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Tyler sat in the confessional of St.Mary's church, the pale green rosary beads working through his dark, scarred fingers that betrayed more about his past than his demeanor did. "Curry's Beads" the locals called them, they were really fossilised portions of the "stems" of carboniferous crinoids - fossils. Mined up centuries ago Father Tyler had received his then, as a gift from the township, and now they were nearly priceless. But it was not their worth that concerned him, nor an altruistic feeling from running them through his hands, it was the smoothness now that had set in from the years spent rotating them about in the same manner.

He mulled over troubling thoughts as he sat in the confessional that was not used nearly as often as it had been a hundred years ago. It was not saddening for him to note it. He did not believe in the God that he prayed to on behalf of those that came to him, the sermons he lead were spoken in a show of farce, and so the lack of patronage simply aided him in maintaining his anonymity. There was no soul that could recognize him from the days he had come to the Abbey.

The thoughts that concerned him now, as such, were not with prayers or confessions either. It was with words he had spoken with Sister Joan, an immortal like himself and the only company in the crumbling Monastery aside from the occasional visits from tourists and Historical committees. She had the gift of foresight, a gift that had not saved her from her own fate in France nearly three centuries ago, and she had spoken with him of dreams that were troubling her.

Dark images of a man from an angry and violent past living too close to their home to be comforting. A woman that seemed to rise from the ashes and bring a part of the darkness with her. And another, too distant to know, but his rage and hunger for power all to evident in even the farthest glimpses of his soul.

So the Gathering was once more upon the Immortals. Calling them to one another, acting in both direct and subtle currents to force them upon one another until only one remained. Joan had fled, gone to France to seek comfort in her old home, and now only Tyler - Tyrel of Babylon - remained at the Abbey. More than enough for the few prayers and sermons he delivered but only one many against what could soon be an army of enemies.

The doors to St. Mary's Church opened, letting in a beam of natural light; the animated chatter of high school students died down to a soft murmur, mostly all of them considerate enough to bring their talk of who's hooked up with who and who cheated on who's boyfriend to at least a whisper, if not stopping entirely. The severely-dressed and teacher with pursed lips led the seniors from the Portsmouth Abbey School through the doors like a shepherd leading the flock, urging those still whispering to hush as they entered.

Cassandra Troy lingered at the door, stomach plummeting when she felt the quickening -- twofold. Brilliant blue eyes looked anxious, as they usually did, and she reached up with a small hand to worry at her short, dark brown hair.

Cassandra - once βασιλοπούλα Κασσάνδρα, Princess Cassandra - was of average height, somewhere around five feet four and five feet five inches, when she stood. And she never stood, not when everyone around her thought her incapable of it. She was small and slender, and looked to be in poor health. She supposed it was true, but that didn't mean she was going to die anytime soon, as most of the children in her grade seemed to think. Students wondered how she dressed herself - today she was wearing an old-fashioned (to her current classmates), ankle-length charcoal skirt, a green tank-top and a red hooded zip-up sweater. They forgave her her terrible sense of modern fashion because they probably thought she wasn't able to wrestle skinny jeans or tights onto legs that didn't move, and Cassandra let them think that.

"Are you coming, Cassie?" the teacher asked, breaking the Immortal's reverie.

The brunette faltered a moment more, one hand on her lap falling to her side in a casual motion. Agamemnon's rapier was still there... Cassandra nodded, and wheeled herself into the Church, wary of the two-fold quickening which meant the presence of two others.

But no fighting was allowed on holy ground.

Victor had come to his daily journey up to the church to pray and confess to the father. Victor walked with a relaxed and fairly unguarded stature up the mile stretch of hill and road. He left his sword on such days. He knew he was taking a chance, but he needed not his sword to protect himself, in case of an attack. So as he travelled and got closer to the church, Victor stopped and nearly tripped sensing immortals in the area. What was this? a few immortals in the same area couldnt necessarily be good news and he quickened his pace to a jog as he was in his traditional wear, lightly armored.

About three hundred feet from the church doors, the presences all resided inside and he saw a woman, with a rapier of some kind. It had been foreign to him. he eyed her and proceeded with caution. As he wlked passed her, his figure nearly over shadowed her at nearly 6'6" and highly built and muscular. He nodded to her.

"Ma'am."

His deep accent and skin tone of smooth dark and olive might have pinpointed his point of Origin, but now a days with the way the world had progressed into the hell hole it is today, nothing could really be used to identify his true origin. His bright blue eyes deeply contrasting and bright set with his black medium length hair.

He entered the santuary with grace and went to make way to the confessional when he saw it occupied. Hmmm, odd. he thought. Where was the priest friend he had. was he not here today? that cant be. Perhaps he is around somewhere.

Ash's hand found the handle of his weapon instinctively at the sudden proximity of one of the other's he'd senses. Where they in it together, the priest and this other? Was it a team sport now? Last time he'd checked that was not only against the rules but highly frowned upon by the Watcher's council - and they had their ways of taking care of those who did not abide by the rules.

Of course, Ash was never one for rules. He fully intended on taking Tyler's head here and now and this new one too if it was to brave to rush to the side of its fellow Immortal. The idea of anyone so pathetic to hide out on holy ground and wait for the end to take them made Ash sick.

He did not miss the lack of feeling in the old latin prayer of absolution offered to him by the Priest and he grinned, white teeth against a well-tanned face displaying an almost feral quality about the canines. He stood too, and exited, his hand still on the hilt of his katana, and he watched the procession of students enter the church. They were all so young and so innocent that he was tempted to set the building on fire just to snuff them all out at once. Old buildings went down fast.

Of course none of the evil intent was displayed on Ash's devilishly handsome face, eyes and hair so dark that he fit the description of "dark and mysterious" quite perfectly. He could pass for a gypsy, easily, or a distinguished gentleman in his black slacks, fashionable black buckled jacket, and the soft woolen sleeves and neck of the black turtle-neck sweater underneath.

Instead of pursueing the attention of the priest Ash laid his eyes on the man who'd seemed headed for confession, a tall and well-built man who's gait alone betrayed his warrior class.

"Looking for someone, friend?"

"If you can, I have no problem with it," Miss Kelly replied. "But it might be difficult. Cassie doesn't really... Speak too much."

From the distance, Cassandra could hear Miss Kelly perfectly well, and agreed. Cassie did not speak much. βασιλοπούλα Κασσάνδρα used to speak much, and Cassandra the Immortal simply was. Whether she spoke or not was of no consequence. She simply... Lived. Lived her life waiting, wondering when some young Immortal would claim her three-thousand plus years.

She ignored the priest, too, confident he was an Immortal who abode by the rules... This other one, however. Young and handsome, Cassandra's gut sense - which had always been very good, and had birthed a legend about her being a prophetess - told her this man was not. Well, if he thought he could take a girl in a wheelchair out easily, he had something coming to him.

Cassandra would do anything to protect those whom she was with now, even if it meant she had to disappear and start a new life after it.

Cassandra fixed her gaze on the taller, but less dangerous-seeming Immortal in sharp warning. This is holy ground. She glanced over her shoulder; Miss Kelly was back at the entrance, telling off a couple of boys. Safer there, than here, though the distance was too short to assure that much safety. Blue eyes finally found their way to the man before her.

He was handsome, Cassandra could not deny, but physical looks had long since stopped having an effect on her. Helen had been the queen of beauty, and Paris almost her equal; since then, she had met many who had neared but never surpassed either.

"Danger?" she parroted.

Danger. Two Immortals together, even two who professed an affection if not a love for each other, was dangerous. Adding βασιλοπούλα Κασσάνδρα to the mix had been fatal -- danger. Three together had killed two, because there can only be one. And here - here were four. One more than three; three dead then? Danger. No.

"There is no danger, child," Cassandra said placidly, voice quiet more so that those who thought they knew her could not hear the change. "We are on holy ground."

But Cassandra doubted that meant anything to this man, so she tensed.

She was quick. If he came at her, she could dart of the chair and to the side, and discard the encumbering skirt before he turned to face her. If he was one of those slower ones, she could have the sword out. If not, she could block his first attack with the sheathe and while drawing Agamenon's rapier... No.

This was holy ground; it had to be safe.

Ash took a small step back from the woman who, by her choice of words alone, appeared to be more than she was letting on and leaned casually against a part of the large altar. He brought his sheathed sword out from his side and held it horizontally before him, almost as casual as his posture but for the predator-like gleam in his dark eyes, and he smiled oh-so sweetly.

"Ah, yes. Holy ground."

The way he spoke it conveyed exactly how dismissive he was of the topic. He liked that the other man had left Cassie with him. Separating her from the others had been his plan all along once he'd deemed her to be far more threatening than the others but that had made it all too easy.

"I heard a rumor once that an Immortal who crossed blades with another was struck by lightning from the heavens, shattered his weapon, and left him nearly dead. Do you think that's true?"