Welcome to Gaia! ::

The cat flicked its ears at the strange Alice and watched curiously as she greeted him, just tilting his head for it and smiled wryly. “None of that here,” the cat purred in her mind “Nothing to learn, nothing to see, nothing to do just you and me. Need a different place, different face. Need to see the Wizard,” the cat almost laughed as he stood on black feet with a flick of his black tipped tail.

“Come follow, Alice. Come with me. Come somewhere nice, Alice. Somewhere fun to be,” he turned with a bounce and padded off down the alley, slow enough to easily follow but not looking back to see if the strange Alice did.

Fredrick Mason

Fredrick took the glare from the youth in his stride, knowing full well that it wasn’t anything malicious. He was fully capable of giving them back if need be, so there was nothing to worry about. “Then sir Airhead can pay, seeing as it was his idea. And this book is far too important to sell.” Walking slowly down the road towards the rest of the ‘people’ that he could see, Fred flipped the small book that he was holding open to the last page where a small summoning circle was inscribed. Wiping some of the still damp blood off of his chin with his thumb, he pressed it into the center of the circle.

Almost instantly, the blood soaked into the page, drawing the circle in with it until there was an inky blob in the center of the page. The page bulged outwards from where the ink had collected, before a beak split the page through it. Following the beak, the rest of the bird came through the page, though as soon as it was through, there seemed to be no damage to the book at all. With a short hop, the crow moved from Fred’s hand to his shoulder where it looked around the world that it had been summoned to. “It seems that Thah'Alle has gone through with his threat at last, and to such an exotic place. So... Why have you called me here as well.”

Although the crow was talking to Fred it could be understood by everyone, though Fred didn't know because of the bable stone. “I'm going to need to trade some items for food and money, but I don't have anything worth selling. Go find some herbs and safe ingredients so that I can mix potions to sell.” The crow looked at Fredrick for a second before leaping into the air and flying away towards the forest. Joining the rest of the group, Fredrick followed them to what he hoped was food and a way home.

Pango had given the mage a slight sneer for the rejection of the trade but Alex interrupted any further negotiation it may have attempted after watching the raven fly off with a roll of hazel eyes. The youth grumbled something the babel stone didn't translate as it grabbed the knight's hand and climbed onto the back of the large horse effortlessly to sit perched backwards on the thing's wide rump and stare out at the misfit group of lost travelers as Alex led them toward the ringed city on the coast. The youth did not look pleased with the tag alongs but hadn't spoken against the invitation. It simply kept a tight hold on the satchel, clutched to its chest in both arms, and watched the others suspiciously as the horse clopped down the rut road at the forest's edge.

It looked like it would take a few hours at this pace to walk the distance from the fields to the city. Along the way they could see many more fields and a few farmsteads. Rows of lush crops patched the countryside between green pastures and the occasional plantation home. Varied people of all kinds worked the fields but those that sat on the porches of the big houses or rode horses to supervise the work were all of one kind.

These people were a tall, lean, and fair skinned race with light hair and sharp features. Almond slanted eyes on high cheekbones gave them a slightly oriental look but long pointed ears that tipped slightly downward made them not human. Elvin seemed the closest approximation for the kind. Neither Alex, nor Pango, nor even the Mad Sam were of this sort - all three looking to be human from what the others could tell.

[We'll give you today to start any conversations you would like to have otherwise we will Fast Travel to the city tomorrow and have them there.]

For a long moment Quintus figured he was dead, and was gravely disappointed. There was an afterlife, and it was every bit as awful as the last life. Then again, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he probably wasn't dead yet. He'd hallucinated drinking... something. Perhaps he'd found an oasis and wandered away. His lips were still cracked and dry, but he no longer felt the desperate pain of thirst. And yet he had no idea where he was. He'd need to check the stars, see if he could... see if he could...

Where was Orion's Belt? It was the time of year for it to be around. North Star... Big Dipper... nothing. The moon could be - but no, it wasn't even the right moon, was it? Quintus sat up, dusting sand off his hat and collecting himself. Clothes, holster, pistol, ammo - he was exactly as he had been, so either the afterlife didn't screen very well or he wasn't actually dead. He was still in the middle of a desert, and very likely no one knew where he was, so there wouldn't be a rescue. Therefore, two options. Sit still and die thirsty, or walk and die thirsty. Heh. At least with the second he could say he tried.

Standing, Quintus looked about him. Rolling sand that way, rolling sand this way, rolling sand that way too. Clear stars, large moon. No visible lights, no sign of civilization. It really didn't matter which way he went; he was equally screwed no matter what. Something about the moon enticed him, though; he traced a line from it to the ground and began walking, coat fluttering in the breeze.

"Lost people," the youth answered sourly with a suspicious half glare over the edge of the satchel.

Alex laughed shaking his head, "Manners, Pango, manners. You'll never be a knight if you're not polite," he grinned at the rhyme then turned slightly in his saddle to smile down at his followers, slowing the horse to walk more alongside than ahead. "All kinds of people," he gave an only slightly better answer, "From all kinds of places. Aelzwyr is full of things from everywhen and everywhere." It sounded more like he was quoting now but he shook his head and looked down the road toward the city, sobering slightly. "Atalan is one of the more established places so you won't really get the full taste of it but the Kumariel are interesting at least."

Alex nodded at one of the long eared men sitting horseback in a field overlooking other people's work. The man had been eying them rather predatorily but Alex still didn't seem to notice and just continued on casually. "The long ears is Kumariel. Called em 'elves' where I come from but they get tetchy about that," the knight pouted slightly.

(All of the black text is just for immersion. Kind of trippy, I guess. If you're feeling lazy, you can skip to the red for some relevant content.)

Voices. Shadows. Flashes of light and sound. A gush of warm blood into his hand. This was the world of the private eye, Jim McPherson, as he limped down an abandoned alleyway in a deserted slum on the edge of the city. All was a daze, a dance of light and shadow, black and white, warm and cold. He could feel the strength of his body receding into his core-but he had to keep moving!

The threat of death nipped at his heels, driving him onward-he dare not accept it-but why? Death, he had once decided, could not be any worse than life. What does a dead man have to regret? Defeat. To die now would mean that he was defeated, deceived, misdirected and disposed of by that man. A dreaded thought echoing behind grinding teeth. Weak feet shuffled forward, into the dark, the disremembered drives and antiquated designs of a deceased district.

Gunshots. Screams. Lamentations. Flashes of light and sound. From where where did these sensations originate? What was happening? Oh yes, he was being chased. Were they close, now? Were those voices bystanders caught in the crossfire? Why could he not see them? The streets were abandoned still. Something had changed. What was the architecture? Was it Greek? Was it Italian?

Laughter. Grinding gears. Smoke. Flashes of light and sound. What was happening. He was going somewhere-for some reason. Where was he going? This was not a place he had been before. Everything had changed. Everything was different. Everything moved, but nothing was alive. Where was this place? It was not New York.

Shapes. Faces. Colors. Flashes of light and sound. The battered and bleeding inspector stumbled down a back street of somewhere, someplace, his left hand pressed to his side, blood pooling around his feet as he slumped against a wall. He saw faces. With a gasp of vengeful breath he raised his gun, his hand wobbling, waving, and shaking all at once his eyes focused on the faces. A strange man and--a girl? They were not here to kill him. His arm dropped to his side, clutching the gun like the last thread of life as he slid down the wall onto the ground. He no longer possessed the strength to stand. With great effort, he forced a single sentence from his lungs: "Where am I?"

Ah, he had been here before, in those twilight hours of approaching death. Hallucinations from thirst, coldness as - well, that was new, actually. He'd felt cold before, but that was bleeding out, not dying of thirst. The impression of snow on his face was unique, too. The general impression of snow was incredibly bizarre. Where had he seen this? He knew he had seen it, he had been here before, but the harder he thought, the more he realized it didn't snow south of Gaul and Quintus had never been north of that. This couldn't be familiar, it didn't begin to make sense, and yet it clearly was.

So this was Hell, hmm? It had to be. Any moment he'd reach the Styx, pay the ferryman, and cross into the next life. He'd kind of expected it to be a bit more... well, underground. And hotter. He'd always figured Hell was hot. Maybe it'd frozen over. Well, he'd find out sooner or later, because pretty definitely you couldn't die in Hell. Quintus kept marching, struggling through the sands, not prepared to give up yet.

Before the girl could answer a man staggered out from an alley nearby and pointed a gun at them. Traveler just tilted his head at the dazed aggression, seeming unconcerned as he slowly turned to face the attacker. The turn put himself between the girl and the gun though it wasn't readily clear if that had been the intention, the move was so calm, so casual, almost as if he'd expected what came next - or just had no fear of desperate men waving guns.

When the man stumbled back and slid down the wall he left a smear of blood above him. This too did not seem to concern Traveler though he did take a slow step away from the girl and knelt down at the injured man's side. "Elsewhere," he answered simply, face hidden still in the shadow of his cloak's deep hood as he pulled ink stained hands from their concealing cover to move the man's shirt gently aside and inspect the wound with a detached, almost professional manner.