Playground of the Omniverse IC

Pullo Half-human slumbered away in the darkness; dead to the world for all intents and purposes. He wandered aimlessly unable to see, making his way by touch. Beneath his feet he could feel a rocky crag that he was following down a weaving path with sides that felt as though they dropped off into nothingness. The darkness was filled with screams from up above their was the muffled screams of a thousandfold of victims; their hateful voices wailed with repugnance, fear, disdain and arrogance. As the bard descended away from them deep in the bowels of the world their the hateful voices of comrades growls filled void and grew louder as he approached.

“If you feel alive in a darkened room/Do you know the name of your solitude/If you ain't got the answer, if you don't know the truth/if you want the power than let it flow through.*”

“If you feel alive, if you got no fear/Do you know the name of the one you seek?/If you want the answer, if you want the truth/Look inside your empty soul there you'll find the noose.*”

“Would you let it go?/ Oh would you let it go?/ Oh would you let it go?/ Oh,oh would you let it go?*”

As he continued the world grew warmer as a faint red glow appeared in the distance. Eventually their was enough light to see his way down the path and the bard was able to tread faster, the fear of falling melted away in the growing heat. Jets on bright flame leapt out the void on both sides as he neared the end on the line they grew closer singeing his flesh; soot clung to the sweat on his skin. The bard threw out his arms and broke out in a fit of laughter in the darkness his maniacal smile never fading as he was engulfed in fire.

“They cannot end this mourning of my life/Show me how the gods kill.*”

“Yeah, yeah/ Oh oh oh oh/Oh oh oh oh oh.*”

The bard snapped away in his room; it was no longer dark. The door was open, possibly gone and the window was in pieces on the floor. Light crept in from multiple directions and upset him. He was sitting up in bed and as a split second ago he had not been so his beloved guitar which he had been contently spooning promptly fell, violently into his lap landing with a thud hard enough to bruise his elven flesh.

He massaged his leg as he assessed the situation; he was in his room, Missile was missing, most of the furniture was destroyed, he had left his short swords in the wall and was armed only with a butterfly knife that he had won at craps a few days ago. That was the extent of what he could discern at least without getting up which seemed to be the coarse of action he was taking. After all he was awake and it might be worth looking around for his girlfriend.

Pullo was awake, very awake and no longer felt drunk or even hungover but instead almost superhuman. He mused that it was possible that whatever that mysterious drug he'd because it was offered to him in the corner of a seedy bar might still be with him. He felt absolutely incredible when by all rights with the amount he'd drank recently most would be dead and he thought he should at least have a minor headache or something. As he stood up and stretched his arms he felt a slight sense of deja vu as his posture mimicked that of the final moments of his dream. His head also spun a little bit, maybe he wasn't quite as sober as he thought.

As he walked towards the door he pulled the butterfly knife out of his pocket, flicked it into the air directly in his path and as he reached out and grabbed the tip of the handle. Reality appeared to slow down as he very quickly perceived in hyper-realism the flash of steel as the blade glinted in the sunlight. Then he flashed forward a brief second with a clear focus on the knife already gripped by the handle in his hand as the room itself melted away around him.

It took him a second but Pullo gathered his senses and continued towards the door. He hoped it wouldn't take long to find Missile. He wanted to ravage her in some convenient corner as soon as possible but his mind was also on what he wanted to eat for breakfast while they talked afterwards. He wanted beer, bacon and cantaloupe. Cantaloupe would be fucking fantastic right now.

Missile exhaled in relief as the footsteps passed overhead, and she tucked her parcel inside the top of the kimono; the blood had dried and wouldn't stain it. Looking down in the perpetual shadows, she reached her vectors down and let go of the ladder, bringing herself to her feet carefully as she searched the dim room. Great, it's pitch black and I don't have a flashlight. She grumbled softly under her breath as she raised a hand, moving forward with slow steps. Smells like our breath after a dumb night, she thought, a chuckle faint on her lips. Her fingertips touched wood, which had a far wider surface than she anticipated after pressing her hand flat against it. Her hands felt across its face, finding a tap at the bottom and blinking. A barrel of booze? Had she found a cellar?

She walked away from the barrel, still feeling for the dark around her as she walked to the source of the light. Her cautious foot brushed by something in the pitch blackness and she dropped her hand against her leg to find this object. Her hand crept upward, findng a leg - a table? No, a stool, she realized, and her fingers grasped something metal. She squinted, observing its shape. A candle! She found the matchstick affixed to its base and struck the small match against the metal, lighting the wick and burning a bit of her finger in the bargain to find the damn thing in the first place. She hissed, putting the match out on her tongue to stifle the small fire, and she tucked the implement into the candle's edges as she made a better way through the cellar.

Wall - wall - wall- corner! The strange way the cellar was set up became familiar, and she bit back a smile at the memory-

"Ugh, no more wine, I c-ca-*hic!*" Missile pushed the cup away, laughing. "I'll be sick in the morning!"

-and shaking her head. Oh, that hangover had been so worth it. Well, she thought so at least; Nikita? Not in the slightest. She rolled her eyes and headed for the exit - a dead end, so to speak, that she knew lead outside. She found her way through the shadowy halls, walking faster and more confidently now that she knew where she was - then, the noise. Crying - sobbing- She turned around, listening. She didn't like how this crying made her feel - it dredged up Nikita's memory, she didn't like it one ounce. Her head ached as she fought back her other half waking up in response to the noise, and for a moment, failed.

Nikita blinked her eyes, peering into the shadows around her. "Who...?" She shook her head; she didn't question where she woke up anymore, aware of a bizarre pressure in her head as she walked to the sound. She knew the voice, but...

She rounded one last corner and covered her mouth to stifle her surprise, eyes wide and eyebrows just about damn near disappearing into her hair. What was the Boar doing-

Missile shook her head, mouth tightening to a thin line as she took another step to the crying manbeast. Beastman. ... Whatever.

"Looshe? Ish that too?"

"I..." She grabbed her head, wincing as Nikita took over once more. This was unusual.

The kinder of the two stepped their body forward, still not understanding what was happening but not caring. Whoever this ... Lucy... - Lucy, the cause of all this? Of... Of her? Her step faltered a moment but she stopped in front of the Boar. As he kneeled, she was eye-level with him. It was an uncomfortable feeling, seeing someone so proud and tall be so sad.

"N-No, it's Nikita Sterling, sir. I..." She shook her head and set the candle down on top of the barrel. "Who's Lucy, sir? I recognize the name, I do! But I..." Nikita bit her lip. "What happened that's upset you so much, sir? And do please stop drinking, you'll make yourself so sick."

If one thing was true - if anything at all in this strange, twisted Playground - Nikita and Missile were day and night next to each other. Missile watched this through the same eyes as the other and grimaced. She hated Nikita - but without her, she'd be nothing. Many at the Old Boar Inn would probably simply believe Nikita "Missile" Sterling to be a bit mad, perhaps bipolar. None knew the truth - Missile didn't think the Boar knew, either. But she supposed that would be a test of this situation, wouldn't it?

Old Boar’s Inn; Kuroda’s Quarters
[Chad M.F./James]

Unfortunately, Chad’s “constructive criticism” was received as anything but friendly advice. “If I needed advice about how to do my job, pervert, I would have asked for it!” The kitsune would spit venomously in her native language, smoke suddenly puffing all around them as she performed a twisting backflip over the bathtub, practically vanishing before their very eyes in the clouds of smoke.  James would shake off Chad, nodding his thanks as he whipped out his revolver with an expert twirl. He would cast his eyes about as he called out into the concealing smoke with a cough in his voice

“Meant no offense, miss, but -kaff- we were actually loo-“ Suddenly, with a shrill whistle, James suddenly bent backward as two more shruikens whizzed by his chest, clunking somewhere to the pair’s right. Her voice sounded off in the same direction, “Offense is taken, cowboy. You and your friend have insulted me! You have invaded my home, my privacy, and my honor! Have you heard the stories of what happens when someone does these things?” Almost simultaneously, a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around Chad’d neck, one in front, and one under his right armpit, locking into a deadly headlock. The Master Funk could feel strong leg beginning to sweep his feet from underneath him, attempting to cause the futuristic man to topple as a deadly whisper wormed its way into Chad’s ear, “You of all people should know that!”


Old Boar’s Inn; Booth
[Kresnik]

Krenik’s swift actions were too fast for reaction. His blades whistled through air and crowd, expertly timed to pass through the crowd without harming any of the drunken mob.

And spike the right eye of the advancing woman.

An audible gasp came from her mouth as she reeled back at the impact of the weapon. One hand instinctively reached for the blade, gruesomely protruding from her face as the other hand began to raise a black barrier, a square shield, taking on the form of black smoked glass. But it would never fully form. The feather clad woman could crumple to her knees and fall forward, a shocked expression stamped on her surprised face. The barrier shattered with a  loud crash of glass, the corpse lying in her invisible social bubble.

Meanwhile, the second blade had moved through the crowd with an exact timing, passing through the people without harm. However, in his haste, Kresnik had misjudged the distance of his target. With a metallic clang, metal hit metal, impaling the man’s shoulder as he continued to speak to the girl. Suddenly, he would stop, look from his shoulder to his attack with alarm. And then, without warning, something would snap.

With a germanic curse, he wrenched the offending weapon from his shoulder and threw it to the ground. His wrath knew no bounds, however, as he backhanded the waitress viciously, still cursing as a heavy glove reached inside his military coat, removing a ray gun. Taking aim at Kresnik,  a series of green energy bolts blasted towards him and the crowd.

Before this, the crowd’s cheering had completely screeched to a halt. Even the elvish bard had stopped playing, and the mustached bard began to slowly climb down his makeshift stage, keeping a pair of worried eyes on the dhampir, as he could see the lavender gaze piercing through his body. But then, the crowd panicked. It was every man for himself as bodies began to fall and everyone began to flee for an exit, threatening to sweep anyone not safely tucked into a booth off their feet and under the tramping stampede…


Old Boar’s Inn; Lover’s Room
[Pullo]

Unfortunately, Pullo’s cantaloupe would have to wait. The moment stepping outside of his room (and possibly noticing that his neighbor’s door across the way was missing their door as well), he would hear something his gods would delight in - the sound of chaos.

General screams and shouts of panic, the sound of mini explosions hitting the floor (and maybe even people) drifted upward to the balconied second floor. All Pullo would have to do is look below and see the chaos a single patron had created…


Old Boar’s Inn; Trapdoor Cellar
[Missile/Nikita]

The split personalities’ constant interchanging confused the intoxicated innkeeper. The inconsistent pauses, the unsure speech patterns… The boar looked up and down at the slowly approaching woman, drunkenly murmuring as he did, “What dishd dey do to yoo, Looshe?” He tried to stand again, but he slumped over again, this time falling more heavily into the stone floor, a huge hand catching his broad frame in the broken shards of glass as The Boar sniffled once more. The single eye would look up as Nikita came to his eye level.

“N-no It's Nikita Sterling, sir. I..." She shook her head and set the candle down on top of the barrel. "Who's Lucy, sir? I recognize the name, I do! But I..." Nikita bit her lip. "What happened that's upset you so much, sir? And do please stop drinking, you'll make yourself so sick."

The Boar would look at her unsteadily, as if trying to understand who it was in front of him. “Nurkeet…” His eye would scrunch concentration, looking at her more closely. From his eye, he would see two people, but only one voice. He wouldn’t be able to make sense of it and shook his head once, twice. “Looshe, why urr thur two ‘if yoo..? What happurn’d to yeh?” The back of great gnarly hand reached out, as if reaching for dream. The action would be fast, at first. Almost frighteningly at first. But then the hand formed into a gentle caress of a great affection, filled and overflowing with love, touched Nikita’s face.

“Dun’t yeh reh…rehcongnizh me, Looshe…?” The heartbreaking voice rumbled into the candlelight, “It’sh yur hushbant…I mished yoo, and yoo wurr gone fur sho long…” A choked back sob caught in the innkeeper’s throat.

[Kresnik]

The dhampir's eyes quickly analyzed each of the people who caught his attention. The woman crumpled to the floor, either dead or incapacitated from the dagger (most likely dead, he reasoned); the bard's eyes were quite wide as he looked upon Kresnik, as though he were something from Hell; and the third person, who suffered a wound to the shoulder, quickly reached for a crude weapon that was similar to the more extravagant weaponry of the guards he met at the entrance. However, the man had also backhanded the waitress that he had frightened, and Kresnik would have none of that. Before he could react, however, the military figured fired the rounds of his weapons. They reminded Kresnik of magical bolts, minus the chanting and magical energies. Everything broke down, for there was chaos and the beams of energy had hit a few patrons within the pandemonium. Kresnik also felt the sting of the bolts, two of them barely grazing his cheeks and cauterizing the wound.

This worried him, for it meant he would have to freshly open a wound himself if he wanted to use magic... then he remembered the fallen woman, and a morbid smile spread across his face. Taking advantage of the pandemonium, Kresnik used his preternatural speed to weave in and out of the stampeding crowd, drawing his sword as he did so. The blade was as red as river of blood, and gave a faint smell of roses and copper. However, Kresnik knew the truth of the sword, and knew that he had the advantage due to his preemptive strike. As the dhampir made his way through the crowd, he swung his sword, magically fragmenting the blade as red, blood-like links of energy kept them bound to the hilt, turning it into a sword whip.* The weapon swiftly made its way towards the strange soldier, swiftly closing the distance...






[*focus on the sword, guys!!!]

What?

That was all Halcyon could think of as he was approached by these strange cult members.

Halcyon gazed at the dark clad worshipers as the plague doctor continued his praise; "The Evergrowing Shadow! All hail The Bringer of Night, The Guardian of Souls! All hail the Caster of Shadows!” These names… I recognize a few… But I did not create these people… His race the Shaeds praised him by many names. Rightfully so. He had spoken them into existence in his image.He thought as he was led to the middle of the chanting circle. He felt a push on his back, but he ignored it. It was probably his “employer”

Those names were from a time long gone, a time when Lord Halcyon ruled with terror. A time of Shaeds and a time of destruction. And a time of… the Hero… Halcyon rolled his eyes at the thought of his nemesis. However, that was then and this was now.

Halcyon felt his aura mix with the shadow that crept through out the room, as if the blackness of his soul was physical. The dark fog drifted around the room, dimming all the lights. Halcyon felt this darkness begin to be siphoned into his body. It was power; unmitigated, pure power. His body began to enlarge, as his muscles throbbed and rose to unimaginable strength.

It was dark. It was strong.


It felt good.


Finally, the ritual subsided, as the members laid flat on the floor, awaiting Halcyons next words. Smiling, Halcyon stepped from the center of the circle towards the masked man, each step threatening to crack the floor on which they stood. “So… Let’s take a moment to break the ice,” Halcyon said, his voice low, to these followers of darkness. “So my intentions are known. See,” Halcyon walked on the inside of the circle, “I have pity in watching you suffer. I know the feeling of being damned alone; I have a story for you of my own.” He stopped in front of one of the women and, with his foot, would gently lift her face from the floor to look him in the eyes; the voidless eyes. “I can promise you paradise, no need to serve on your knees. And When your lost in the darkest of hours, take a moment and tell me who you see.” Halcyon walked back to the center of the circle, aura beginning to flow violently around him. “Through the ages of time, I’ve been known for my hate,” he practically spat, “But I’m a dealer of simple choices, for me its never too late.” The Sword of the God slowly began to materialize in Halcyons hand as the shadow thrashed about him. “Don’t you see I am your pride! Agent of wealth and bearer of needs!” He proclaimed, “I am your war; arming the strong, aiding the weak…” he gestured to the group of cult members “I am your wrath. I am your guilt. I am your lust!” Halcyon said, each progressively getting louder. The aura whipped around the room in a vortex, centered around Halcyon. “I am your law! I am your star! I am your trust!” He was practically shouting at this point. “Know me by name!” Taking his greatsword, he raised it to the sky and plunged it into the ground, causing the shadow vortex dispersing, first violently, then giving way to eerie silence. His voice began to drop in volume as he continued. “Shepherd of Fire. Caster of Shadows”

He practically whispered.

“Lord Halcyon”

"Oh no-" Nikita checked the pockets of the robes she wore, not recognizing the garment and just tearing off a portion of the sleeve. "Nobody did anything to me?" She blinked, not understanding the question. "I..." She shook her head.

Wait, two of her? Oh, the poor man, he was so drunk. She shook her head and flinched back as his hand moved, a frightened squeak leaving her lips. The resulting contact didn't quite calm her down, but she did feel so very sad. "I..." She chewed on her lip and lifted his other hand from the glass, a foot kicking the shards aside as she wrapped the cuts after pulling the shards out. "Where did I go?" she asked, quietly. "Where... Where do I keep going when I'm not around?" Once she was done tying the makeshift bandage, she wrapped both hands around the one against her face, confused. "Where was I last?" Maybe if the Boar found his head, maybe she could find out why she kept waking up like this. In shadows. Or next to the same elf every day or night or whatever time it happened to be.

Missile similarly felt perplexed, and decided to continue to let Nikita handle the situation. She was more disturbed by the behavior of the bartender than upset by it.

Ganti/ Gaudete

“I…She… It was…Her husband…I-I’m sorry…” as the medusa slithered away. “Well that was peculiar.” Gaudete said, in a light voice to the sobbing bandit. “C’mon girl, lets go talk.” She said, helping Ganti up and leading her into the room and sitting her on the bed. Gaudete stuck her head out of the room, as she heard shouts and explosions come from down the hall. “Typical bars. Can’t get a moment of peace.” She muttered, rolling her eyes and shutting the door. “Alright,” dusting herself off, Gaudete turned to Ganti and put her hands on her hips. “What’s with the sobbing? What happened?”

By this time, Ganti had calmed down considerably, aside for some minor snuffleing. She sighed as she wiped the rest of the tears away from her face. “It’s Fitz and Halcyon. When I woke up, he was gone. And down at the bar just now, a guy told me that Fitz dissapeared and Halcyon took over the body again.” Gaudete scowled. “That should be fun…” Things worked out pretty nicely last time that he got free, but that was when they had the Color Guard and the Earthlanders. “And Gaudete,” Ganti conintued, “When the guy told me… the ‘other’ side got out a bit…” Gaudete walked over to Ganti and put her hand on her shoulder. “Ganti, don’t worry. It won’t be able to take over unless Halcyon forces it.” This was true for the most part. However, Ganty did love Halcyon almost a ridiculous amount. If Ganti got too close to him, the other side might come out just out of sheer will. “Yeah. Gaudete, what should we do? The guy is trying to get a team together to stop Halcyon, but we need Fitz. There is no way anyone else can stop him!” Gaudete pondered this. Ganti had a point. “Girl, we can’t let Halcyon run all willy nilly out there. We need to try. Hopefully Fitz will show up soon enough.” Gaudete said in her most encouraging voice. Ganti smiled. Gaudete’s reassuring words comforted her soul. “Alright!” She hopped up and started to strip. If we’re gonna do this, I need to change!” Gaudete rolled her eyes as Ganti struggled to get her pants off without taking her shoes of first. I can either respect her resolve or laugh at her stupidity... Gaudete and Ganti had grown close to each other since their first adventure. There was quite a bit of animosity in the beginning, but that was probably just because of their differing moral compasses. Ganti’s, thankfully, straightened out a bit.

“Gaudete! Have you seen my facemask? I know I packed it!” Gant said, shuffling through her clothes. “I don’t know Ganti.” Gaudete said halfheartedly. As fast as Ganti was moving, she was still getting dressed pretty slowly. Her mind was working a mile a minute. Gaudete had reclined in midair, hands behind her head and eyes closed, hovering a few feet above the floor. “Never mind!” She heard Ganti call out. Opening her eyes, Gaudete saw Ganti put the finishing touches on her outfit by tying the facemask over her mouth. “Ok,” Ganti said in a rather manly, menacing voice, for a woman at least. “Let’s go.” Gaudete rolled her eyes. “Ganti, just cause you have a new outfit on doesn’t mean your attitude changes…” She looked back down to see an empty room. “Ganti…?” She asked cautiosly as she floated to the ground.

“I am the night…”

Gaudete screamed as she turned around fell backwards. Ganti was cracking up behind her. “Dammit Ganti!” Gaudete stood up, rubbing her butt. “Seriosly, lets go.” Ganti said normally. “Ugh, Fiiine…” Gaudete turned into the blue ball of light that she so often took on and hovered around Ganti. “Time to find future guy.” Ganti said, heading towards the door.

Two arms suddenly wrapped around Chad holding him in a headlock and a foot attempts to sweep Chad. "You of all people should know that!" was whispered in Chad's ears. Having no time to react, Chad fell to the ground, but oddly that didn't seem to bother him much, besides the minor body pain. Chad begins to chuckles as he looks at the kitsune, "We are getting a little kinky I see". Chad winks to taunt her. "However, you are right. I know very well how to deal with shinobi."

As he says this, Chad makes one of his clones appear behind her pointing his katana at her once again. "When you threw that smoke bomb, I knew you would ambush me so I created a clone when you couldn't see us clearly through the smoke you created." The clone explained behind her. "And you fell for the bait." The clone smirks.

"The truth is, none of what he said is true." Chad thought to himself. "I created that clone just now and lied about creating it earlier, but I hope she buys it. If she attacks the clone, then I'll have an opening."

The officer’s thick British accent rang in Barabbas’s ears. And, at a time when his defenses were at their peak, the two hands that lay upon his shoulders were most unwelcome. He sprang from the officer and dashed into the nearest crowd of people. It was at that time his suit projected an appearance about him similar to that of a near pedestrian, though different in minor detail. He escaped the officer and went onward in full curiosity. All around him were smells of a new variety – both sweet and pungent alike, yet none of which he had ever encountered on Pious. As he looked about his surrounding, there were strange figures: the sort his people would have come across in their intergalactic dealings 200 millennia ago. Some were ghastly looking things, while others were more familiar in appearance: mammalian, reptilian, crustacean-like.

The streets of this world lent to an absurdness that made him cackle inside. Despite his situation he took some ease in the sightings before him. Phantoms would stroll around in tailcoats and top hats while glancing at their translucent pocket watches. For the most part, the world was similar to that of Orin or Earth.

“Add or remove a sun, alter the heavens pigment, purge the lands of all but one species – then you’ve got yourself something relatable,” he thought.

The two suns blazed overhead, and as he walked the streets, he was at least grateful that the suns above him were concealed by a slight overcast. Still, there was little comfort to be had in this bewildering place, far away from everything he held dear. He sped forward under the assumption that there had to be a place to sort it out. Otherworldly beings had arrived at this concoction of disparate society, therefore they too must have had a place to go to – perhaps a sector of government dedicated to the very purpose.

As he carved his way through the crowds of passersby and tall pointed buildings on either side of him he noticed a similarity between this place and a few of the smallest cities of Pious. The largest notable difference being: the massive quantities of steam spewing from each building as if their existence depended on it. What sort of world was this that steam would need to spew from the buildings?

He came near what appeared to be an old world market. Traders of all sorts were filling the courtyard to its max. Below the two suns vendors were vending at extraordinary pace. Colorful cloth, bottles of fluorescent blue, green, and red, furniture, and food of all sorts, all of it being sold by a variety of species - the weapons came as a surprise to him. He witnessed swords and guns that baffled his intellect. Most appeared to glow of energetic auras like the weapon his people gave him prior departure. Though, his suit detected no energy outflows and this troubled him.

Pacing forward in increments he made his way to the end of the market courtyard and sat on the left side of an iron bench. It was here he sat until confronted once more by the man who grabbed him earlier.

The Lows; ???
[Halcyon/Gerald]

A dirge rose from his worshipers as the Shepard of Fire's voice filled the room, proclaiming his creed. It rose into a scream, from each follower, their bodies writhing as their bodies began to wave as the bowing rose and fell. The whites of their eyes were as plain as day - truly, they were entranced as they screamed, whether in fervor, pleasure, or pain, it would be difficult to tell.

However, when the vortex suddenly dissipated and all seven women were lying on the floor, panting heavily, the name of their savior echoed into the darkness, all source of light gone and only the painted symbol in the dark glistening like wet blood.

"Lord Halcyon."

All seven began to crawl towards the chaotic god, hands slowly reaching for his feet and smoothly wrapping feminine arms around his legs as the masked priest's voice quivered, practically shaking with every word as he attempted to speak, "M-my l-lord! Y-y-you r-r-revea-vealed y-you...your name." Gloved hands slowly rose to the mask removing it as he continued to speak, the ornament falling to the ground with a heavy clang. A bald head was revealed, but much more. The man before Halcyon would barely be recognizable as a man, skin practically removed from his face, revealing bone, exposed eyeballs, teeth, and muscle, visibly pulling tendons and muscles as he continued to speak. "I have committed m-my -- myself to this order, i-i-in your name." His bared face pressed against the stone, muffed words coming from the floor, "Tell me, my lord - have you finally come to give judgement to those who have m-mistre-treated this lan-land?"

Before Halcyon could respond, a familiar (and possibly annoying) voice whispered in
his ear, "Say yes, old chap! Say yes!" Again, Gerald would be too fast for Halcyon to
see, or anyone to see - truly a artist in his talent.

If Halcyon complied, all hands would remove from the shadow lord, all pressing to the floor as the priest's voice wailed, "HE HAS RETURNED, HE HAS RETUR--!!" The rest of the praise would not be heard, for Halcyon would feel someone grab the collar of his coat and all at once, he would be pulled into a vortex of light and shadows, soon crash landing in Gerald's home...

However, if Halcyon chose to ignore his Jiminy Cricket, and speak or simply stay silent, the priest at his feet (and the seven worshipers) would hang on every word of the Chaotic god. If he were to speak long however, a hand of one of the women would reach to his leg once more, a lusty smile on her face as she spoke, "My lord, if you have returned and revealed your name to us, does that mean we are your seven marks?"

Nikita was baffled by the immense weight of the Boar's hands; he was ridiculously tall, large, and all other things 'big,' but scientifically speaking- Fuck science, she thought as she bit her lip. "Wh..." She shook her head.

A startled yelp escaped her lips as he grabbed her hands tight; she felt a small snap in her left hand and pain shot up her forearm. "No, no!" She stared back, eyes widening as she tried to take a step back. His hands tightened on hers and she could only stare in fright. "Nobody hurt m-"
A wine casket behind her crumpled, spilling its purple treasure onto the floor as her vectors shot straight back and away, flight-or-fight trying to pull her away.
======

Missile shoved Nikita's consciousness down and away, unsure of what the Boar had done, and she squinted at the middle of the room. That's... she doesn't look a thing like us, why is he calling us her name? While she couldn't be sure, goosebumps rose on her arms as the silence carried on, and then- chaos, pure chaos, madness, someone disappearing, someone wrecking everything, someone-

Whether the Boar would remember it or not when he was sober: a tiled room splattered with blood housed a girl in a straight jacket, no more than ten years old, and she stared with dead eyes at the door. The dead and uniformed bodies on the floor took none of her attention as she got to her feet, red footprints a trail behind her as she walked to the door. It slammed open, hinges snapping as she tilted her head, watching the chaos on the other side of the hall. A taller girl, same pink hair, same white horns, but older, walked - no, marched - up to a door on the far end. Behind her, doors shot open, some crashing into walls opposite and others simply slamming against the wall behind them - other girls that looked just like her climbed out of their lifetime cells -

Gunshots.
====

Missile jolted back awake, the mumblings of a drunk nudging her into consciousness. She raised her arm and draped it across one of his wide, wide shoulders as he passed out, watching him with a pit in her stomach as he started to sleep off the booze. "... You poor fuckin' soul." She rubbed his back some before inching out of his grip, checking the parcel in her robe before finding the ladder again. Her left hand ached and she glanced down, realizing her thumb was out of its socket, and she cracked it back into place with her right hand. "Ow." She shook her head, climbing up and pushing the cover aside as she clambered out.

"Hm." She looked up, walking toward the broken window Pullo had left in his drunken wake, and she raised herself up, pulling the glass shards out and setting herself down. The bed, empty but for his guitar, made her smile a bit as she listened to the chaos coming through the floor. "Someone's up already?" She pulled the shapeshifter heart out of its wrapping, still holding it by some cloth as she walked out of the wrecked door. She spared half a glance at the wrecked room across the hall, making a face at it before holding the heart against her chest, and she spotted her lover up the hall. "Pullo...?" If he wasn't causing a fight... who was? She chuckled to herself and followed some ways behind him before calling to him, "Pullo, come here!" She realized half-heartedly she'd have to explain where her favorite shirt and jeans were, but that probably wasn't important anymore.

She tilted her head with an awkward smile. "So I know I'm not the mushy sort, and neither are you. But I'm pretty sure I explained that dumb holiday from my world? With the hearts and shit, because some guy got killed for letting people from different religions get married?" She held up the shapeshifter's heart, half-wrapped in her old Iron Maiden shirt. "Well. Figured this is better than chocolates or shitty handcuffs or bad love cards."

[Kresnik]
Kresnik's eyes widened as the blind man stumbled into the midst of his fight. Fortunately, the dhampir snapped the blade as one would crack a whip, causing the weapon to barely graze the man's cheek as it was quickly deterred. Kresnik didn't mind the man's happenstance arrival, as accidental as it was, for he had the soldier's full attention. Regardless, Kresnik still had the advantage... and he didn't need to kill a fragile, handicapped innocent to get the results he so desired. Kresnik's gaze went back to the soldier, who now grabbed the young waitress whose eyes were full of fear. A meatshield? Kresnik thought with the utmost disgust, already retracting the blade back to its original form as he began to mutter a short incantation, repeating each word with spidery inflections.

Adventia necros umbra...

Dead rising shadow...

Muttering the spell in death-like whispers, the dhampir stared the soldier dead in the eyes. Kresnik's mind was sharp and clear, only filled with the images of the soldier, of him dying in a particular manner of being devoured as he was pulled into the shadows. The girl was of no consequence, for her existence was wiped from his mind. Kresnik, a powerful sorcerer in his own right, focused all of his dark energies for that particular image; for that particular result. The girl would not be a part of his baleful nocturne, of his daemoniac spell that would be considered pure art in the eyes of the damned and the damning.

The fell words left his lips in tones and sounds reminiscent of a breathless death rattle; eerie and hollow, raspy and flat. The words of his spell were not meant for the world of the living; and indeed they fell upon dead ears. The corpse of the dead woman silently stirred and began to crawl towards the soldier, making naught a sound. Kresnik, though an expert of necromancy, was unable to project the incantation mentally as he could with sangromancy; and this particular spell was a powerful one to raise a silent ghoul. Nevertheless, the spell took effect, its arcane and baleful words binding the woman's corpse to Kresnik's psyche.

"Let the girl go," Kresnik said aloud, as though he had finished a long string of curses. "Or you will die." He finished ominously, his tone absent of emotion, only remaining matter-of-fact.

[Halcyon]

The women wrapped their arms around his legs. Halcyon could get used to this, as he smiled devilishly. The priest shook violently as he spoke, quivering with fear. "M-my l-lord! Y-y-you r-r-revea-vealed y-you...your name." The man took off his mask, revealing a skinless face. Dude. That’s just weird. Halcyon thought as he looked at the muscle and bone pulling on the mans face Like, how do you even survive like that? Shouldn’t it be like, infected or something? Meh, I’ll put you out of your misery soon enough… The man continued to speak. "I have committed m-my -- myself to this order, i-i-in your name." the man pressed his skinless face to the ground. Like hell you have. What, with the face and garbage? I still can’t get over how weird that is. Gods… Halcyon thought. But the words that came next halted all thoughts about this mans face; "Tell me, my lord - have you finally come to give judgement to those who have m-mistre-treated this lan-land?" The groveling man spoke. A small voice appeared in his ear; it was his guide. "Say yes, old chap! Say yes!" Halcyon smiled. “My child,” He spoke in a deep, dark voice. “…All will be judged.”

The priest wailed with ecstasy. "HE HAS RETURNED, HE HAS RETUR--!!”, and with a tug on the collar, Halcyon felt the familiar pull of the dimensional jumper as he landed in his house again, this time on his feet. Standing up straight, he dusted himself off and looked at his accomplice. “You sly dog.” He smiled at him. “You really are schemer for chaos, aren’t you?”

Old Boar’s Inn; Lobby
[Kresnik]

The blind man, though unable to see what had just occurred, made his way safely away from the on-going duel between hunter and soldier, though confused and possibly more frightened than those around him who fled the room and into the Lows' Main Street.

The strange soldier shuffled backwards at the dhampir's dead words and even more when the corpse of the dead woman rose, as it slowly began to shuffle towards him and his hostage in its eerie manner. While Kresnik's adversary was visibly uneasy, the girl in his arm screamed in terror. This reaction caused the "man" to laugh harshly as he responded to Kresnik's factual statement, "You cannot kill what is already dead."

Suddenly the raygun screamed, releasing its charged in the general direction of Kresnik and the booth behind him. The recoil would cause the soldier's arm to kick back a full ninety degrees, knocking him off balance slightly. However, he would quickly recover if nothing took advantage of his moment of weakness, fleeing to the right to an exit...



???; Gerald's Home
[Halcyon/Gerald]

Gerald would chuckle as he dusted himself off as he responded, "Well, old chap, I can't take all the credit. I suppose you could call me an 'agent' of chaos, but..." He smiled slyly as he made his way over to the small stove to put a kettle on the already warming top, "I definitely leave the scheming to others." The coated man would instantly warp to the other side of the room, scooping up two teacups wildly before zooming over to the table that Halcyon had made a deal with the strange man not an hour ago. Pushing a seat out, he would beckon Halycon to have a seat with a dramatic sweep of his top hat, "Now 'Lord Halcyon,' I do have some more news." If the chaotic god accepted the gesture or not, Gerald would jump back to the stove, to the already screaming kettle. "Since you completed your mission fabulously, with my much needed help," At this remark, Gerald would high five himself before continuing, "It's time to move on to bigger things. Honestly, my master -- and now your employer -- will be most pleased that this mission was carried out so beautifully. This was the best scenario to be expected, and well." Gerald's face turned to an almost evil, full blown grin, completed with an mock-giggle, "This is very, very good."

Halcyon would see him at the table once more, pouring tea for himself before asking in an obvious gesture if the Shepard of Fire would like a cup as well, "My master - he wants to meet you. Get to know who he's recruited, so to speak."

[Kresnik]

Kresnik Theme:

Kresnik had already seen the man use the atrocious, barbaric weapon more than enough times to understand its workings. First off, the gun was aimed at him. Secondly, the dhampir understood its workings to be highly similar to a hand-crossbow. In this regard, he measured its trajectory and calculated the man's posture and mobility rate, via screaming girl. Kresnik shuffled a foot to the side, where it would be more difficult for the aim to be judged and therefore throw off the trajectory. He did this all in the moment that the undead soldier looked away. It was subtle; merely a preparation to bound into the gun's proverbial blind spot at the last possible moment.

Unbeknownst to the man with the gun, Kresnik already placed him into a deadly trap since the thrown daggers. When the soldier spoke, he uttered the words he would soon regret:

"You cannot kill what is already dead."

"Funny," Kresnik remarked, already sliding into the blind spot when he saw the finger twitch within his peripheral vision, pulling the trigger. The raygun fired and missed, only singing the milky white mane... perhaps taking with it several strands if not an entire lock. "That's what the others have said before they went back six feet under." Kresnik made several quick hand signs, before clawing his normal hand and making a reverse-ripping motion. The corpse that he had resurrected, still fresh, exploded. The blood instantly poured out of every opening, rending apart the flesh. With yet another quick motion of the hand, as the man already began his run, Kresnik slammed downward. Instantaneously, the blood became solid drill-like pikes of the most beautiful scarlet, already in a vicious spin, as they flew swiftly towards the undead creature.

Kresnik began to feel quite thirsty after the amount of magic he poured into the spell...

The Story Master sat rather tense, his pulse beating slightly faster than normal but he held his emotions at bay. Tyros didn’t like flying in large masses of metal, he didn’t trust flight related technology. Both he and the other passengers had been silent. Only the muffled sound of radio chatter could be heard.

He gazed out the window and he knew where they were going. He had flown this path before and recognized that the transport shuttle had passed the massive Middle Wall and flew over the even greater High Wall. He felt a pang of nostalgia swell in his chest.

He was home.

Five rings of royalty and grandeur stood within the High Wall, each was palace, a monument of majesty, an ode to those who dwelled therein. He nearly shed when he set his eyes upon the home of the Clavant family. So many familiar places invoked so many memories.

While Tyros continued to reminisce began to slow and then to descend.

The soldiers on board stirred immediately after, “Prepare for landing!” was yelled throughout the shuttle. The landing was as violent as the take off. A jolt shook the craft before it stood still long enough to hear, “Go, go, go! Move it! Move it!” and feel the pounding of so many heavy footsteps running from the shuttle. Tyros hated modern military tactics; they left no room for refinement only rough protocol. He was pleasantly surprised that the man bellowing orders addressed him with a more civilized tone, “This way, sir.” However he was less pleased when the man then ran away from him…

Nonetheless, Tyros strolled out of the shuttle at a dignified pace and into the blinding sun. He shielded his eyes but it still took some brief time to adjust to the overwhelming light.

Once his teary eyes regained their sight he was humbled by the imposing mass of the Council Palace. This was one of his favorite buildings in the Highs. The Council palace rivaled even the Parthenon, which The Story Master had once seen in its prime. There was chaos to be seen in the area around the palace. A barrier was erected and there was an obvious sense of alarm seen in groups entering and exiting the scene.

Tyros was able to quickly locate the officer, who was talking to some fellow commanders. However curiosity consumed him and he noticed that there was really no one watching him in the chaos so he decided to walk right in and see for himself what the cause for the commotion was.

He walked towards the barrier, but before he got more than a few feet away from the barrier he felt the warm blue glow of the amulet, then he disappeared…

He reappeared in what felt like water. But then he noticed that he could breath. It was dark and it felt like the darkness itself was palpable. He heard what sounded like elated shouting and drums and some strange wailing. The only words that were clear were, "HE HAS RETURNED, HE HAS RETURNED…” But before he could figure it out he felt again the familiar blue glow and again he disappeared.

Wherever he reappeared there was light and he could see his surroundings as his eyes didn’t have time to adjust to the dark place. He found himself in a well furnished room - rustic, rough, but very homey. Stone all around, in circular room with a large cot covered with heavy blankets, a sturdy oaken table, two beautifully crafted chairs on either side of the circular piece of furniture. The room could be the home of a lord and whomever it belonged to had decent taste. The first thing he noticed in the room was two people (who both appeared male) near the table. One “person” was black like pitch with fire for hair and it was holding a large black sword. The other was a scraggly looking dark haired man with an odd mustache wearing a long coat, scarf, and a beautiful top hat.

The Story Master was confused and frustrated but his tone didn’t display it when he said, “Excuse me fine sirs I mean no intrusion! First I would like to compliment your taste in headwear, good sir.” He said as he removed his own top hat and bowed to the two. He looked up still in full bow and continued, “Second, I would like to ask you if you could kindly tell me where and when we may be presently?    

 The amulet around his neck continued to glow its pale blue glow. This was not typical. After it had ever transported him before it had always stopped glowing immediately after he arrived. However, it still, this instance glowed and it felt as though it resonated with something in this very room. It felt as though the amulet pulled toward the black sword in the fire-haired man’s hand…

Gerald laughed quietly, "Well, old chap, I can't take all the credit. I suppose you could call me an 'agent' of chaos, but… I definitely leave the scheming to others." He said, putting a kettle on the stove. Warping towards the other side of the room, he grabbed two teacups and pulled out a chair for the dark lord, beckoning with his large tophat. Halcyon sat down, nodding thanks in Gerald's direction. "Now 'Lord Halcyon,' I do have some more news." He said, returning to the kettle, whistling like mad. "Since you completed your mission fabulously, with my much needed help," giving himself a high five, "It's time to move on to bigger things. Honestly, my master -- and now your employer -- will be most pleased that this mission was carried out so beautifully. This was the best scenario to be expected, and well." With an evil grin, "This is very, very good." Gerald began to pour tea for himself, then gestured to Halcyon. “Thank you…” He would say, nodding to Gerald. "My master - he wants to meet you. Get to know who he's recruited, so to speak."

Halcyon smiled. Things were going swimmingly. He opened his mouth to respond, when there was… a new presence. Halcyon stood up straight, his mind racked surprise and confusion. He had felt this presence before. It was… Familiar… It was…

...His?

“Excuse me fine sirs I mean no intrusion! First I would like to compliment your taste in headwear, good sir.” Halcyon heard this new voice say, “Second, I would like to ask you if you could kindly tell me where and when we may be presently?”

In an instant, Halcyon would go from standing near the table to having his fingers wrapped around this intruders throat, lifting him a foot above the ground, and looking deep into the new mans eyes, his own void filled eyes threatening to bore into the mans soul, leaving precious little the man could do.

“I didn’t create you…” He would spit menacingly at the man, slowly tightening his grip on the throat in his left hand and the sword in his right. “Why is there a part of me in your being…” This man was not threatening, even to a mortal. Lanky, and dressed like the highfalutin ignoramus he probably was, Halcyon barely had to move a muscle to lift him off the ground. But there was something… different about him. He felt oddly connected to the man, in such a way that was unexplainable. There were no stark features that Halcyon recognized, and the only interesting thing about the man was the pale blue light emanating from under his shirt. He continued to look at the intruder dead in the eye. “Do you know this man??” He called out to his partner.

"Ha! She fell for it!" Chad thought as the kitsune loosened her grip. But suddenly her grip became strong again. "Perv" she hissed at Chad's ears. Chad couldn't help but become aroused as the kitsune talks into his ears. Chad tries to disguise his emotions but to no avail. The kitsune giggled and gave a seductive smile, "Hmph - you like it when I talk to you that way, don't you?" She pulls Chad closer to her face as she whispers again to his ears, "Don't you?"

"Oh nononononononononono!! This is bad! I'm falling for it!" Chad's mind rushed to think of a solution out of this, but biology is getting the best of him. "This never ends well," Chad thought "I know she is luring me into a trap, but I can't resist it. But I also can't stay still like this either because that's what she wants me to do." Chad suddenly lets out a smirk. "Maybe I can surprise her! I'm probably going to get kicked in the balls for this, but its definitely worth it."

"I do" Chad whispers back to her as he grabs the back of the kitsunes head and forcefully pulls her into a kiss. Chad did not have a moment to spare, as he kissed her he quickly tagged a tracking device on the back of her shirt collar. Now Chad can only wait and see how the kitsune will react.

Old Boar’s Inn; Kuroda’s Quarters
[Chad M.F./James]
Chad's actions would be deliberate and swift. But the kitsune's reaction would be the completely opposite of what Chad would have expected. She kissed back. Not only would she follow up, but she began to drag Chad back further into the room, still kissing the futuristic man.
For the Master Funk, the world would become clear, but yet, it would begin to fade. The edges of his vision would become darker. The more he kissed, the more the world would begin to fade, the last thing seen were the beautiful eyes of the seductress in front of him.
However, if he would try to pull himself from the kitsune, she would only press herself closer to him, grinding, kissing, and maybe even groping, depending on how much of an effort Chad was making to flee from her sudden love...



Old Boar’s Inn; Lobby
[Kresnik]
During the recoiling recovering, the girl waitress screamed (and kept screaming) as Kresnik's magic released life-scarring events. The corpse of the woman (or what skin scraps and organ pieces that were left anyway) splattered across the room in all directions. One would even smack itself on Kresnik's shoulder as another fwapped itself on the still remaining bard's face, who instantly spat a squeal of surprise and horror as he instantly removed the offending, gory wrapping and proceeded to flail in disgust.
Meanwhile the soldier's run broke into a sprint as he made for the nearby exit, attempting to make a break from the "lobby" of the inn and into the side door of the room. Alas, he wouldn't get very far - one spiraling pool of transforming blood later and the soldier would give a terribly scream of pain as Kresnik's sanguine creation found its mark in the most gruesome way. The nazi's torso had a hole punched through it, his arms, head and legs shredded from his body. A terrible display of wires, undead flesh, and metal was splayed in front of the doorway's opening, the girl in the midst of it all as one would find the head still speaking, a rasp of death in its voice as it laughed to its demise, "Aaahaha - you think you've killed me, wizard? Hmmhmmhmmhmm--" Coughing would ensue for a moment before continuing, "You'll see, demon. You'll see that death is merely an ill--hack!-illusion."
With that, the mechanical soldier would give one last hiss of gears and breath, leaving the inn silent - and quite, quite messy.






???; Gerald's Home
[Halcyon/Gerald/TSM]
The chaotic god's expected response was answered by something else. Though The Story Master would not have been able to hear it, the amulet announced its arrival by a magical sound - the sound of space and time being opened. Slowly, Gerald would turn his head, his face revealing an expression that could only be described as "What the fuck."
The arrival would be practically the "proper" version of himself. Out of all of his years of time travel, Gerald had never experienced someone who almost dressed like him, and yet, who did not dress like him. Slowly rising out of his chair, Gerald's face remained the same as he was about to take one sneakered step forward. However, his companion beat him to it.

"There's something familiar about him, old chap?" Gerald's face remained the same as he walked over to the wrathful god and the top hatted gentleman. "Because that would make sense why he was here, seeing that you're familiar about something with him? But then again, if you weren't expecting company, neither was I." With this banter, he stood besides lifting god and dangling man. Promptly, Gerald would smack Halcyon's hand, gesturing (if not rudely to some) to drop their new "guest." Dusting off the man's coat with two swipes of his hand (and then the man's hat, which had fallen on the floor due to Halcyon's sudden lifting), Gerald would hand the hat to the home's newest guest. "Right then. I thank you for your compliments and return them all the same to you, sir." Gerald would comment, the Cheshire smile still plastered on to his face, "But you should know--"


With great force (and maybe some necessary roughness) Gerald would rip the man above his own head by the collar, the still crazed smile on his face as both top hatted men were surrounded by dark shapes, odd white floaters, and voices distorting all around them before they landed in a grassy plain, the plants reaching up to waist height. Gerald's hands would still be on The Story Master's collar, still pulling the man above his head, the smile still there, if not more intense, as the odd thief finished his sentence, "--you really should notify your host before visiting."
Gerald would then relax his face as he put Tyros down to the grass, smile gone and hands yet again brushing off The Story Master's coat. His voice would change as Gerald continued to banter, words deeper, darker. "It's bad manners, old chap. And you know what happens to people with bad manners?" Gerald would get very close to The Story Master, noses practically touching as thief gently pushed the Highs native on the sternum - just enough to make Tyros take a step back, but just enough to avoid doing any real damage...

For Tyros, taking one step back would be impossible to avoid. The action was brilliantly timed and applied with just enough force. And unfortunately for Tyros, something would be very different with that one step.
Even at their arrival, The Story Master would have noticed something different with the air, if he had been paying attention even slightly to their surroundings. Air seemed to be whooshing up from behind them, like a gentle fan blowing on a hot summer day. The sound of a wind would be present and definitely behind him. But that one step would make him realize what it was, where he was, and where he was going. Only things that he had heard or read in stories, but the tall tales were instantly becoming reality - the myth that there was actually a world's end, an edge that people could fall off if not careful.

Tyros was falling off the edge of The Crossroads.

If by some miracle, Tyros could recover, the chances would be impossibly slim. To grab the edge of the world is not easily done nor is it done by falling flat on your back. But if he managed to grab an ancient root  that protruded from earth's side  or if something managed to save him even if he didn't, one thing would be clear.
The legends were real.


Halcyon would not be waiting for more than 2 minutes. By the time he sat back down in his chair and took a sip from his tea, he would find Gerald sitting at the opposite end, calmly, almost smugly, sipping his tea as well. "Now. Where were we?" He would ask with a sparkle in his eye...

[Kresnik]
Kresnik watched as his magic performed its macabre art, rending to shreds the Nazi soldier. With great nonchalance, he brushed the gory piece of flesh off of himself, walking towards the head that was remained. He noticed alien things, like strange, pseudo-vein-like tubes and oddly shaped metal, some designed with multiple teeth, others with intricate ridges, and so on. Blood, and some strange, black liquid that smelled bittersweet and tangy were in pools around him from his macabre display. The undead flesh, itself, smelled similar to a dead opossum magnified by an entire hole filled of such vermin. Kresnik almost fell into nostalgia just from the sickly sweet scent itself, but remained on the level as he glowered at the mechanical head, slowly but surely making progress towards it.

The head spoke, speaking with such an absolute tone that it grated on Kresnik's nerves.

"Aaahaha - you think you've killed me, wizard?--Hmmhmmhmmhmm--You'll see, demon. You'll see that death is merely an ill--hack!-illusion."

At last when Kresnik was close enough, the head smoked and became silent. Kresnik, stoic save for his bloodthirsty eyes, placed his left foot atop of the entity's disembodied head. "Were death an illusion," the dhampir began, now applying pressure to the mechanism. "I wouldn't exist." With that, his foot crushed the half-undead, half-mechanical thing, sending forth the rest of the gears, pseudo-blood and its oily compounds. Kresnik looked around the Old Boar's Inn before taking a drink from a vial, his face slightly contorting and wincing from the heavy, and quite sour, taste. "The game is over," Kresnik muttered as he finished the vial, turning his gaze towards Locien, flicking the vial his way.

The Old Boar's Inn; Lobby
[Kresnik/Locien]

The moments that had been so full of action were instantly replaced by silence, minus one curb-stomped head that collapse with a sickening crunch of metal and bone under Kresnik's heel Such silence in The Old Boar's Inn was rare and rather eerie (a place usually so full now so empty usually does that). However, there was still a distant murmur of gamblers and now an ever present thowmp of a bass beat in the background.

Locien, who had been struggling to remove the gore stain on his face (and miserably failing) looked to Kresnik, barely managed to catch the vial that was flicked at him with the belly of his cittern. An air of cautious approach in his body language as he slowly began to limp over to Kresnik, speaking slowly as he did, in his drunken manner, of course. "Well... That could have gone... better, eh, mate?"

Before Kresnik could respond, however, a pair of tiny arms wrapped around his leg, a tearful, tiny voice crying upwards to him, "Oh thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you, mister!" Tears were streaming down her small face as big eyes looked up into Krenik's lavender ones, "I thought for sure I was going to see The Smile! I thought for sure! I thought-- I thought I was never going to--!" Her sentences were broken, sob racked. She was covered in gore, but she didn't seem to quite realize the fact just yet...

[Kresnik]
The dhampir glared at the bard as he made his way over. The elf was covered in the gore that was caused during the confrontation, and it did not quite suit him; then again, anyone covered in macabre confetti wouldn't make it look natural, unless they were like Kresnik or creatures of the night. But an elf covered in blood and guts and someone else's flesh was something Kresnik was used to... or would have been, were it not for this particular bard to be from another plane of existence and looking more benign than the elves back on the Isle.

Kresnik listened to the bard's slurring words, and before he could retort, the young maid clung to his leg with a death-like grip of gratitude. Strange... he thought, looking down at her. She rambled many thanks in her hysteria, oblivious to the mess that covered her as it did the elf. "The Smile?" He asked, turning his gaze to Locien once more, his expression now of genuine confusion and intrigue. He knelt down and pried the young girl off of him, carrying her over to the booth he and his companion sat in. Without a word, he turned back to Locien. "Was this all a part of your business?" Kresnik asked, words full of venom.

"Wha-whats going on?" Chad's eyes widened in surprise as the kitsune held the kiss longer. Chad realized he was losing strength. "Oh no! This is bad! I can't break out of it!" Chad thought as the kitsune dragged him further in the room. Chad tried to resist but the beautiful kitsune held tight on to him, pressing their bodies close together. Not only Chad couldn't resist her through physical strength, he couldn't resist her sexually. Her voluptuous body pressing and grinding against him made him want to stay in her arms, even though he knew it wasn't good for him. The longer they kissed, the more Chad's vision darkened. "I have to warp out of here, fast!" Chad thought, but unfortunately he did not have enough strength to activate his teleportation. He tries to signal James for help, but it was too late. He was already losing consciousness.

"Maybe... this isn't so bad after all..." Chad thought as he looked into the kitsune's eyes and his body relaxed. Chad's heart pumped and a warm wave ran through his body. Even though Chad knew he fell into her trap, he couldn't help but feel romantic about it. "If I can't get out of this... I might as well enjoy this moment..." Chad puts his hands around the kitsune's waist, taking in the last few moments before falling unconscious. He smiles in their kiss as he feels for her bosom. "Hehehe... totally... worth it..." Were Chad's final thoughts as he finally closes his eyes and falls asleep

The man with good taste in headgear looked mortified indeed by The Story Master’s presence. On his face could be seen a demon’s grin, he wished ill of The Story Master. This was not the first time this had happened but Tyros still felt so very embarrassed. He felt that he deserved to be held by his throat with his feet dangling above the floor by the man with fire for hair. Tyros looked deep into the piercing black eyes that menaced at him and he saw his own disappointment in himself. He felt as if he had no manners at all. The two people must have been having a private conversation that he must have interrupted. His reputation was likely ruined on whatever world they were on. And news of his uncouth intrusion would likely spread like wildfire to all other worlds and realms shortly there after. He was ruined! Truley!

As he thought these things to himself he was near to passing out from lack of oxygen when the man in the top hat stepped forward and he hit Tyros out of the fire-haired man’s hand, or so it appeared. Was this mercy? Surely one as discourteous as
he didn’t deserve it. He sat on the ground where he fell with a noise sullen and face downcast. The man showed further mercy, he dusted of Tyros’ coat off and bestowed upon him his own top hat that had fallen off, and even brought him to his feet. But then Tyros realized he was still very angry (rightly so) when he spoke and puled him up by his collar off the ground.

"Right then. I thank you for your compliments and return them all the same to you, sir. But you should know--"

Before the man finished his sentence they were suddenly traveling through time and space…

Was it the amulet again?

He stil felt the warmth from its blue glow, but no; this was different. It felt the same but he saw all around him dark shapes and floating things and voices. Normally he could either see a sort of dark blue fluorescent ring of light and a black vortex or nothing at all. These new strange things only lasted an instant.

He landed in a plain of tall grass with the top hatted man still clutching his collar. They must have stood near a cliff or someplace geographically similar because the air was thin and the breeze felt unnatural. The man continued speaking as though he had never been interrupted, "--you really should notify your host before visiting."

The man then released Tyros and set him on the ground and again dusted him off. His stupor over his discourteousness lifted the second they teleported replaced with an overwhelming sense of caution toward this top hatted man.

The man he was now leery of began to speak in grimmer tone, the sinister smile no longer adorning his face, "It's bad manners, old chap. And you know what happens to people with bad manners?"

The Story Master glared at the man but began to bow, keeping his eyes on him, meaning to apologize. However before he had the chance to say anything or even finish bowing, the man leaned close and pushed Tyros rather gently, it was enough to cause him to take a step back in the posture that he stood.

But that step he took was fatal in consequence. He began to fall. He looked scornfully at the man who pushed him. That man disappearing was the last thing he saw on the grassy plain.

He looked down and was astonished to see nothing but void all around him. Quickly he felt his pockets for a whistle. It was difficult in the wind rushing past him from his fall but he found the whistle in his right breast pocket. Falling in a seated position, he carefully pulled the whistle towards his face...

But before he could blow into it he felt the amulet’s familiar pull and he was traveling again through time and space.

Before he knew it he fell to the floor of the home he just left on his rear. He landed in the same place in the room that he had before. In front of where the top hatted man and the man with fire for hair stood. The fire-haired man still held his great sword and again he felt a pull towards the blade from the amulet that still glowed.

Tyros threw an accusatory finger at the top hatted man and pointing at him yelled, “YOU PUSHED FROM A CLIFF! HOW DARE YOU PUSH ME FROM A CLIFF?!

A thick fog quickly began to rise from the floor...

Halcyon released the man, thinking to himself as the two men chatted. This is quite puzzling… He thought. He looked to ask the man a question, but they were gone. “What the hell…” He muttered as he stood alone in the room. “I wasn’t done with him… Stupid dimension traveling punk-” He closed his mouth as his partner returned. “Now, where were we?” The man said, smiling.

Halcyon returned the gaze, hiding his inner anger. “I do believe I was about to say that I would love to meet your master. To talk with him would be a pleasu-”

The presence was back.

“YOU PUSHED FROM A CLIFF! HOW DARE YOU PUSH ME FROM A CLIFF?!” The voice said angrily

A mysterious fog rolled in, covering the ground. No one could see the shadow aura that was seeping across the ground from Halcyon's feet to the returning man. It shot up off the ground and dark tendrils grabbed the arms of the man, pulling them to his sides and the aura wrapped around his body, effectively incapacitating him from any movement aside from his head. Looking at the new man, he raised his sword’s point towards his partner. “Now, since you obviously can’t handle this intruder,” He muttered, “I’m going to take care of this. Make a move against me,” Shadow tendrils shot up from behind Gerald twisting and writhing behind and above the man, “I’ll put you in the same position.” He looked towards his partner smiling. “Not to be vile; just a… precaution. This man has something that I need…”

Halcyon would then walk over to the man. The presence grew stronger and stronger with every step. Closing his eyes, he focused on it. His hand shot out towards it and landed on the mans chest. Opening his eyes, he grabbed the cloth and ripped it off the man, tearing the mans shirt revealing an amulet on a chain. Halcyon grabbed the amulet, his face blank. “No… It can’t be…” Halcyons fist closed around the amulet, seemingly crushing it, but when he opened it, three spheres remained, the same size as the amulet, still connected to the chain; one red, one green, one blue.

“... How…” he muttered, looking at his sword, and back to the stones. The room began to darken as shadow aura rose from the ground. He dropped the stones and they fell against the mans bare chest.

“HOW!!!!” Halcyon screamed at the man, and the room began to violently shake as anger took over. The god’s voice alone had enough force to send the man flying, if he had not been tied down by aura. His hair flared to immense heights, threatening to scorch the roof of the homey room, his grip on the Sword of the God audibly tightened. Halcyon's voice echoed; the scream pervaded even the souls of all that heard it. It was full of ire. Halcyon’s being throbbed with rage, leaning in towards the mans face,. “HOW DO YOU KNOW HIM!!” he screamed again. The cry echoed in the small, shaking room.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW BILIXOR!!”