Azazel's Stone

OoC: So, here’s my attempt to get a little more involved with the BA again. This is a completely open battle/quest to anyone wishing to join it. However, there are a few ground rules you should all be aware of.

1.) If you are interested in joining, please send me a PM with the character(s) you want to use. Yes, you may use multiple characters in this, but try to keep it to a reasonable number.

2.) There is to be little to no power-playing in this. Yes, I know it’s typical to have vast amounts of power-playing sometimes, but in this, I want everyone to keep it to a strict minimum or eliminate it completely. Only write the actions and thoughts of the character(s) you are using. This will also help with the third ground rule.

3.) I do not want mini-novels for posts. Please try to keep your posts to a reasonable maximum. This will, hopefully, help things to run faster and smoother and also keep things more interesting. Also, this should allow for far more accurate character interaction.

Those are really the only basic rules I have for this thread. Anything else goes. Once I’ve gotten a sufficient number of PMs, I’ll establish a posting order that we can follow for the rest of the thread to avoid confusion and conflict.

And one last thing. I want this to be a thread where you can have fun and kick back. Yes, what we’re going to be dealing with is going to end up serious and possibly epic and such, but I don’t want you guys to feel pressured to produce publish-worthy posts all the time. Just relax and let things flow the way they want to. <3

IC:

Silence reigned on the remote edges of the forest just outside the walls of Penion—a small city with only one inn and one tavern. Sileya had thought it would be quiet enough to stop for the night, just for one night, before she would continue on her journey back to Valina. How wrong she had been. She hadn’t counted on being awoken in the dead of night by an insistent rapping upon her door. She had thrown on a robe as quickly as possible only to open the door to find nobody there—only a thin roll of parchment wrapped in a black ribbon. The wind tugged at the piece of unrolled paper Sileya now held firmly in her hand, illuminated by the soft glow of light emanating from her other index finger. Ink blots dominated the message, a sure sign that whoever had scribbled it down had been in a hurry. She wondered at the circumstances which had produced the note.

if you would seek eternal glory and boundless power, find the artifact known as Azazel’s Stone which the Ancients hid before the breaking and rebirthing of humanity

find the Eye of the Serpent

kill anyone who gets in your way

you must not let the Sun Rod f

Here, the message abruptly ended. Sileya leaned back against a nearby tree and fingered the ribbon in deep contemplation. She must not let the Sun Rod…what? There were a lot of words that started with the letter “f,” and she wasn’t even sure what form of word it could be. It was a verb, most likely, but she couldn’t rule out the possibility of it being an adverb or even an adjective. If the person frantically writing the message had clearly ignored normal rules of grammar, surely he or she could have left out some vital clue as to what the rest of the complete thought was.

And what in the world is this “Eye of the Serpent”?

She had half a mind to crumple the note and forget about it. What need had she of eternal glory and boundless power, anyway? All she wanted right now was to return home after so long and see her family again. What was left of them, anyway. But the riddle and the implication of a quest intrigued her. Ignoring her inward child’s protests, Sileya pushed herself off the tree trunk, extinguished the light upon her finger, and headed back into town. Perhaps the tavern would offer a clue.

* * * * *

I hate men.

Len’s eyes roved over the sickeningly drunk group of men who were still downing alcohol at 2 a.m. They probably thought they looked fun and attractive to women, but they were dead wrong. What woman would want a man slobbering all over himself with a foaming glass of ale in his hand? Len certainly didn’t want one. In fact, she didn’t particularly want a man, period. She had no use for one unless it was to kill him in order to make money.

Pulling her disgusted gaze away from the pigs, she looked down at the mysterious message she had received courtesy of a half-crazed, blood-smeared woman who had shown up at her room in the inn a mere hour ago. The woman had probably meant to knock a few times and then leave the note on the floor, but Len had moved much faster than anticipated. Upon opening the door, Len had snatched the note from the woman’s trembling, bony fingers. When she had tried to question the woman, however, all she got in return was a broken whimper before her bloodied, almost ghostly, visitor darted away and vanished down the stairs.

So, now, Len sat in Penion’s only tavern, watching an obnoxious bunch of mongrel men pour booze down their throats while trying to mull over the cryptic message she had received.

if you would seek eternal glory and boundless power, find the artifact known as Azazel’s Stone which the Ancients hid before the breaking and rebirthing of humanity

find the Eye of the Serpent

kill anyone who gets in your way

you must not let the Sun Rod f

She wasn’t much of a glory-inclined person, but the idea of boundless power certainly held its advantages, especially in her line of work. She had no idea, though, what the Eye of the Serpent was or what the Sun Rod was or what she wasn’t supposed to let it do. And that mildly frustrated her. The only other bright spot was that she was specifically instructed to kill anyone who attempted interference. She would certainly enjoy that part.

Having had all she could take of the drunken group of men, Len was just about to push back her chair and return to her room in the inn when the door to the tavern swung open and a silver-haired Elf stepped through. Len’s eyes widened only slightly at the sight of the Elf’s rather large broadsword strapped to her back. With her lithe way of walking and her nearly impeccable appearance, the Elf was strikingly out of place among the usual tavern occupants. Len’s mental defenses immediately heightened.

The Elf paid no heed to the men. Instead, her emerald eyes settled upon Len’s corner, and she moved over to the assassin’s table. “Hello,” she said politely, with a smile and an accent Len automatically identified as having royal traces. “My name is Sileya.” The newcomer sat across from Len as though she belonged there. “Do you know anything about the Eye of the Serpent?”

OOC: Yes, I've finally posted *runs from a multitude of whips, flails and frying pans brandished against him*

IC: The figure lay curled up at the base of the great oak, its great wings folded about itself like a blanket. A mop of wavy golden hair danced about in the gentle night breeze, brushing past his thick eyebrows. Breaking the apparent calmness, his eyelids suddenly blinked open, revealing the golden irises behind them. He could feel it again, that same feeling of impending doom and encroaching darkness that had led him to that accursed cavern all those months ago.

His wings fluttered slightly as he sat up, folding behind his back as he looked around. Something sinister was at work in the world, and angels were particularly sensitive to the build-up of evil. He could not just remain idle and allow such a thing to go unchallenged. Rising to his feet, he slid on his helmet and pulled his gauntlets on tight, pausing for a moment to check on his sword and shield. Flapping his pearly white wings, the golden warrior took to the skies and flew in the direction his instincts dictated.

The pale moon shone on the angel's armours, giving off an incandescent glow. He had no conscious idea of where he was heading, yet his feelings seemed to be his compass at the moment. After a few hours of flight, he reached what seemed to be a small town and began his descent. The streets appeared to be almost empty from above, something which was to be expecting, considering the lateness of the hour. Landing on the outskirts almost silently, he removed his helmet and strapped it to his belt, and headed into the town

****

The vampire sat alone in a shadowy corner of the tavern, his black boots resting upon the table in front of him. His only consolation seemed to be a partially filled glass of rich ruby wine, resting next to a bottle of French Cabernet. Reaching forwards momentarily, he picked up his glass and then leaned back once more, giving the liquid a slow twirl within its container. His dark purple eyes scanned the room once more, taking in all the patrons' faces.

He had arrived at this town of Penion a few hours before, under the cover of darkness, and decided to spend the rest of the night at this tavern, planning to take lodging at the nearby inn when dawn approached. Taking a drawn-out sip of wine, he emptied his glass and placed it on the table once more. Reaching for the adjacent bottle, he proceeded to replenish his cordial, looking around in slight boredom as he did so. There seemed to be nothing of interest, except...

His gaze fell on a human female sitting across the room from him as he lowered the bottle. She was quite literally gorgeous, with flowing strawberry hair and bright rosy-brown eyes, her petite curves adorned with a black strapless dress. Unlike Descartes' slightly bored expression, her features were drawn in what could only be described as utter disgust as she looked at all the raucous human males getting drunk on cheap beer. He chuckled softly and brought the refilled glass to his lips, taking another sip.

As he did so, the tavern doors swung open and in walked another ethereal existence, with bright silver hair and the most dazzling emerald eyes. He lowered his glass and arched an eyebrow at her as he observed her gait, noticing that her curves were much more defined than the other female. Her well-built appearance betrayed the fact that she was probably a warrior who wielded a heavy weapon, most likely a sword.

Thoroughly intrigued, he watched her stroll past him and head towards the corner where the other woman sat. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the broadsword strapped to her back. What he did not expect to see, however, were the pointy, elongated ears she sported. He had never seen anything similar before, so his curiosity was piqued.

He was still watching her as she sat down opposite the dark-clad female and started up a conversation. The vampire looked at the patrons in his vicinity once more, their loud drunken selves paling in interest compared to the female presences across from him. Chuckling softly to himself, he rose to his feet and gently gripped his still half-full glass between his fingers. Picking up the bottle of wine with his other hand, he started heading towards the two of them.

Reaching their table, he pulled out a chair and twirled it around, sitting on it back to front and hugging the back-rest. Flashing a grin at the both of them, he took another sip of wine from his glass.

"Greetings, mademoiselles."

"You've any idea what the last word of this is supposed to be?" Amy shoved a slip of paper beneath Mencha's nose.

The paper's margin brushed Mencha's skin like the sharp edge of a blade. Mencha wondered, vaguely, if the paper would leave a cut. Certainly, all the conditions had been met. Her nose stung.

"Oh, sorry about that!" Amy's hand—the empty one—jerked, as though she meant to be motherly about the whole matter and rub the pain away.

"'S all right," mumbled Mencha, looking at the table.

She doubted Amy heard that impeccable bit of English; she herself hardly heard it above the drunken banter that filled her ears, filled her brain, filled the confines of that close tavern room. When Amy began speaking again, Mencha knew she had not heard.

"When I fairst saw the note and it was sayin', 'if ye would seek eternal gloray and boundless power, find the artifact known as Azazel’s Stone'—"

Amy leant over the table until she was scant inches from Mencha's bowed head; she jabbed the slip of paper to emphasize her words. Mencha sighed. Amy had already read that note out loud three times, and theorized upon it several times more, but she'd also had several pints to drink in the last half hour, and Mencha was starting to fear for her companion's wits... if they had ever been something worth fearing for, that is. Mencha was starting to suspect they were not.

"But I canna, faer the life of me, settle upon a word to end this." Amy gave the paper a conclusive little smack. "I'm thinkin' maybe the word was "find"; it'd make sense, 'doan let the Sun Rod find', but ye'd want tae be perfectly clear, don't'chya think? Ye wouldn't want to jump to conclusions and that sort of thing."

"You will forgive me… but what does this have to do with… anything?" Mencha blinked up at her companion. "I thought we were going… back to… Spain, not… not…"

She wasn't exactly sure what Amy was doing to engage her time at the moment, and so she decided her tone of voice and its insinuation must be enough to carry her meaning.

"Of course I'm taekin' ye back to yaer Spain!" Amy said, cheerfully. "Ye must miss it sorely, bein' lost from it faer five months." But she had paused before she had spoken, and when she did speak, the words had come too fast, and now she was smiling at Mencha as though she were saying sorry.

Mencha drooped.

"Mencha-a-a… I told you ye should have bought yaerself a bed back at that inn." Amy leant toward her, voice companionable, matter-of-fact. "Ye should go get one. It'll do ye a bit of good, gettin' a bit of rest." She patted Mencha's shoulder.

Mencha shuddered. She had tried, earlier; she had actually gone as far as to examine one of the rooms in the inn. But she had detested the only room available at the price she could afford: she had smelled the sweet rot of the sunken floor and walls. The concave mattress had been yellow and heavy with age; its musk had been as strong as liquour, reeking of crushed grapes left to ripen in the heat. She had nearly been sick.

"No… I'm fine… really…" she said, and a yawn caught her midsentence. She suppressed it as best she could.

"Of course you are," said Amy, skeptically.

Her hand slid from Mencha's shoulder and she sat down, fingered the scrap of paper, considered it.

"I wonder why the waitress gave this tae me," Amy commented, as if she had not made this remark several times already. "I didn't even get a good look at haer face… if waitress she was. You think she was?"

Mencha shrugged. "Amy…"

"Mmm?"

"We… are… on our way back to my home, just as you said, when we left the Dome? We are—?"

"Lass!" Amy reached across the table and patted Mencha's hand. Her smile was soothing, her voice soothing, the heat of her hand a bit uncomfortable, but Mencha was too shy—or maybe it was too polite—to take her hand back. "Didn't I say I'm going with you back to yaer Spain? I was just curious about this little note, that's all. Just all…"

She trailed into silence, and stared over Mencha's head at the tavern door.

Mencha glanced back. A woman was moving through the network of tables, a tall, silver-haired woman, walking with the fluidity of water: everything she passed seemed to become insignificant, meager. The woman wore a broadsword at her back. There was direction to her step.

"That's not an everyday sight," Amy remarked. "A lady with a broadsword."

Mencha looked back at her, just in time to see Amy glance again at her confounded scrap of paper, then back up at the woman. She sprang from her seat. Her sudden energy startled Mencha, for all the lethargy and the nausea and the headache besieging Mencha's body.

"I'm off faer another drink!" Amy said, brightly, and promptly moved in the direction opposite the bar, toward the tall, silvery woman, still grasping that horrible scrap of paper as though it were a key to something great.

Mencha, loathe to remain behind, stood unsteadily and followed her.

Leaning back in his chair at the bar's corner table, Brann glanced down at the crumpled message for the seventh time in as many minutes. It was an interesting puzzle, speaking of some talisman or artifact that the "Ancients" had hidden away before the Races as he knew them existed. The immortal had never heard of this Azazel's Stone before, or any of the other things that it rather cryptically mentioned, but he'd seen enough of human nature to know that this didn't matter - the short-lived fools had a habit of re-naming things that they didn't understand. It was one reason demons loved working through them so much; feed them a false name, an alias of some kind, and the mortals would never realise they were working on behalf of their worst nightmare.

The powerful fire-mage absently ran one finger along the last line, stopping at the incomplete word. What could it mean? Fall? Perhaps. Flee? Some of the talismans from the days before humanity could certainly do that, although the practice was frowned upon these days - too much power that could change hands easily. Fail? If the mystery messanger meant fail in it's purpose or fail to work, that was another possibility, although none of the talismans he knew to be missing were vital enough to warrant the warning. Most definitely a puzzle...but one he could ill afford the time to unravel. Perhaps a few days, but his search was far more important than any talisman, no matter how old or powerful it was.

The door to the tavern banged open and interrupted Brann's musings. The arrival of yet another mortal would not ordinarily warrant any attention on his part, but the visitor's aura wasn't human. Non-humans in such an openly human hovel like this one merited at least a moment's attention, and more if they were a possible threat.

But the figure that wound it's way through the drooling human males took up more than just a moment of the immortal's time.

She was an elf.

A growl escaped from the back of Brann's throat, and the untouched ale sitting in front of him caught fire. If this female were anything like the other elves that he'd met during his long, long lifetime, she'd be an arrogant little brat who never knew when she was out of her depth, always happy to poke her nose into matters that didn't concern her. Worse, with her and her magic in the area - he could feel the power pulsing within her body - his search would be made all the more complicated.

Brann sighed, and turned his flaming ale into a tankard of water so he could actually have a drink. He was barely a week into the search, and he was already going to be waylaid. Typical. And the others always wondered why he had such a low opinion of mortals.

At least it would give him more time to figure out the puzzle he'd been given.

"So, essentially, what you're telling me is that you have no idea what we're looking for, you have no idea why we're here and the only reason you're heading this way is that you sense a large group of powerful auras. Is that what you're telling me?" the Ice Elemental asked as he narrowed his eyes at the green haired man next to him, almost feeling the need to attempt to kill this man. It was just one of those days that the ice innate felt the need to pick a fight, mostly with frustating people like Zorlo.

After all, the two had started walking after a piece of paper flew into the fencer's hand out of nowhere, and now the two had stumbled upon this town. And in all the time they had spent walking that day, roughly several hours, the only words that the Aura Master had uttered were, as it seemed, "We're almost to where we're heading. I sense it! After all, strong forces only gather in one place when something interesting is going to happen." What Zorlo added to this thought this time, however, was an astonishing bit of knowledge. "At least two of the people in this town nearby are stronger, two about my strength, and a good group around your strength. I'd say three or so," the green haired man stated as he smiled at his squire in his normal, happy fashion.

Zachary, however, didn't return the smile. Since starting this "adventure", as Zorlo called it, all the ice mage recalled doing was walking. And then walking more. Oh, and did he mention a lot of walking was involved? Well, four hours of the day had been placed into the realm of walking from place to place after having found that slip of paper. Well, in one sense, it was good exercise, but still, that didn't help cool the heated head of the firebrand of an ice mage.

Meanwhile, the green haired man was in higher spirits than ever. He hadn't been on an adventure in so long, much less a worthwhile run-in with people more powerful than he was. That kind of thing was rare, and in such quantities was much, made it a much rarer thing. At this rate, the fencer hoped to run into new people he could later call his rivals. For now, however, he let his Spectral Sight guide him. Finally, the Aura Master and his associate stood before the entrance to, as odd a place as any, a tavern of sorts.

"Ready?" Zorlo asked his courage and happiness ever unwavering.

"Sure, whatever," Zachary responded, in an ever worsening mood as he watched the fencer push open the door.

The Aura Master and the avenger entered into the building and scanned quickly. The fencer noticed two people immediately he could recall having either heard about or seen around once or twice in the Dome. Both were former teachers: a silver haired Elf and a very oddly dressed woman that radiated an odd magical energy. Although the fencer had only heard whispers of the Elf and just how powerful she was, he recognized the other person. She had left slightly after the fencer's first mastered had departed. Her name started with an 'a', he thought he recalled, but wasn't entirely sure.

Gathering around the silver haired woman with the large broadsword were three others. A man with the aura of a vampire, although one easily comparable to the strength of Zachary, the woman who's name started with an 'a', and a woman dressed in black likely to be slightly stronger or more skilled than Zach. Of the three, the vampire was clearly the least powerful or as it seemed, but considering the strength levels of those around him, the fencer understood why. The Elf's aura was doubtlessly stronger than the fencer. Aside from her, the former teacher was deceptively powerful, the fencer guessed, since he found it hard to exactly measure her strength level.

Apart from the three gathering around the Elven warrior, another woman clad mostly in black sat towards the back. Zachary's muscles tensed as he looked at her and balled up his fists reactively. After his encounter by chance with Monroe Vossler on the island of Iceigz or something like that, the ice innate didn't recall the name of the island but just that Monroe had been there, the Ice Elemental made it a point to avoid people dressed in black. Something about that kind of attire screamed out assassin. The ice mage jammed his left hand into his pocket and left his right hand dangling at his side as thin needles of ice began to grow from the tips of his fingers. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

The two figures began to walk over towards the growing group of people, the Ice Elemental tenser than the fencer who strode over with an air of confidence and happiness, as they moved to engage and inquire as to what was going on. Perhaps this would be an interesting day after all.

Calista was frustrated.

The young blonde had been minding her own business, playing her violin softly to herself in her own room when a harried knocking had disrupted her mid-verse. By the time she'd managed to reach the door and open it, no one stood there and she shrugged, assuming it was a child playing a prank.

She would have closed the door then and there had a stray wind not blown and a spark of tan swirls on the ground indicated a paper was rustling in the slight breeze. A paper she was certain hadn't been there before. Bending down, she picked it up and turned it over in her hands, noting its ragged texture and the indentations left by a hand writing hard and swiftly upon it. Too bad it wasn't so deep that she could read it by passing her fingers across; the message would have to remain a mystery to her.

About to return to her room, she paused. The sounds she had been blocking out from down below reached her now, boisterous and loud. Perhaps it would be a good time to earn some money by playing a few jigs. She returned to her room to retrieve her violin and cap should people wish to donate to her funds, then proceeded down into the tavern's main room.

Almost instantly she realized the error in her judgment. The room was too loud, the people to rowdy and drunk to pay any heed to her. If anything, drawing attention to herself amidst a crowd of drunken men was not high on her list of things to do. Already, by her meer presence she could already hear a few drunken slurs aimed towards her, the words a muddy yellow indicating the how far gone the men were. It painted the air a sickly tinge with all their noise.

Scanning the room swiftly, she sidled over to an empty table near the corner of the room, noting there was already someone sitting in the corner. They were being spoken to by a female, and Calista didn't care much - this was the cleanest bit of the room, untainted by the men who were yelling with such fervor.

"...anything about the Eye of the Serpent?” the voice was smooth and polite and seemed to rise above the other noise as water over mud. The musician raised an eyebrow; that kind of voice was rare indeed and brought to mind some sort of nobility.

Even as the question was asked, a man had seated himself with them, his voice causing Calista's eyes to widen at the hidden nuances within it. Shivers broke across her body and she shook her head slightly to clear it, clutching her violin harder and missing what he said.

Just to distract herself from him, she looked across the room and noted the noise aided her in seeing how many people were inside and where all the table were. It was rare for her to see with such clarity...

Then the frustration welled up again. She was sitting here in a loud bar, not earning any money and still grasping a note she couldn't read. It was practically mocking her inability to decipher it.

Cursing, feeling the vibe of the room entangling with her own frustration and warping her feelings she impulsively spun her chair around to face the table near her, the one with the two women and the man with the disturbing voice.

"I'm sorry, but I was wondering if one of you would be able to read this for me? It's most... annoying to receive a note when you're blind as it prevents you from reading the message," she inserted an apologetic smile for the interruption to what sounded to be an important discussion.

Either way she saw it, they were the lesser of evils in this room. After all, they weren't drunken idiots and what songs Calista could hear of their hearts seemed... trustworthy; except for the male - his song was a persistent tug on her senses that continually unbalanced her, causing her to lean away from him in hopes it would stop.

~~~

Joker sat outside the noisy tavern, slouching against it's walls as he contemplated the note in his hand. He held it in the air, the silvery moonlight shining through a few of the holes left by a pen scratching through in it's haste.

if you would seek eternal glory and boundless power, find the artifact known as Azazel’s Stone which the Ancients hid before the breaking and rebirthing of humanity

find the Eye of the Serpent

kill anyone who gets in your way

you must not let the Sun Rod f

He didn't care what the rest of the message was, the only parts he was interested in were the boundless power, the Azazel's stone and the Eye of the Serpent. If it came down to killing... he'd work his way around it. He wasn't the strongest but when it came to trickery who would do well. If killing turned out to be necessary...

A bitter laugh escaped him. How far he had come from his old self. Who would have thought that one change, one person lost to the world would cause so much havoc in his life? Really, it was laughable. What made it worse was the lengths he was going through to get that person back.

The tavern door slammed in the still night air and he leaned over to peer over the edge of the wall he leaned against. The tavern was doing brisk business today. That was the second time it had let in customers, and it was already pushing 2:30 am.

His old curiosity pricking him, he got to his feet and sauntered to the entry. The warm lights from inside made his skin appear even more golden and his hair a sharper ice blue against his dark vest. Pushing open the door, he was assaulted by the noise but ignored it, instead focusing on the group in a corner.

The two newcomers were also making their way to that table, as though they had been summoned. Already sitting were two females and a male, with a blonde at another table asking a question as she held out a familiar looking piece of paper. Even as he watched, another pair were making their way through the tables, one determined and the other somewhat reluctant.

Smirking, he walked towards the group, fixing his old smile on his face as he pounced upon them.

"Greetings!" he called, eyes widening theatrically as he saw the paper the blonde was holding, "Ara, Joker sees you also have the same note as him!" Grinning, he brandished his note then looked around at them, "Be this some secret cult gathering Joker has stumbled upon? Has Joker been included in this shady business? Joker has always wanted to try a ritual sacrifice to a pagan god that doesn't exist~!"

Knock. Knock.

The demon summoner stirred at the noise but otherwise paid it no mind. It was the middle of the night and she wanted to get some sleep, even if she could hear the shouts and clattering of the bar below. Oh well, they were easily enough ignored.

Knock! Knock!

That wasn’t. Yami’s eyes flashed opened and her head turned towards the door slightly. She held the position as a few moments past, waiting for the intruder to disrupt again. When it seemed that the person had gone, she settled back down and closed her eyes.

Knock! Knock!

“Dammit,” she muttered as she threw off the blankets and strode to the door. The caller threw the door open and demanded, “What?” There was no one there, which only made her more irritable. Probably some idiot who found out they were at the wrong after waking me up. Either that or some stupid drunk that decided it would be fun to knock on doors in the middle of the night. Yami started to close the door when a slip of paper on the floor caught her eyes. She peered in both directions before picking it up, wondering if the deliverer was still around. Then she closed the door, lit the gas lamp by her bed side, and opened the letter.

if you would seek eternal glory and boundless power, find the artifact known as Azazel’s Stone which the Ancients hid before the breaking and rebirthing of humanity

find the Eye of the Serpent

kill anyone who gets in your way

you must not let the Sun Rod f

A smile spread across her face. This had me at glory and power. She had no knowledge of any of the artifacts mentioned in the note but that wasn’t surprising. There were hundreds of things out there she wouldn’t know about. But if this Stone could give out “eternal glory” and “boundless power,” she wanted it. Who knew what the Eye of the Serpent might be? Though, she had a feeling she couldn’t just go out and pluck an eyeball out of the next snake she saw. It would be easier, though. And I especially like the third statement. Nice, easy, and direct, and she had absolutely no problem with it. The fourth part was, of course, another mystery that she couldn’t hope to decipher. However, she had a feeling that the writer had intentionally stopped in the middle. Why would someone make something easy when it could be made difficult. Some people just had a fetish with complication.

The summoner reached out and grabbed her staff which was resting against the corner of the bed. “Are you ready for a little adventure?”

The soul inside Sevcis stirred to life. “Of course. I’m prepared for almost anything you might have thought up,” Rya replied.

“It wasn’t my idea this time,” the summoner stated and read over the message again, “Though, with something this tantalizing, I think we should get started as soon as possible.” Which meant getting ready to travel in the middle of the night; though the message had revitalized Yami. She slipped off the simple, white nightshirt she had on and proceeded to dress in her normal clothing. Finally, she grabbed her weapon and strode out of her room.

The corridor was filled with the noise of drunken ruffians shouting all kinds of profanities. Yami rolled her eyes and considered wiping out half the room before she left. Nobody would probably mind if these drunks died except for maybe the bartender. However, as she walked over to the stairs and observed the patrons, she noted that some were anything but drunks. They had all gathered in a corner of the room and were drawing a good amount of attention from the regular customers. Then again, their clothing, manner, and weapons were so obvious that they couldn’t have made themselves more known if they had started shouting about it. Not to mention there were some hugely powerful magic auras surrounding the group.

The demon summoner stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, wondering if she should just ignore the group and head on her way or see if they had any information. Perhaps she should simply hang nearby and see just what they were up to before making any decisions.

“Manic wonders…!”

The piece of paper was pierced by a single talon. He held it up, letting it flutter in the slight breeze that blew over. The clouds over the moon had moved aside, letting the sky’s pupil shine its light upon the Earth below. The light reflected off of the silvery talons, making it seem that the hand itself was giving off its own light, making it easier to see the words on the paper.

if you would seek eternal glory and boundless power, find the artifact known as Azazel’s Stone which the Ancients hid before the breaking and rebirthing of humanity

find the Eye of the Serpent

kill anyone who gets in your way

you must not let the Sun Rod f

Near waved his arm, making the paper flutter about more.

“Manic wonders…who is this Stone Lezaza person?”

He waved it from side to side.

“Snake’s eyes?”

Then up and down.

“Sun stick? Lollipop?”

The paper began to tear from the pulling and pushing of the wind and his waving.

Riiipp…

Near sighed, closing his left hand, grasping the paper within his fist, making sure that it wouldn’t sprout wings and fly away.

“How booooring~!”

A ruckus rose out from below, immediately grasping his attention. Without a second thought, he silently slid off the roof of the tavern. There was much laughter and talking from inside, along with the usual drunken annoyances that one would expect coming from a tavern.

“Sounds like fuuuun~!” Near pushed the doors open as hard as he could. Grinning, he stood at the doorway and spread out his arms and shouted a loud ‘Hiiiiiiii!’ as hard as he could over all the noise. Most of the ruckus stopped at this, and most heads turned toward the sudden outburst at the door.

But that wasn’t what captured his attention. In the corner of the tavern, seemingly separate from the rest of drunken fools, there were a group of people. They had very unique appearances, setting them apart from the rest of the customers. Even after looking at them, something--or rather, someone--took his attention away from the rest of the group. She had hair with beautiful blue streaks interrupting the graceful flow of dominant silver--and what was this? There was a flash of green. Emerald coloured irises.

If he had a heart, it would have skipped a beat at that very moment. He inhaled, completely taken in.

“Ooohh….pretty~” His cowl covered his left arm as it went to his side. Hypnotized, he slowly sauntered toward the group.

Sileya’s question had barely escaped her lips when they were joined by a dark stranger. The scent of blood followed him like a faithful dog, though she was certain the humans present wouldn’t notice it. Either a vampire or another assassin, I’d say. But I won’t know for certain until I see fangs. By human standards, she would call him handsome, but being an Elf, she was not as easily influenced by alleged attractive appearances. He sat down at their table like he owned it and flashed a grin and a greeting. Sileya returned his words with an acceptably polite smile. “Hello—”

The woman sitting across from her cut in, drilling the newcomer with a steeled gaze. “Did I say you could sit at this table?”

The stranger opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, two more figures approached—one smiling and moving with a feline grace, the other following her reluctantly with a scowl painting her face. Sileya raised her hand and started to speak, but another pair of faces entered the tavern and moved over toward their ever-growing group. Two males this time, a green-haired man who clearly knew he was powerful followed by a smaller man with sharpened ice forming at his fingertips. People were coming in pairs, it seemed. Her heart briefly ached with the memory of having someone to travel with, but she suppressed the feeling. Vahn died years ago. There’s no reason for me to be affected by his absence now.

* * * * *

It was getting much too crowded for Len’s liking. She wished she could kick everybody out into the street where they had come from. However, the Elf gave her pause, especially since she seemed to be looking for Azazel’s Stone, as well. The dark male, on the other hand… She could feel Stille and Hemel burning holes through her clothes in their desire to press their personal kisses into his throat, and her own desires mirrored theirs. She could do without him. The others weren’t all that exciting to her. At least not yet.

"I'm sorry, but I was wondering if one of you would be able to read this for me? It's most... annoying to receive a note when you're blind as it prevents you from reading the message.”

Len would have jumped if her assassin’s training hadn’t stopped her. Yet another woman sat at a nearby table and was now turned toward them, extending a piece of paper clutched in her hand. Why Len hadn’t noticed the woman enter was beyond her. Perhaps it had something to do with the way the grinning dark male drew her ire.

Before any of the group could read the paper aloud, a boy with hair the color of winter bounded over to them and exclaimed, “"Greetings! Ara, Joker sees you also have the same note as him! Be this some secret cult gathering Joker has stumbled upon? Has Joker been included in this shady business? Joker has always wanted to try a ritual sacrifice to a pagan god that doesn't exist~!"

Forest gods…how did I manage to attract the attention of so many people in one night? Ugh… And half of these are crazies.

As if things could not get anymore crowded—the bartender was beginning to look annoyed at all the people crowding his establishment without purchasing drinks—another male strolled up. Great. Another nutcase. I can just tell. At least this one seemed to hover toward the Elf instead of her. It wouldn’t take much more to push her over the edge of her patience. The first to die would be that infuriating dark one.

The Elf—Sileya, she had called herself—turned at the sound of the newest addition to group and smiled a little. “Wow, quite a gathering we have here. And I suspect there are multiple eyes on us who might also have an interest in our discussion.” Her emerald eyes discreetly flashed over the room beyond their little sphere as though she knew exactly where those other sets of eyes were. She then took the piece of paper the blind woman proffered and read it aloud.

“if you would seek eternal glory and boundless power, find the artifact known as Azazel’s Stone which the Ancients hid before the breaking and rebirthing of humanity

find the Eye of the Serpent

kill anyone who gets in your way

you must not let the Sun Rod…”

She trailed off. Len noticed the eyebrows of several of the newcomers raise in surprise, and she instinctively knew that they had all received the message, as well. This certainly could turn out to be interesting.

* * * * *

Sileya looked up from the note, still just as puzzled as to its meaning. But perhaps with all these minds in one place, someone could figure it out. When she had swept the room with her eyes, a man sitting alone in a corner had caught her eye, and she looked there once more to find him still sitting there and sipping his drink. Lithiuan stirred in her mind.

That’s no man, Small One. Watch him carefully.

The Dragons’ Favored allowed herself a small smile. I think I’ll be fine, Mother. She sarcastically emphasized the term of endearment. Do you know anything about this “Azazel’s Stone” or “the Eye of the Serpent”?

I’m sorry. I am not familiar with them. But then again, someone else could have renamed them. Humans tend to do that to ancient artifacts and places.

Sileya leaned back in her chair, a little disappointed. She had been sure the Dragons would know something. This could turn out to be harder than she had originally thought. The other person not in the group was lurking near the top of the stairs. Sileya didn't doubt the woman would be joining them eventually.

“Well,” she said suddenly and stood up, “we aren’t going to figure anything out just sitting here. Perhaps we should step outside. The night air is good for thinking.” Sileya touched her hand to the blind woman’s, silently offering to help her outside as she watched the others move toward the door in their own time.

He saw the brief flicker of appraisal in her emerald eyes as she looked at him, offering him a court smile and a greeting. Before she could complete her sentence however, the strawberry-haired woman in black cut across them with an indignant scowl at the vampire, demanding to know why he was there. The vampire arched an eyebrow at the woman glaring at him and flashed playful grin before replying.

Descartes never got a chance though, because at that moment two other women approached their table. The one in front really caught his attention however, probably moreso than the lady in black. She had large, beautiful eyes which sparkled with energy and life, her smile wide and generous. The vampire only had a brief moment to flash a smile at their direction, before the scene was interrupted again.

Two men approached their table, sporting the strangest hairstyles the vampire had ever seen, one in shades of green and the other in shades of red, their shape seemingly defying the very laws of physics. The suspicious amassing of peculiar people around the particular table did not cease there, however. A beautiful blonde with some of the cutest features he had ever seen, who sat on a nearby table, had initiated conversation with the silver-haired woman, just as a young man with icy blue hair walked in, closely followed by another one with bleached white hair. And here Descartes had thought his hair was "extreme".

Apparently, the blonde woman wanted a note to be read to her, a request to which the silver-haired one complied. As she read the message, to which the vampire was mostly indifferent, there were several raised eyebrows and exchanged glances between the strangers gathered around the table. Descartes took notice of these gestures as he brought the glass of wine to his lips, observing the lady in black through the deep crimson liqud and realising she too had noticed.

She's a perceptive one...

Taking his sip, he lowered his glass once more and looked at the group freely. The silver-haired woman rose to her feet and suggested they all moved outside to discuss the content of the message, offering to help the blind woman. Descartes did not much care for the message at the moment, but seeing as he was already involved, he thought it'd be interesting to observe the group. However, he was not moving from his seat until the lady in black made her way to the door first. There was no way he'd let her behind him, not if he wanted his physical integrity intact.

****

There was a flicker of light as the tavern doors burst open and a figure ran out. It charged almost blindly in the direction of the angel, colliding clumsily against his armours. Pulling back abruptly, the figure, a young woman, fell to the ground and cowered before him. Osiris slowly kneeled down before her, pushing back a strand of her dishevelled hair and looking her over with a curious but not intimidating gaze. A pair of sunken eyes looked back at him, nervous and erratic, black circles of skin surrounding them. She was frail and skinny, almost deathly in appearance, her face sprinkled with crusted blood. Fumbling through her rags for clothes, she pulled out a creased note and timidly offered it to him.

The angel's hand gripped the note firmly and brought it to his eyes, reading the hastily scribbled text. The name "Azazel" immediately caught his attention before he had even read the message, and he looked up at the woman with a demanding expression. "Where did you get this?" he bellowed, more as an exclamation rather than as a question. The woman only offered a fearful whimper in response and crawled further away from him. Returning his attention back to the note, he began reading from the beginning.

Azazel... I have never heard mention of that name outside angelic lore. One of the leaders of the Grigori, a faction of fallen angels who lusted after human women and took many as their wives, mating with them and giving rise to the Nephilim... The Gregori were eventually corrupted by their lust and offered the mortals knowledge which brought about strife...

"...the Ancients hid before the breaking and rebirthing of humanity..."

The making and breaking of humanity must refer to the Great Flood, which destroyed the evils the Grigori had brought to mortals and banished them to the valleys of the earth. The Stone of Azazel... Perhaps an artifact left behind by him before the incarceration of him and his brethren?

He paused for a moment to look at the female once more, perhaps to see if she had any possible information about the message. However, she had managed to creep away in the angel's distraction and was already turning a corner into some dark street. She was probably put up to this by someone else though, so any questions he might have asked her would be in vain. Who this someone was, however, was something which needed to be answered as soon as possible. Shifting his gaze to the message once more, he continued reading.

"...Eye of the Serpent... Sun Rod..."

A possible reference to Lucifer...? And a weapon or key of some sort...?

Osiris crumpled the note in his hand, the parchment going ablaze with coalesced energy as he rose to his feet. Loosening his grip, he let the cool breeze disperse the ashes until not a cinder remained. Whatever this Stone of Azazel was, if it had anything to do with the Grigori then he could not let it fall into the wrong hands. The barely averted horrors of Angelfire were only too recent in his mind. He had to find it himself and destroy it before it was too late, but first he needed more information. Turning towards the tavern the woman had come from, he made his way towards the entrance.

Mencha felt the table before she saw it, and she was stumbling, falling, before she was even aware of what was happening to her. She caught herself, but the collison sent a wave of dizziness through her. Mencha pressed her hands to her eyes and massaged her eyelids; she waited until her balance was restored and the dizziness passed before she slid open her eyes and started again after Amy.

And it was Amy, she thought, testily, who drank more than our money was supposed to buy this night. Not me.

But she was starting to doubt that intoxication and fatigue differed much in their affect upon a person: the weary were as bungling as the drunk. She flushed with shame.

Mencha managed to maneuver, with a smattering more success than previously, the network of chairs and tables between herself and Amy. Amy walked more slowly now, swaying as though to some whispered melody; her step was careful and guileless, and she made no attempt to pretend she was not planning to intrude upon someone else's table. For it was someone else's table, Mencha realized with a sinking heart, to which Amy was headed. The silvery woman who had first claimed Amy's attention had now seated beside a red-haired woman dressed in black, and this second woman was speaking, her tone clipped and her face steely: "Did I say you could sit at this table?"

Mencha looked hastily to Amy, as if she would, with a glance, tell her, "We are not welcome at this table; we should go back." But as she looked, she caught sight of the man to whom the red-haired woman had addressed her comment. He sat upon a chair placed back to front, his arms loosely looped about the backrest, and he gave the woman a smile that took no insult from her tone and question. It came to Mencha that his smile was most enchanting. She wondered, despite herself, what his voice would sound like.

He never had a chance to reply, however. The silvery woman had caught sight of them, and she raised a hand, opened her mouth to speak; the other two glanced up, and the man smiled again. Mencha recoiled, shy and awkward and discomforted—he couldn’t be smiling at her, could he? Amy was bright enough to sop up any and all attention, she reassured herself; indeed, Amy seemed to revel in their interest.

But before anyone could speak, the silvery woman glanced aside. Mencha followed her gaze, and saw two men were approaching. There was a kind of cheer and spirit to the step of the first—he whose garments seemed to contain every shade of green beneath the sun. The second was young—terribly young—and several long, tapering points of ice glistened at the fingers of his right hand. It took all of Mencha’s strength not to gawk.

"I'm sorry, but I was wondering if one of you would be able to read this for me?”

Mencha snapped around and caught sight of a young woman seated at a corner table with a note in her hand, a violin on her lap. She was speaking to the three seated at the table, carefully proffering the note. “It's most... annoying to receive a note when you're blind as it prevents you from reading the message," she continued.

Mencha’s heart lurched. A note?

She glanced toward Amy, found her companion had moved back a step and was now at her side. “This is a curiosity, then, ye think?” Amy said, and laughed, very softly, slipping an arm through Mencha’s. “’Tis a ver’table magnet faer these folks, this corner! See that man as has just come in? Over there, with hair as blue as ice—and my! What fashion sense! I like that vest he’s wearin’. See? He’s coming o’er—”

Mencha closed her eyes; a habitual headache was reasserting itself. She shrugged, when Amy pressed her for comment upon the gathering crowd; she heard a man exclaim, “Greetings! Ara, Joker sees you also have the same note as him!"

“Mencha, did you see—?” Amy began.

“I heard,” Mencha said, faintly.

And then, from somewhere far away, she heard the doors of the tavern slamming against the walls, and a voice yelling, “Hiii!”

Mencha felt as if a vein had burst in her brain and washed her senses away like flotsam from a beach; she bit her bottom lip, groaned. But the voice, she realized, had washed away a good bit of the tavern noise as well. A shocked hush drifted over the company.

Amy started to laugh; she clapped her hands. “And beauty o’ beauties, he’s on his way o’er here!” she cried. “Did ye see him, Mencha? He shut up this room right quick with that [i]hallo[i/] o’ his, and look! He’s tae join our group! I told you this table was a magnet; I wonder if they’ve all gotten a note as we did. What d’ye think, Mencha?”

Mencha knew what she thought (it involved fainting right here and right now and sleeping through tomorrow night; tantalizing, but impossible: she hadn’t slept for more than three consecutive hours since she was at her mami’s knee). But she said nothing.

“Perhaps…” She heard the voice of the silvery woman as if from far away, “we should step outside. The night air is good for thinking.”

“Mencha.” Amy’s voice was low, insistent, and in her ear. “The group’s on its way out; we’ll go with it. And the cool air’ll do you good, no? Ooh, and maybe a pint o’ something up at the bar. Ye think?”

“We do not have money for a pint, Amy,” Mencha groaned. “We cannot spend all we have on frivolous things… And besides, I will not drink pints.”

“A quart then?” Amy said, and Mencha heard a hint of sarcasm in that amiable tone.

Mencha could not, for the life of her, formulate a reply, but Amy was not prepared to wait for a reply. She snaked an arm about Mencha’s waist and drew Mencha’s arm across her shoulder. “Aye, to the outside, then!” she said. She began to drag Mencha back through the honeycomb of tables and chairs, and Mencha flushed. She struggled to find her feet, mortified that Amy was practically carrying her. The shame of her position was a veritable wake-up call.

They crashed into a table at which a man in a red overcoat sat with a tankard in hand. Amy, laughing, apologized, and Mencha, blanching, prayed that she would pass out. She shut her eyes as Amy hauled her past the man; she whispered, “Amy, for the love of—let me go!”

Amy whispered back, “We’re going outside, Mencha, so as you’ll wake up. You needn’t worry yaerself nor wear yaerself down any more this morning; you rest.”

How Amy expected Mencha to rest after this indignity was a mystery, and Mencha attempted to covey this.

But Amy, as usual, overrode Mencha’s words with her own. “And there’s yet another,” she said, gesturing toward the stairs, where a woman—garbed in white and red with horns framing her tan and slender face—stood looking down at the tavern. Mencha gazed up at her. There was something eerily regal in her stance.

“This’ll be interesting,” Amy continued, softly. “Ye think?”

And Mencha, despite herself, said, “I do.”

OoC: Okay, I'm late. Lab write-ups. -_-

BiC: First the note with it's puzzle, then the arrival of an elf, and now this - Brann was not having a good evening. Not that such a thing was ever particularly likely for him when travelling through mortal lands with their grandly-named hovels and ignorant "scholars", but this night was turning out to be even worse than he'd had any right to expect. The elf was an irritant he could handle; the two magically-attuned human males were only a minor threat; and the foppish joker with a speech impediment was, to put it mildly, laughable - but all of them together? Coupled with a blind woman, some kind of assassin, and a pale-skinned bloodsucker?

Even worse, every last one of them seemed to have identical notes - exactly the same as the one that sat on the table in front Brann. It made the puzzle all the more intriguing, but it was a distraction he could ill-afford.

Brann frowned as something in the room shifted slightly. His dark eyes wandered through the shadows for a moment before coming to rest on a figure at the top of the stairs leading to the bedrooms. It was dressed in white, and held a dark staff.

The fire-mage hissed. The woman was a demon summoner, of all things - and with the way the night was progressing, no doubt she'd get in his way as well.

Still, there was no point in getting himself worked up over this situation, so Brann forced his body to relax a fraction and breath deeper. After all, it wasn't like he hadn't dealt with things like this before, even with important projects that he had to keep an eye on.

Then the elf swept her gaze around the room and met his eyes. He could almost hear someone telling her that wasn't what he seemed, apparently ending with some endearment that emphasised the elf's relative youth and -

Brann blinked. He could hear someone saying that.

I’m sorry. I am not familiar with them, the voice continued. But then again, someone else could have renamed them. Humans tend to do that to ancient artifacts and places.

Brann focussed on the sound of the voice and sought out it's source. His eyes came to rest on the broadsword that the elf carried - at least she had a proper weapon of adequate craftsmanship, rather than one of the flimsy toothpicks many elves seemed to favour. Something shimmered beneath the surface of the blade. There was a soul encased in the weapon...the soul of a dragon.

And not just one dragon, either - Brann counted seven shining auras, and an eighth that seemed to drink up the light in a manner that was normally associated with demons. That one would be the most dangerous, then, but Brann knew how to handle such a being.

This was it, then - a puzzle he could not avoid, a band of mortals that caged him, and eight dragons who had either been imprisoned or submitted themselves to a mortal. An elf, no less.

Brann's search would have to wait for now. He only hoped that Allana and the one he sought could forgive him for the delay.

The elf got up and led the group around her towards the door, evidently seeking to discuss things away from prying eyes and the increasingly irritable barkeep. Brann was in the process of finishing his water when two other women - one of whom had likely been drinking too much, while the other definitely had - crashed into his table.

Brann sighed and stood. Turning for the door, he flicked the barkeep a coin that shone gold in the tavern's dim light - after all, what use was the metal except as decoration? he could afford to waste it - and followed the elf-led mortals.

OoC: Infinitely sorry it took so long for me to post. *is embarrassed*

BiC: The Aura Master looked around the crowded area and took a few steps back, his protégée following behind a few steps. The red haired boy hadn't removed his eyes from the black clad woman yet, and still didn't, uncomfortable around people that seemed to have any kind of attire near to the assassin that had attacked him. Assassin, bounty hunter, what was the difference in this case? They both wanted the Ice Elemental dead.

The fencer smiled as he looked around. Zachary shakily raised his right hand, but the green haired man stopped the ice mage's supposed movements. The fencer shook his head and the ice innate swung his head to the side with a "Tsk..." noise. To both warrior's knowledge, the woman had made a notion that all should head outside where there would be more room to converse, but by the time she had said that, the Aura Master and his 'squire' were already standing outside, catching some fresh air from the alcohol and perspiration.

Zachary rested his back against the outside wall closest to the door of the bar and looked at the fencer, who was staring into the sky, and asked, "So, what do you think of this? I mean, those insane people and this whole insane quest?" The Ice Elemental didn't like any of it. All of the people seemed completely stupid, either too weak or too strong, and a large group had the stench of unnecessity. Aside from that, the woman dressed almost wholly in black, the Elf, and the guy who seemed to refer to himself in third person were all bound to be one of two things: annoying or foolish. Neither were things Zachary particularly liked.

As for Zorlo, he was caught in thought about somewhat more important things. He could tell, to some minor degree, what people ranked as, and so far, almost every person there was some level of danger. Among them, the fencer had sensed two people that could stand against him with some level of ease. Still, that Aura Master was never one to be shaken by anything. An Elf that radiates the powers of other beings, although I cannot tell if it is from her or something she has. I'll make sure to be careful of her, mostly since her powers more than rival my fullest strength. Aside from her, there was another man I sensed in there... a man that... I dare say, had power over flames I doubt even I could hold back. Or, at least that was what it felt like.

The ice mage looked at his boss and raised an inquiring eye. "Anyway, aside from those three, there was that strange person that appeared last. He didn't seem normal at all."

You don't know the half of it, Zorlo thought silently as he looked back at his friend. That man is the farthest from normal. He seemed to radiate like a giant, bright ball of energy. Still, I'm at a loss for the powers and ability levels of most of these people. I almost feel the need to shake at how strong some of them are, and others make me almost shiver, although they aren't stronger. Something about this will be... The fencer paused and took a step forwards and looked at Zachary. "Fun."

"Fun?!" Zachary repeated. "What fun can be found in this. It's a fools errand I tell you!" the ice innate yelled, pointing his ice needles at Zorlo.

"Not at all. Considering all of the people here, how can fun not be had. We're searching for something no one understands without any comprehension of how it works, and we're surrounded by people who all have their own outstanding strength levels. How could this be anything but fun?!" the fencer asked as a massive smile crossed his face.

The Ice Elemental sighed and bowed his head in defeat. When Zorlo had made up his mind, it was made. "All right..." the ice innate muttered in a defeated tone, "What now? We wait for them, right?" Zorlo nodded. "Okay, and then we'll see where this goes from there," Zachary stated, standing up to his fullest height and scattered his ice needles into the air.

"Now, we wait," the fencer stated, resting his right forearm on the handle of his sword and stepping back.

LEA: I was meant to post it this morning but Uni (which I've only just started once more) was busier than I'd planned. Lucky since I just rewrote this three times XD

IC:
Joker cast dark eyes at the loud newcomer, focusing on the manic cheer and exuberance presented by such an odd individual – odd discounting himself of course. A part of the group had already made its way to the doors, intent on leaving but Joker was held in place by this one bright personality.

“How… intriguing! Joker has found someone near his own magnificence!” Clapping his hands in apparent delight, the young Dream Weaver moved forwards towards him, ignoring the dazed look in the other’s eyes as they were fixed on some distant point.

“Joker demands you become his friend! By what name are you propositioned? Alas, Joker is being rude to not introduce himself first!” an exaggerated slap to the forehead, followed by an elaborate bow to the room at large, “Joker be Joker, and pleased no doubt are you all for making Joker’s acquaintance!”

~.:*:.~

Calista stared as best she could at what had to be most arrogant, obnoxious introduction she had ever had the privilege to hear. However much she hated to admit it though, that Joker man did have a point – if they were all to embark upon this journey it would do well for a round of names to be shared.

“Nice to meet you, Joker-” Calista began but was cut off as a loud tsking noise reached her ears.

“The praise is too much for Joker! Joker already knows he is loved by all! Besides silly woman, you are meant to introduce yourself! Joker had such high hopes for you but it seems the only thing you have in abundance is looks and naught else~!”

A clenching of her delicate hands and the blush of color that rose in her cheeks were the only outward indication Calista gave to her annoyance. Her face remained blank, not giving away the temptation she felt to instill a debilitating fear in loud fool. The only thing tempering her anger was the deep sadness that flowed as a dark counterpoint to his flowery speeches.

That tempering only held back her anger – not her annoyance, so she smiled at him politely.

“My name is Calista and I’m a musician by trade. Now if you be so kind as to be silent… “

“Joker is silent for no-” the words cut off, trapped and frozen mid-air by the twist Calista game them the minute they left his lips. She could only imagine how he looked, mouth working furiously with no sound escaping.

“Thank you Joker, for complying with my request. It was for the greater good of us all,” still smiling Calista rose gracefully, her next words coated thickly in as much compulsion she could muster, “perhaps you should go outside as the other woman suggested.”

Joker, silenced and under a strange urge to do whatever he was told, regardless of his opinion on the matter, walked out the doors to stand without the tavern once more. Shaking his head, he observed the two who stood there already – the one who dressed as only a leprechaun should and the red headed ice man who looked at Joker with thinly veiled annoyance.

Back inside the tavern, Calista also moved to go outside, pausing at the doors to murmur before exiting.

Only those who she wanted would hear those words, and aimed they were to the other patrons of the tavern who had been privy to too much information.

“Never will you speak of what occurred here.” A simple command, non-threatening in appearance – yet the effect on the people who heard that whisper was profound.

To them, the words hung heavy over their heads, a sense of dread and gut-twisting fear stealing over their bodies every time their minds went to the group that had gathered in the corner. Many threw up; others were suddenly overcome by racks of chills that were near debilitating in their severity.

Such was her influence over words and the emotions that could be evoked, the instincts trifled with by a mere twist of the hidden expressions that were never spoken aloud.

Yami sighed loudly and rubbed her temples with her hand. This wasn’t exactly what she expected after receiving the little message. She could maybe handle traveling with a few of those beings, such as the female assassin or the ice mage but those two... clowns were pushing a little far. It would probably be easier on her nerves to just kill the two. Not that I’d get away with something like that. She pouted slightly; there were several people who were obviously stronger than she was, as much she hated to admit it. Especially that sword-wielding elf and the man with too much green.

The summoner leaned against the wall, contemplating her options. Perhaps having all these people was a very good thing. Something power such as this stone was sure to be protected by all manner of traps and beasts. And finding the other two artifacts would undoubtedly be a challenge as well. If these people were as powerful as she suspected, they would be keen on doing all the fighting and such. Why, the demon summoner might not even have to lift a finger. Finally, once they were wore out from doing the heavy labor, the mighty beings would be easy pickings. Until then, Yami could feint a little weakness, even if it did damage her pride somewhat.

She calmly trod down the steps, making for the door. The mage hadn’t missed several looks that were thrown her way. A few in the group would be expecting her and she didn’t want to disappoint them by being late. The group was standing a little circle, beginning to discuss what should be the first course of action. “Excuse me,” the white-hair woman asked as politely as she could, “I eavesdropped on your conversation earlier and I seemed to have received the same note as you all. I hope you don’t mind one more person tagging along.” She smiled cutely. I think I’m going to be sick.

“Joker demands you become his friend! By what name are you propositioned? Alas, Joker is being rude to not introduce himself first!”

The Clown was cut off from his proceedings, interrupted by the dark gold Joker. He slapped his forehead and bowed extravagantly to the patrons in the bar.

“Joker be Joker, and pleased no doubt are you all for making Joker’s acquaintance!”

Manic kept his left hand hidden under the cowl while bringing up his right hand to the chin. He cupped it between his thumb and index finger softly as he looked at the strange person introducing himself to the bar. His silvery-blue irises swam to one side of his eyes thoughtfully as he spoke to himself.

“If Joker be Joker…then what does that make Manic? Does Manic be Joker, too?”

A grin spread across his face as he threw his hands up into the air and spoke, attempting to introduce himself.

“Manic be Joker too!” his grin spread wider. But he stopped smiling when he noticed Joker was talking to a girl, who seemed rather annoyed at his loudness. Joker’s lips were moving, but no sound was coming out!

“How odd,” thought Manic as he looked around the room at the patrons. His eyes widened as he noticed half of the group heading out the door, led by the silver-haired elf.

”Oiiii~!” he yelped as he dashed toward the door as the last person went through, “don’t leave Manic behind! It’s bad luck for Manic!”

His hair was brushed by the cold night breeze as he left the building, meeting up with the group and sauntering behind them for a few seconds before something overcame him. Manic grinned from ear to ear once more as he lunged forward, kicking up the dirt with his feet like a horse, while landing gracefully on his hands like a trained acrobat. He pushed again, this time with his hands, twisting his body in mid-air and turning the forward-flip into a perfected cartwheel as he flew past the numbers in the group.

Manic twisted his body again as he flipped over the leader, the elf. She stopped in her tracks as she saw the person land on his hands in front of her. Manic grinned, holding up the torn and crumpled note with a single talon on his left hand while balancing perfectly with his right, spreading his legs to keep himself steady.

“Are you this Azazel person?” he pushed with his right hand, hopping backwards to put a little distance between the two, “because everyone seems to be following you~ Are we supposed to be looking for you~?”

OoC: Enter new turn of events number one! Mwahaha! And this should give everybody something more exciting to do. :3

Oh, and just to clarify, if you guys' posts are as long as this, not to worry. When I said no mini-novels, I meant, like...seven to ten typed pages, single-spaced in Word or something. So, don't think I'm going to eat you if your posts are something more along this length. ^_^

IC:

She could see nothing but darkness—darkness so thick that she couldn’t tell if she was simply suspended in its embrace. Distinguishing up from down was impossible. The only thing she was certain of was that she was self-aware again. She couldn’t say alive. Not really. Her four black wings, a symbol of her archangel status, were intact, but her fangs were still new to her. She ran an exploratory tongue over them. Second chances never came without sacrifices.

A sibilant hiss played over her ears, and she suddenly knew the Master was there, though she could not see him. He had a way of making his presence known, even to the deaf and blind. She felt a hand beneath her chin, and a voice with some combination of assured confidence and seething malevolence spoke to her.

“I wonder if I should even be giving you another chance at all.”

She strained to discern a faint outline of him, or anything at all, but the only indicators of his close proximity were his cold touch and his soft voice. “I won’t fail again, Great Master. I’ve become stronger and much wiser since the Angelfire disaster.”

“Hmph. A disaster for which I lay the full responsibility on you.” His hand slid down—or up?—to her throat and applied slight pressure.

She managed her reflexive panic quickly. If the Master wanted her dead, after all, he wouldn’t have bothered with giving her a new body. “It wasn’t entirely my fault—”

He cut her off with a much harder squeeze upon her throat and whispered dangerously. “Are you questioning my assessment of the situation?”

“No, of course not, O Great One. But I—” Another harsh squeeze stopped her.

“You know I don’t appreciate it when my subordinates raise objections to my plans, especially those subordinates who have already failed me once.” For the moment, however, he released her throat to trace a finger over her cheek thoughtfully. “Are you watching him?”

She gritted her fangs in anger, fighting back the urge to snarl her answer. “As you have commanded me.” She neglected to mention anything about her extreme hatred of the one she was supposed to be observing. He had abandoned her completely when it had mattered most, and though the Master didn’t acknowledge it, she placed the Angelfire failure squarely on his shoulders.

The Master, no doubt, knew of her feelings on the subject. “Good. I want to know his every move and what he knows about Azazel’s Stone. Most especially why he’s involved an entire party of outsiders in this. Well, they’re all strangers except perhaps for one. I believe you’ve already met Osiris, haven’t you?”

She could feel the Master’s amused grin, and rage threatened to explode inside her chest. “Yes,” she hissed. “He and I have unfinished business.”

* * * * *

Len’s eyes never left the vampire’s smiling face—yes, she knew he had to be a vampire. She’d dealt with too many of the bloodsuckers over the past few years not to notice the subtle signs that other less observant people would miss: that certain way his jaw was shaped to accommodate his fangs; the faint odor of blood that seemed nestled in his very clothes and skin; his keen eyes; and that confident, almost arrogant, swagger he had. If he wasn’t a vampire, she’d give up killing forever. And that wasn’t something she would relinquish so easily.

Without removing her gaze from him, she used her peripheral vision to watch the rest of the group file outside, past the gaping bar patrons, but the vampire didn’t move an inch. They sat in silence for seconds that stretched seemingly into hours. There was something different about this one, she thought. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever encountered a vampire that gave off the kind of vibe he did. Rather than flustering her, however, it only irritated her further. When she saw that he wasn’t going to leave before she did, Len scowled at him and rose from her chair, stalking toward the exit without looking back.

* * * * *

Sileya couldn’t restrain a chuckle at the antics of the boy standing upside-down on one hand looking at her. Though his face was cute, his strange left hand drew her curiosity, and she couldn’t help but wonder why it was like that. Deciding that might be a better question for later, the elf squatted down to look at him more easily and smiled.

“You said your name was…Manic? Or at least, that’s what you call yourself, hm? Well, I’m Sileya, not Azazel. And I suppose I’m just used to being a bit of a leader, so that may be why everybody is following me. Although, I didn’t purposefully put myself in charge.” She laughed softly.

A figure standing off to the side caught her eye, and she stood back up to look in its direction. Her emerald eyes took in his golden hair and prominent wings. An angel here? I wonder… Perhaps someone from the heavenly realms would know something about these mysterious notes. Ignoring the others in the group for the moment, Sileya moved in the angel’s direction.

“Excuse me,” she said as she drew close to him. “Would you happen to know anything about something called Azazel’s Stone?”

As though the term were a trigger, the ground between them suddenly burst apart, leaving a mid-sized, demonic creature in its wake. It was like some grotesque fusion of a lizard, a bear, and an eagle, as though someone had taken fur, wings, scales and claws and just hurled them against a wall like a six-year-old’s painting project to form the thing. Without any hesitation, Sileya whipped out Drageziel and sliced clean through the demon, and with a cry, it dissolved into shadow to seep back into whatever hellish pit from which it had issued.

The elf was given little time to celebrate the victory, for all over the main street of the town, the ground vomited up more and more of the demons who wasted no time in surrounding the whole group. Sileya set her jaw in grim determination and called out to the others. “Get to the forest as best you can! I don’t want any of the townspeople harmed!”

Descartes looked at the assassin almost intently, a grin spreading along his lips as he eyed her all over. There was something in her eyes that enticed him, a look of calm indifference and cool confidence which seemed to draw him in. She had no trouble meeting his gaze fully, apparently remaining completely unfazed. And that intrigued the vampire even more, because it wasn't often that he met a female which was so... oblivious to his presence.

When she had finally tired of their little staring contest and gave him that indignant scowl, he couldn't help but grin widely at her reaction. He finished the rest of his glass as he watched her strut out of the tavern, his artist eyes observing the way her hips moved. Chuckling softly, he put the glass down on the table and followed after her, tugging his bottle along.

****

The angel glared at the group before him with a frown on his face. There were all sorts of strange characters gathered outside the tavern entrance, talking among themselves. It seemed oddly suspicious that these "people" would be found in the location where his instincts had led him. It could mean either of two things: that they were evil-doers who had something to do with what evils haunted this place, or that they had somehow received the same message that he had.

An emerald-eyed female with silver hair broke off from the group and made her way towards the angel. His gaze immediately shifted to her, eyeing her warily. He arched an eyebrow at her question, but before he could even formulate an answer, a chasm materialised between the angel an the elf. Reacting out of instinct, Osiris jumped back out of the way, his hand on the hilt of his weapon. From the depths of the earth, a demon appeared between the two of them, the elf drawing her own sword and slicing through the fiend all in one fluid movement.

Osiris quickly drew his weapon as more of the demon-spawn appeared all around them, the group spreading out and preparing for combat. The elf shouted out something about leading the battle away from the town centre, but the angel knew that the little devils would attack whoever happened to get in their way, regardless of their orders. The only sure way to protect the townspeople would be to eliminate all the demons. And with that thought, he unfurled his wings and plunged into battle with the nearest of the vile creatures.

They were outside. Out, out, blessed outside.

Mencha extracted herself from Amy's hold and slumped against the taproom wall.

"Ye'll be all right out here?" Amy asked, looking down at Mencha.

"I'm sure," Mencha sighed, and drew greedily at the cold, clear air.

Amy swiveled back toward the taproom door. "I'll be right back, then. Ye stay here safe, all right?"

Mencha started. "Why're you going?" she asked, alarmed.

Amy glanced back, twisted her lips her lips in something that might have been a smile, or a grimace, or sarcasm.

"Faer a bit o' chat," she said, "as might help us on our way. Back to yaer Spain, that is. Ye'll not grudge me that, will you?"

Mencha recoiled from her tone, her words, her strange half-smile. "I don't grudge you anything!" she exclaimed.

Amy shrugged. "Of course not, machree. It's a sad thought. Don't entertain it."

But Mencha did, for all the lighter smiles and reassurances Amy left in her wake. Mencha folded her arms about her legs and buried her head between her knees; she railed, mutely, into the silence and the darkness, and she began to rock, back and forth, muttering with an impotent fury.

She had not anticipated such difficulty, travelling back to Spain with Amy as her guide and companion. Mencha, in fact, had not imagined much at all; she had never so much as envisioned the trip home as home itself. The stretch of unknown between here and there had melted from her mind's eye as if it were but a fog. She was determined to succeed, and it didn't matter the dangers, the distractions, between herself and her destination. She was blessed with a proper guide, a map, supplies, money, craving for the land she had lost—what could stand in her way, her finally getting home?

Thus she had reasoned, and thus she had forgotten the fact Amy was human (or… something to that effect) as well.

She had not reckoned with the possibility that the road possessed its own set of dangers and distractions for Amy, none of which had had any bearing on Mencha, all of which would hinder them now.

Mencha felt a spurt of fury against the note, the waitress who had handed it to Amy, everyone who had come into that tavern with their own notes, their own questions, their own voices murmuring, "Azazel's Stone." What was Azazel's Stone to her? It was not home, nor a way back. It was nothing, nothing, nothing to her!

Why did she not strike out by herself? she thought, wildly. Depart before Amy shoved her over the brink into brewing disaster? Mencha had wandered, solitary, for five years before this.

And where have you gone in those five years? In naught but circles, 'round and 'round 'til you stumbled drunk on your own failure.

It was galling—almost sickening—to know that it was in Amy she must place her trust, her safety—her hopes for the Way Out. Amy, who veered off track at the slightest provocation; Amy, to whom the weightiest vow was as insubstantial as the wind—

The ground cracked open beneath her feet.

She heard it like a gunshot, and her head jerked up; she sprang to her feet, hand falling to the hilt of her sword. But no, she realized, it was not beneath her feet that the ground had ruptured, but between two others—between the silver woman, and a man armoured in gold. The eruption had left in its wake some hulking, uneven creature; Mencha could make nothing of it in the morning dark, but for a hint of fur, of claws, of wings, all rattling and fluttering in the tongue of light spilling from the taproom.

But then the silver woman drew forth her broadsword and brought it cleanly down through the creature. It shrieked, it vanished, it became shadow upon shadow.

The ground erupted, and a host of demons poured forth.

They spilled through the darkness, through the tongue of light; they encircled the group like a clot of sickness, of festering rot. She heard the silver woman shouting—toward the forest, keep the townspeople safe—the sight, the sound sent waves of sickness through Mencha's belly, and she nearly retched.

She stumbled—she knew not where—her feet were bearing her someplace, and her sword was in her hand. Was it into the trees? Toward the demons? Into nothing? Into the earth, as it heaved forth its disease?

But the romance of thought was a luxury she could no longer enjoy. A rush of air heralded a foe, and she brought up her sword, wildly, to block its claws.

Brann walked out after the elf and immediately tried to distance himself from the gaggle of mortals that had been following her. While it was true that he was likely to spend a great deal of time in the near future with these people, it didn't make him any happier about the situation. The sooner he could return to his search, the happier the fire mage would be.

The elf turned away from the group that had attached itself to her and spoke to a figure standing a little way off from the tavern. Brann fought the urge to just sit on the ground and ignore the world around him until they all just went away - the pointy-eared woman apparently knew an angel, and if there was any Race even more arrogant than the elves...

At that point, Hell decided to open it's eternal gates.

Something that could only be described as a chimera leapt out of the ground and tried to attack the elf, only to be sliced in half by her blade. “Get to the forest as best you can!" she yelled at the others. "I don’t want any of the townspeople harmed!”

Despite himself, Brann snorted. The elf obviously knew very little about demons if she thought that lesser demons could be drawn away from such easy kills just by running away...

The ground opened up near him, and one of the absurd forms leapt out towards the fire mage. Brann sighed and braced himself, with the four-foot blade of his weapon held out towards the abomination. The demon impaled itself on the sword and suddenly vanished with a screeching death-cry.

More of the lesser demons started launching themselves from the ground, congregating around the group that had followed the elf. Another fell to Brann's ancient blade before he strode towards one of the chasms, ready to deal with anything that tried to leap through into the material realm.

Run for the forest? Hah. Despite what the elf said, he could actually protect more people by fighting them right here...