Welcome to Gaia! ::

Omki takes them and sighs. " Ok Lets go, If he's there then let get him..."

Myyth shruggs and garbs his hand.

*Kamahl was a good distance from the docks where he re-entered the city of New York. The water levels in the sewer were abnormal because of the storms that were occurring above him as of now. The smells of waste, the slight spray of polluted water, and the sounds of scurrying rats surrounded him as he made his way through the sewers. Obviously, nobody was down here and there hasn't been many people down here in a while.....in a way this was good. The conflict between the races was stupid in his opinion but it was in the nature of the nightwalkers to fight with each other. Kamahl figured that if he was threatened then he had a right to defend himself and any unneeded fighting was not acceptable. The sewer seemed to be the only place where he could escape from the fighting that seemed to be so common nowadays. Ofcourse there has to be a reasoning behind his odd change in personality.....his various encounters, although rare, with others in the places he was at showed him how stupid that they could be sometimes. Survival was important and the ongoing conflict between the races seemed to put that survival in danger. Kamahl saw a nice dry spot to sit at and began to walk towards it. Slowly, he sat down and began to enter a trancelike state.*

*The almost utter silence of the sewers was broken by sounds that were made off in the distance. Kamahl heard these noises and quickly broke out of his trancelike state. He had been sitting at the same spot for a while.....it didn't bother him because it seemed that nobody really knew he was here or cared that he was here. With an push downwards to the floor, Kamahl gets up and begins his trek through the sewer system of NYC. This place seemed like a halfway decent place to start a little coup d'etat and he was sure that a few others knew this also. But Kamahl didn't want a confrontation yet because he was just getting reacquainted with the atmosphere of the city. The darkness enveloped him as he walked down the putrid, dank sewerways towards any place near Club FM, the place he wanted to see again. He needed to be fitted with some new gear and he just so happened to have some stored away at the club in the room he slept in for a few nights. The need for weapons other than his sheer strength was not dire but he needed something else for protection just in case. Rumors of a group called Razorteeth had spread out of NYC to other areas in the eastern seaboard and to parts of western Europe. These individuals perplexed him and yet they didn't seem to frighten him one iota. Who knows, maybe the lycan pack here in this city may have use for him after all.*

*Maximillion Mardrate smiles.

It has been a long, long time since he returned to this place. When last he was here, he came as an observer. Surveillance. But now, Maximillion is finished with that role. His Master has finally taken an interest in his work, and has granted him authorization to begin. He no longer carries a briefcase, and his features have slightly changed. His eyebrows were thinner, and his eyes themselves seemed like they were perpetually half-closed. Under his arm he carried a small, blakc book with an elegant chain hanging out of it. If it one looked close, they would see that at the end of the chain was a small gold cross. Silver just wasn't Max's style.

But he was smiling. Smiling to himself at something in his own mind- the gods only knew what. Well, one god in particular.

Anyone watching Max would have trouble keeping track of where he came from, and when... he was just there. He strolled through the sewers as casually as if it were through the halls of a banquet ballroom. His clothes were markless, creaseless, untouched by the slime of the sewers. Rats were always prominent in the sewer, but all of them kept their distance from Max. He seemed to radiate an aura of power... an unnatural aura that the feebleminded found terrifying and the intelligent found irresistably attractive. It was power, pure power, and it called out to those in the immediate area.

Maximillion Mardrate had returned.*

Well, well... aren't we an interesting find? A lycan, and one of great physical power. Nothing to gawk at, but I could've done worse. Yes, much worse.

*His words- if they are words- hang in the air like cigarette smoke, lingering before disappearing. His lips never move, but neither does his speech echo in Kamahl's mind like telepathy. Max steps towards Kamahl with a casual grace, and even though the sewers are dark already, he seems to be casting shadows all over the walls. Max's lips are curled into a thin, friendly smile.*

What is your name? You may speak.

*Maximillion pauses for a second, trying to decide how to respond. The Master had not given him the tongues of all lands, only those he was most likely to encounter. This could be a set-back, but not much of one. The meaning of Kamahl's words was easily divined from his inflection- that word 'Kamahl' (or perhaps it was spelled Camall, there was no way to know for now) was clearly the lycan's name. More importantly, the creature had understood him.*

Why did you come to this city, Kamahl? What is it that you want here?

What better aspirations could one have? To be the founder of one's own pack... a pack that could absorb the others and change the way lycans are treated in this world. A heady, lofty goal, indeed.

*Of course, Kamahl hadn't said that that was his goal in those words. But the way Max spoke them was so understanding, so reasonable. Perhaps there was some kind of otherwordly magic at hand, but did it matter? He raises his hand to him in a friendly gesture, offering to shake Kamahl's hand.*

...but all lofty goals come with their prices. To distinguish yourself from the decision-makers in the world... that would require power. And power is a difficult thing to come by, isn't it?