had he not stepped in when he did. The boxer known as James had said his piece before going his own way, so it seemed that there was only Tenkai and Lokas left to pick up the pieces.

Obviously, simply speaking to Lokas wasn't going to cut the mustard if Tenkai wanted to ease the tension of the situation. He'd have to start off with a gesture of good faith. Lokas hadn't aimed his firearm at him specifically, but he sure as hell looked ready to do so if need be. Tenkai couldn't make any sudden movements. Bringing his left hand over to the mouth of the scabbard tucked into his belt, Tenkai slid the back of his blade down between his left thumb and forefinger until the tip lined up with the opening before slowly returning the blade to its sheath with an audible *clink*. Slowly, Tenkai let go of the hilt with his right hand and let both arms rest at his sides disarmingly.

He would not ask Lokas to holster his weapon, even after Tenkai had sheathed his. It was Lokas' choice whether or not to trust Tenkai, and the monk knew he couldn't force it. However, now that Tenkai was no longer poised to strike anything, it felt like a good a time as any to break the silence. Tenkai let his eyes meet with Lokas', not so much as to fixate his gaze but enough to maintain his sincerity.

"I am not your enemy."