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Freya hummed in contentment as she stoked the cook fire. The heat felt good upon her chilled hands and face. Carefully, she blew on the flames and stepped back to admire her work. She inhaled deeply.

"Nothing better than the smell of a cook fire." she said to no one in particular.

[Mind you this is from a recent RP session.]

It wasn't the first time, nor was it even the tenth that she had walked down these streets, simply to get to a specialty store. But this place, of all places, why couldn't it be closer? Though after the first time of moving through this place she had at least learned one thing. Pull the hair back just right and no one notices the ears, even better if its colder weather and cloaks are open season.

This wasn't winter though.

Commotion, or rather the end of it could be heard as she stepped into a scene she hadn't exactly been preapred for. Towns could be rough but this mess?

Looking around her, was anyone going to help these people? Who had done this to them? Whomever the group was, they were sure fast, fast enough to be gone even as the last person seemed to fall. Pulling her lips to one side though she looked to the specialty shops sign, and pulled one of the metallic objects out of it, playing with the cool metal before tossing it to the ground and stepping on in.

"Gracie! More of the usual I take it?"

How long had this old man been running the store? Since as far back as she could remember, at least and coming here. Soon enough it would be someone else taking these routes, picking up the supplies, soon enough she wouldn't have to interupt studying because some noble ran out of items and complained enough. Ok, he wasn't just some noble, but surely the arch mage could find someone else for this job...

"Yeah. But, what's going on outside? It's a mess..."

But all she got was a shake of his greying head as he went into the back of the shop and she leaned on the wall near the window, watching to see if any of the men got up, or if the culprits perhaps came on back to this place. A few she could possibly handle, but a gang? That was a pass situation.

"Ya know I dun like to gossip Gracie..."

That brought a chuckle from her lips as she raised an inquisitive brow at him. He knew secrets of people from when they were children and he was fiegning his gossip interests? Shaking her head a little bit she leaned back against the wall to look out the shops windows once more, taking in the unconscious state of those she had had to walk over to enter, hmm they still weren't moving? That was odd, but she could see them breathing, as well as, well they still had a faint glow which meant more then likely they were just knocked well and fully out cold.

Good for them.

"Ya weaseled it out of me."

He leaned forward on the desk and she looked back to him with a slow smile, moving away from the window itself and back more into the shop, leaning forward on the counter that separated the front of the store and him. A few of the pesky strands of blonde fell in front of her eyes, longer then the bangs she kept swept to one side and yet apparently not long enough for the ribbon to hold them. Folding her hands slightly she listened, to both him and the muffled sounds outside of the shops...

"Seems one of the dojo's here was embarassed here lately, one man and the whole dojo."

Looking at her with glistening brown eyes, full of some sort of glee he gaged her reaction, which in itself was surprised, and suspicious of what the man was saying, and midway through looking in a box for a few prime herbs, he held two fingers up towards the ceiling of the shop, a hand with herbs on his heart"

"Swear it Gracie, it's a big to do. Defeated them all, so they say, it's a big to do indeed."

"All of them? Perhaps one of the smaller dojos?"

"Now now Gracie, think about your towers, even the smallest one, how many do you have within there? It's a decent enough number to make that feat impressive. It'd be like you...oh wait."

Grace let a slow, satisfied smile slide across her face, brushing back some of the hair from her face, even tucking it back behind one of her ears carefully. So he did hear about that, interesting, but he didn't act towards her like the rest had. It had been quite a day indeed...

"Anyway, that mess outside was caused by him, darted away right quick a'fore you came in matter of fact."

"He caused a street fight? Why do they even allow him in the city then?"

Her head was tipped to one side curiously, before looking back over her shoulder hearing a few groans from outside, seemed a few of them were getting up, slowly but still getting up. Hmm, gauging them by what they wore, and how offgaurd they seemed to have been, perhaps that had been retaliation? No matter, the sooner she got out of this place it was probably better. After all she wanted no trouble, none what so ever, and being a stranger and exiting while they were still out there was not something she even wanted to consider. That and running into this fellow didn't exactly sound like the best of ideas either.

All she recieved from the old shopkeep was a laugh and his shaking head as he was amused, at something, probably her, and worked his thin old fingers through packets and packages, gathering her bundle together. Leaning up from the counter and shaking her head a bit she started roaming through the store once more, before setting herself in a seat near the window, left there by the keep because of the books he kept within this place, for reading as a sort of library, though nowhere near the kind where you could actually take the books out of the walls. No, they were bound here, you wanted their knowledge? They stayed here, with few exceptions.

Like the little leather bound book at her side, within her satchel, heavy and yet a constant weight there on her hip. At least here she could look like she was reading and wait until it was clear for her to leave...

"Why do they still send you for all of this Gracie? Surely they have better gophers?" Came his cheery voice from the back of the shop.

"Aw Amos, if they sent someone else I wouldn't have the pleasure of catching up on the news and talking to you would I?"

"And I would miss ya Gracie, tell me, think they can make ya a permanent? Maybe even move ya here?"

"Amos...."

"Ya know this old man would let you stay in the room above the shop!"

"And then you would have to deal with one of the others coming here, lost and confused and generally foul tempered..."

"Fine dearie, but ya know if ya ever need a place, the door is open always."

"I'm honored..."

He came up to the counter once more, half of the parcel complete, settign down on the smooth wood and shaking his head at her. She'd never stand for staying here, and though while the Arch Mage would happily send her off so he would never have to see her or deal with her again, even he wouldn't be able to keep her away, where ever the magistones led her, or the weave itself guided her. It was hard enough now for them to keep her from wandering off...

Destiny is a strange thing like that.

"You know you like the tea..."

"Only when you don't use too much sugar. Not a hummingbird Amos."

"Nay, but I am."

Offering him her smile and a shake of her head she went back to the leather book now folded in her lap, distractedly her fingers running over the old worn covers, well oiled, well used, but still just from the smell of it, from the feel of it, it was old. Very old...that was what had drawn her too it so very many years ago.

"They wont be comin in here dearie, not that I expect anyway, probably gonna go off after that young man soon enough."

"All in the name of their honor." She whispered and sighed. This place, being whom she was, made her nervous, this city, but most did especially with higher human ratios, but that was part of her sheltered existence. Funny, that she was more acclimated to the humans and able to actually accept and deal with them then most of her compatriots, her leaders, teachers and friends all very xenophobic.

They weren't all bad though.

[Sorry it's so long....]

Alright i'm just going to wing it and let you guys decide if I need some practice or not.
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A wild looking youth stepped out of the unnatural fog. Her clothes were from an era long since forgotten in the San Fransico streets. Her hair looked like she ran through electricity. The local riff raff began to single her out for a possible target of pick pocketing and other illegal actions. One of the men stepped up to her and gave a nasty smile. "Where's the little lady off to now? A costume party perhaps?"
The girl looked at him with disgust as he moved his hand around her waist. "Unhand me swine. Or you going to regret it."
The man roared with laughter as his gang came into the light. "Unlikely. Boys what say we rough her up?"
The 18th century revolver was in her hands and smoking. The leader lay sprawled on the street in a state of shock. A little wound was made in his stomach and the rest of the gang began to back away as she flashed a fanged smile at them. "Now then? Who's next?"

He vaguely saw his surroundings, as the pain had left. A street. A very dirty street. No cops.
Dragging the child on his shirt, he slid along the dirty brick wall, leaving a little trail of clean brick, only followed by an occasional whisper of the waste that was on the ground. He carefully checked the backstreet, and only saw some cats, a rat, and the usual garbage cans. Punks and other social failures had managed to give the street a kind of charming presence, he noticed, as he took a cigarette out of the pack.
Cursing, he saw that he had blood on his hands. When had that happened?
An episode flashed through his mind, when the large cop had managed to hit the punk with the shield. Straight in his mouth. He put the thoughts away, and slid out of his large black overcoat. The risk would be too high that some of the riot-police take a stroll in the lesser populated streets, and look for somebody they had missed. He could understand them.
He slid down on a sack dull of soft things, and did not even notice the smell. He now had to care for the kid.
He had a flashback, as he carefully placed the head of the kiddie on his lap, and checked his pockets for a band aid. The cops, clobbering down on one of the punks that had attacked the police car. He could understand them. Heck, he cursed again, as he carefully took of the glasses of the kid, and discovered that behind the large glasses and the big scarf, there hid a girl....
He always had been bad with girls. Not his fault, though. He had a rough upbringing, and you saw that mostly on his face. Nose broken several times, a few teeth missing.... he was a handsome fella, as one of his buddys down at the dock had told him, strong as a mule, good with hurting people, but never very handsome.
He tried to be as gentle as he could, and checked her face for scars and other scratches. Her temple was slightly bleeding, and she still smelled quite nasty because of all the teargas, but it did not matter to him. What mattered was that she was breathing, and that she had a pulse.
The cops now probably do the same, he thought, as he gently positioned her body on his lap. But it was wrong hitting girls! Even his mummy had told it to him, when he was smaller.
He chuckled, as he smiled at the fact that his mommy had not been at the demonstration. If she had seen the punks and the police hitting each other, she would have gone berserk.
He looked at his left hand, where some shards of glass stuck in his hairy arm. He grinned, and pulled them out with his big clumsy fingers. The cop had hit the girl on the head, he told himself. She was a kid. And a girl. Hitting girls was quite wrong. Mommy would have been proud of how he had hit the policeman with the motorbike. A bit of the glass broke, but he had stopped hitting the girl.
He checked again if the girl on his lap was still alive. He had seen many such cases. People that were beaten too hard. They simply decided to sleep, and sometimes, they just went away. He did not want that girl to go away. That girl was nice. She smelled of self rolled cigarettes, just like his mommy used to.
He closed the eyes, and carefully leaned back. Then, he hummed the song his mommy had always hummed, on the rare occasions he had been treated unjust. Usually, he had been too big and too dumb to do anything right. As he was four, he was as big as some of the kids from the school. He looked down at his tattered pullover, with something sticking out of it. He just ripped it of, and carefully held it with two fingers.
It was a taser. He had been ordered to practice with one, but he had been too dumb. The boss and Vinnie had said that he had to go with the time, and had told him not to beat up people anymore. He just tried very hard to hold the little thing in his hands, but he never really managed on how to shoot it right. If he just pressed it softly, he shot to slow. If he just pressed how he felt it should have been pressed. The thing suddenly made crack, and the boss had laughed, and had told him to just go back to beat people up again. That was some time ago.
He scratched his pullover, because the pace where the taser had struck him had been itching, and hummed on. He was not quite sure how the words went, therefore he hummed even better.
He remembered how the police had shot at him. It was not nice to shoot at him, because it hurt him. And they had started it. He had just helped the girl. He noticed how his tummy was very hurting, and pulled his pullover up. There were scratches and some holes, and even he knew that it was not right. He was hurt, because the cops did know that he was not allowed to hurt back because then his mommy would come back and hit him for hurting people. He cried a little, and carefully wrapped the little girl in his overcoat.
He was not entirely sure what to do with the little girl, because he was a boy, and he did not know nothing about girls. Only a bit from the lady friends of the boss. They always were very nice with him, and had much candy if he had beat up one of the guys that had touched them indecently, and he liked the candy very much. The only girl that had understood ....
He remembered the one time Frankie from the docks had been hurt. He had carried a crate, and Frankie bumped against it, as he turned. He had fallen on the floor and had been very still. And they had brought him to Caren through the street with the red lights and the many girls.
Caren was a nice girl. She was a doctor, not a real one, but a very good one, and she always knew what to do when he was hurt. She would know that he had only been protecting the girl. She would believe him. He was sure of it.
He carefully grabbed the girl in both arms, and stood up, with his back against the wall. The light fell in one of the windows, and because he was a bit woozy, he rested for a second. He saw his figure, standing tall in the street, with his six foot five. He also saw his face, which was so old and beaten up like an old mans, but he was not that old. Nearly 25, he knew. He liked to count.
The girl was still quiet. Her face was a bit pale, but she was still breathing. He did not want her to stop breathing. The girl just had been at the wrong place. He held her securely in his arms, and stood up again. This time, he made it.... the itching in his tummy had gone worse, and it now hurt too, quite a bit, to be exact. He knew that he would not have long before he would want to sit down and take a big old sleep.
He started to move his foot, and followed the back alley, while he was slightly humming. He knew that he just had to make it to Caren's house, and all would be good. He counted his steps.

One step.

He felt so tired. Step after step he walked down the dark alley, with the soft body of the girl pressed to his chest to keep her safe from hurting. He just wanted to get away from the street, and into Caren's nice room.

Fourth step, fifth step

He knew he was not going for a wee, but his pants felt like it. The girl was getting terribly heavy. Just looking down on her small face, with the hoodie and the funny letters was difficult. He really hoped that Caren would have a second pair of pants.

Nineteenth step, twentiest step....

He could see the house. It was a fine house. All nice and big, and he could see the red light, and could hear that kind of music like in the old films and there was the door and he was getting so tired. He just pressed all of the buttons, because he knew that Caren had to be at home.
He simply slid down, and rested against the door. It hurt so much, and he was getting so cold. He really wanted to get a coat, but the girl needed to have the coat more then him, and he just had to leave the coat with her. He also felt how his pullover was sticky, and how his head began to hurt. He saw a little man cursing, and raised his hands.
„I want to go to Caren! I did not touch the girl. The police did! I just have to see Caren and all is going to be good!
He was really tired, and he felt how the red light was darker, and he saw Caren, and his Mom stood next to her, and she waved at him, and she smiled. He was feeling so weak, and so cold, but him Mum just touched him, and hugged him, while she hummed with him his favorite tune as all was getting cold...

((ooc: well, how is my stile?))

((Well, now that I'm in this guild I might as well post something xp ))

Another light. Another portal.

Here and there in the distant white expanse he would see the 'doors' of light open and close from a distance. There was no telling how long he had seen them because in his stark reality where the silence was deafening, he couldn't remember ever not seeing them. Or not existing for that matter.

Lately, one door in particular had been opening and closing in almost the exact same place nearby. It beckened him closer, and this time he believed he would be able to reach it before it closed. He had no way of knowing how long he waited. But it wasn't long.

A shimmer. A haze; and a light.

His flickering form reached it's 'hand' out to touch the wavering beam.

In the small, cramped living room, four darkly dressed teenagers sat on the floor. Between them was a small, rectangular board. It was ghostly white and covered in letters and numbers. Eight quivering hands were extended over the board, playfully moving a triagular planchette across its smooth surface.
One of them would smile and push it towards words and numbers meaningful only to them. And the game was fun.
Until the frail planchette was suddenly ripped from their hands to dangle in midair.

He had grabbed something, and as he fixed it securely to the top of the light and slid it downwards something unexpacted happened. Working like some otherworldly zipper, he stared into an abyss. Dark creatures scattered and pinpricks of flickering light were extinguished.

How can darkness be understood by a creature who has only known light? It was. And he remembered his name, though he could not recall ever having it.

As he stepped into the strange, ever changing darkness and felt his form solidify into something human, he knew he was Kyrie.
The planchette fell onto the board; a black, smoking mess.
Kyrie was somewhere he had never known. And for the first time since he could remember, Kyrie felt.

((This is actually the origin of my MC Kyrie, an interdimensional being summoned through a ouija board. ))

[O/M exert: Drug Kartel RP]

An all black Impala SS Capric Classic, heavily tinted and bulleted proof would come creep slowly down the boulevard. Its occupants could not be seen initially as all windows were laced with thick black tinting, though within Lil Wayne could be heard blasting from internal speakers. A pair of 10 inch subs within the trunk allowed for the lovely bass knock which could be heard throughout the block. As it would slow to a stop just in front of the club, all four 22 inch chrome Giovanni's would continue to rotate in a clockwise motion.

There'd be pause before any movement was seen as though a conversation was being held within the vehicle. The passenger side door would be the first to open, and with it a large cloud of haze flavored smoke would exit the vehicle. The aroma of exotic Kush would immediately rush out into the street, as the passenger exited. The passenger was not an extremely intimidating figure, African American and generally light skinned. His tall and muscular figure adonned in designer jean shorts, a white wife beater hugging a heavily chiseled six pack and chest, and a pair of fresh butter timberlands. A single chain dangling from his neck, the symbol, an 8-Ball, yellow and white diamonds set into 14 carrot gold. About his left wrist a rolex, about the right a band similiar to the watch though where the actual watch piece would be, sat only an 8-Ball. Clean shaven, his face seemed a bit young for the jewelry and clothing, though he was 19 years of age.

Slowly and calmly he'd approach the entrance to the club, though an unfamiliar he'd heard of this place from a previous connection. The man pulling the strings behind him and his constituents had asked them to check this place out, and so here they were. The others would remain in the car as he approached, eyes blood shot, he was visibly high though in control of his actions and motions. Tattooes lined his shoulders, biceps, chest and back, each having its own personal meaning to his life or his past. His name Andreas Dane, AD on the streets. Reaching the door he'd step inside, his only weaponry a single beretta 9mm tucked into his belt in the back, not exactly hidden. This gave no true incling to the arsenal within the Impala, which is why he felt no need to carry more with him.

[FFA exert: [Fantasy, Guild rp]

Lyger breathed a bit easier as he watched these events. His son's presence was invaluable in his life, and while he wanted to go to this fortress and use it as the catalyst to fuel his own lifes ambitions, he knew his son didnt want that. He'd found lately that the boy's loyalty was beyond description, and when they spoke indepth he'd always wanted Shunobu to be reborn and the Oni Waban to return to its original purpose. After the fall of Shunobu initially the Oni Waban became a merciless group of bounty hunters and assassins. Lyger angered from the fall of shunobu and in pain from the lonliness of lossing both women he loved, was driven into madness and a blood thirst came to him. They'd all done unspeakable things, and while it'd given Jyushin the training and experience to surpass him completely, he may have taken him down the wrong path. Now that Shunobu was back he had purpose and direction, and Jyushin had as well. He could not goto the fortress, but he also could not do something about it beneficial to himself and the Oni Waban. "Form up" he called allowed as the walker was now out of sight, and silently they dropped from their respective tree perches and stood befor him. "Mesa i need you to channel the energy through this new mask into your own spiritual being and allow my self and the Blade the power of Duality. He will be in the fortress with you Troy, and King, while me and Jyu will remain here."

Mesa nodded solumnly, "allow for yourself and the Blade to have an equal sharing of your subconscious for the moment. That will ensure equality between the two of your body's though you will retain the ability as though you were still conjoined." Lyger nodded closing his eyes and relaxing himself, breathing deeply and focusing on allowing the Blade's consciousness to surface. "Lyger... why are you so willing to allow me this power, this is unlike you", "I've been doing this long time boy, lifetimes before we were reborn together i've always chased my ambitions and my desires. It lost me my life, my heart, my wife, and jyushin's mother. I need to let this go, your more the man for this job now.", "Going soft on me Lyger? Your not the heartless creature you think you are...", "used to be boy, used to be."

Mesa touched the center of the mask and a greyish subtstance, of his spiritual energy spanned through the mask. It pierced the soul of this body and the body itself melted completely leaving only two silvery clouds of mist dangling in the air. One was blood red, the other a silvery essence.

Troy closed his eyes for a moment, gathering celestial energies from the heavens above, channeling them through his angelic figure he directed them into both spirits. To large gelatanous orbs encased each spiritual essence, and immediately began to form bodies. The first, Lyger, was that of Lyger, the only change now was that there were no mists, and the hair tendrils were once again shoulder length silver dreads, on his initial chaotic aura. The second, The Blade, a wingless crimson body of the same strength and ability, even identical scars and facial features, and the mists pouring from his chest, adorned in the beautiful ruby mask sculpted by the Blazing mind. The tendrils in his hair didnt rhyth with the fury of Lygers, more with harmony, peace.

The Blade would bow to Lyger, to which Lyger would incline his own head. Turning to his men he'd speak, "Oni Waban, you are my family, i'd fight along side of you before anyone in the world. I love you all very much." Mesa nodded, "we will make this empire strong for you Lyger" they all bowed simultaneously and then turned to Blade. King spoke now, his voice smooth and rather cocky, "we your's Blade, you know our intentions be true. If you lead us under Lyger and build this empire we will remain loyal until death or beyond. But if you cross Lyger or us we will destroy you." The Blade chuckled, like Lyger he was never intimidated and didnt fear them, but he respected Lyger and his brotherin far too much to ever turn on them. He'd simply nod to the feeling no need to respond and the mists would rise around his body and encase them all. It would thicken and stirr abit before vanishing completely.

Lyger marvelled at the magick behind this duality. He could see every thought action and movement of Blade's but he could feel Blade subtly present within his own subconscious. I wont fail you Lyger... the last he heard from Blade before they were completely gone.

Oh, COME ON! Why is there no feedback? Hell, ******** it. I don't care. I'll just remove myself from the guild.