Welcome to Gaia! ::

A portal appears, seemingly literally torn open, and a familiar figure passes through and hangs there suspended by an arm on the other side of the gate way. Fingers tipped in ebon claws grip Ontaros by his throat and though a few words are spoken not a sylable of them is heard by the unconscious man. Soon the hand releases the limp body it held and Ontaros plummets from thirty feet up. His already broken body taking a final beating as he crashes into the ground.

Long dried blood in patches riddled through silver hair, filthy and blood stained linen wraps about the head to cover his left eye, torn, stained and tattered clothing, ruined armor and blood cover the heap of flesh that hits the ground. A long and low grown is all that shows that there is still life in this broken vessel. The only thing left that looks even remotely in good shape is a pendant hanging around a battered neck. That small trinket is the sole survivor, all that had gone unharmed.

The portal angrily snaps closed above and Ontaros is simply left for better or for worse laying in the grass, half dead, and very beaten.

A great deal of time passes, an unknown span however great though it may be, before Ontaros's silver eye opens and slowly looks about attempting to find out just where he'd ended up now. He tries moving his neck but deeply regrets it as pain races to him from his beaten neck and suddenly, it seemed his whole body had awaken now with pain. His muscles and joints ached and his head absolutely was screaming with pain and the only thing he could do despite it was clench his eyes tightly and try his best not to be overwhelmed by it. His arms wanted by reflex to come up to his temples and grab the sides of his head but they refused to move and even more so the fire in his muscles simply exploded with renewed vigor.

Clenching eyes and teeth, with shallow ragged breaths he does his best to summon his memories of his last conscious moments, but no matter how hard he tried he was unable to manifest the recollection of his last waking actions or the event surrounding them. And now the defeat settled in full swing, even mentally at this point he was undone, even through his best efforts nothing for him prevailed, and so he did the only thing he could. Lay and wait.

Ontaros slowly but surely slips into thought and further into dream as he falls to sleep with the rain coming down on him, it was relaxing and revitalizing, the cold drops felt amazing to him and he was finally comfortable enough to drift to sleep.

Ten glowing eyes towering high above a silver-haired figure that was forced down and chained down to his knees. A deep and very powerful voice which seemed to be five voices at once spoke and rattled the room with it's force. "Son of Bahamut. You are the last guest I expected to entertain here in my chambers. Did your creater send you here?"

Ontaros tilted his head back and looks up, staring up at those ten leering eyes. His voice displayed great confusion as he spoke. "Bahamut? Forgive me but I do not know of who you speak. What would lead you to beleive I would?"

The powerful voice booms with impatience already. "Do you have the audacity to tell me that you're ignorant of the being that brought your miserable existance into being? You take me for a fool!"

Ontaros shakes his head and repeats "I'm sorry but I dont know who your talking about. I don't have any clue as to who my creater is and I haven't known for centuries. I don't even know where I'm from, infact thats what brought me here is my search for my home. The multiver-...."

"Silence!" roars from five toothy mouths "Your insolence will cost you dearly foolish child." Those mouths each begin to take a deep breath, freezing fog rolling from one, embers and smoke flowing out of another, lightning jagging over the scales around yet another and the last two slowly drip acid.

"Wait my Queen!" A foreign voice comes from across the room, behind Ontaros. "I've got reason to beleive that he's telling no lies. His name is Ontaros and from what I've gathered he slipped into the dementional nether for some time from his home relm and due to his prolonged exposure to the energies there his mind was all by completely wiped." A man approaches and kneels next the prisoner bowing his head to his Queen before conintuing. "I ask your Highness that you allow me the pleasure of dealing with this trespasser for his crimes against us and them sending him on his way. You know as well as I that if we kill him for no reason that Bahamut will have no qualms about killing one of us in exchange. I doubt this one posess a threat to us so let us not make waste of our own resources."

Arthon walked alongside the road, his eyes spacing off into the darkening sky. He had traveled a long time in search of a place that could once more pique his interest. Good things had been said about this place. Knowledge and oddities seemed to flourish, powerful creatures made this place their home. Why, though, did it have to be so damned far away from the last city he was in? He grumbled something incoherently as he stopped to give his aching feet a rest. This Sydicate place had been visible for a long time but he never seemed to get any closer. Once he was there, he knew, it would be worth it... "But by the gods! Why does this have to be so difficult?" He said, groaning in frustration as he stood again to continue the trek.

At his side were his only two visible possessions; a large, leather bound book that looked to be very old, and an ill-kept staff with a clear stone at the top of it. His clothes were very filthy, but looked as if they might have been good quality at some point. Mainly, it was the man himself that made everything he had look even more pathetic. He looked ill and was deathly pale. His eyes seemed glossy and partially closed, as if he were running a fever. He did not seem to be able to take care of himself well.

Sensing the presence of newcomers, Ziven decided to investigate, as there had been little going on in the Syndicate for a long while. Silently she appeared near a female, hiding in the trees where she could not be seen and making no sound. Tilting her head, Ziven realzed the female seemed to be rather confused. Coming to the conclusion that there was nothing further to gain from observing, she disappeared again without a sound.


Reappearing once more near to the male, hidden in the trees again, she observed in the same way as she had before; remaining hidden in the trees, coming and going silently. Coming to the same conclusion, she smiled a bit and disappeared once more, returning to town.

Once there, she ensured that the fires that were kept ablaze in town at night would burn through the evening. They would be bright enough to act as a beacon to guide any strangers to where there was life, shelter and warmth.

A nudge. No, more like a gentle kick.
"Hey a*****e." Dalia scoffed as she opened her eyes. When she turned to face him, her eyes widened and she stopped. This man was the one she had been looking for, the sickly one who knew how to stop her visions. When she had last met him, the images of Hell had been nothing but tormenting dreams, but ever since the potion had worn off, they had gotten much worse. After she ran out of the potion he sold her, the dreams and entered into her reality, and drove her over the edge. For a long time she had been looking for this elf, hoping to find him again. It seemed as though luck had finally joined her side of the war.
Filled with a new energy, Dalia raised herself to her feet. She would have apologized for her rudeness towards this man, but at the moment her comment had slipped from her mind. A new conversation was occupying her, the one that was about to take place. "You." She gasped, giving the elven man a charming smile. "I've been looking for you."
It was strange that he did not recognize her, Tieflings were a rare breed indeed. Well, at least he knew what she was. "You haven't changed at all, Arthon." In truth, he really hadn't changed even in the slightest bit. He looked just as sickly, and as handsome, as he had years ago.

Dalia growled under her breath. "I have a name, a*****e!" She snarled at him as she followed behind him. She considered that perhaps he had forgotten her name, perhaps he hadn't the memory enough to remember it, or maybe he was simply too sick to remember. She would have to fix that problem. When she caught up to the -very quickly traveling- elf, she struggled to keep in step with him. Dalia was used to walking slowly, enjoying the beauty of the world. "It's Dalia, in case you were too busy to remember."
It was her right to be rude to Arthon. He was being mean to her! Dalia sometimes hated the fact that she was a Tiefling, and did not like being reminded. Plus, if she was going to buy him food as an apology anyway, she might as well get everything she could out of saying "sorry" with a meal. She scoffed, "Yeah, by the way, your stupid potion made my..." She paused and looked around as though somebody were going to spy on them, "...dreams even worse."
They must have been an odd pair. A very sick looking elf and a very angry-looking Tiefling, traveling towards a friendly looking in. All Dalia could do was hope that the people inside were not hateful of things with horns. Dalia pulled her hood above her head, hiding her horns and casting her red eyes into shadow.

Despite the fact that she was just moments ago angry with the elf, she put on a smile as they neared the area. It calmed her to hear her own name. Perhaps because it had not been spoken for so long. After not hearing her own name for so long, she had begun to doubt if it was even her own. Maybe she had stolen it from somebody else, or maybe she had no name at all. However, upon hearing the sound of it, her doubts vanished. It felt natural, so it was her's. No other name would fit her. Yes, he was correct with the description of her visions. Tormentor. Yes. That was her job. Before reaching the inn, Dalia explained her current situation, "Except their not just dreams anymore. They're everywhere. During the day. When I'm awake."
When he opened the door for her, she touched his shoulder with a graceful, clawed hand. Despite having talon-like claws, Dalia wore her claws well. her hands were gentle-looking and dainty. He was finally being polite, well, sort of. This deserved thanks enough. She removed her hand from his shoulder,and slipped it back into her cloak, and out of sight.
Just then he began coughing. "Oh s**t..." She breathed as he had his coughing fit. She wrapped her hand around his arm. "You okay? Before getting an answer she walked into the inn, gently pulling him along with her. She sat with him, "Now how about that food?"