Everything Old is New again (Closed for Anise and Rufus)

[Rufus the Mad]

Darkness… pain…. The swirling abyss of madness… and of course, the ever present hunger… This was his world, this was his tomb. He had been here for an eternity… for countless eternities, and everything he had known was slowly slipping away from him as he died over and over, his body locked in by the crushing ice, burned not by the pure light of the Sun, but by the unyielding press of the cold, and the air in his dead lungs had grown so stale it had almost solidified… And he could do nothing, could change nothing… he could only wait for that strange near-death, the torpor of his kind, when the hunger grew to be too much, and his body simply shut down. He could yet feel the oar in his hands, could sense the pressure he had been putting on it with his stroke, but he could not move it, no… never move, never move… simply live and die, live… and die. Over and over as the Norns laugh at their trick, and leave him in the prison they created for him.

The hunger gnawed at him, overpowering his mind bit by bit with every few seconds of conscious life he had, with every new cycle, and he had long ago begun focusing on his memories to keep his wits. He recalled as much of his childhood as he could, drew on happy thoughts to stave off the approaching dread of his next death, and drew courage from thoughts of his feats of valorduring his youth and manhood, of the times he had won through with his brother warriors. For strength, he drew from their offerings; from the calm sense of duty and honor that each had assumed when they had bled themselves a bit so that he might live… he drew his peace from that offering, from the Oath Cup.

The time was near now, he had grown to know the length of it over so many times, and he focused intently on the Cup Ceremony, seeing the chosen draw their own dagger and add to the scars on their arms, filling the cup, and offering it to him freely… such friends. … … such… friends… ? He had not fallen into death as he should...

Something was different! Something had changed!! Varic felt still the cold, but it was… less, somehow. Bearable, as it were. Almost what one could term… comfortable? And as for the press of ice… …. He felt... felt... NOTHING!!! His eyes snapped open, tearing flesh and cracking the thin layer of frost that yet covered it, and the Reaver looked at his surroundings for the first time in perhaps eons…

SUNS!! Suns there were, four of them, and just at the horizon to his right!! The Vampire gave a reactionary snarl, and launched himself across the deck of the Longboat, scrambling to protect himself, and came to a realization as he did so. He had sat, clinging to that icebound oar and waiting to die again, in the full glow of all four of those killing orbs, and they had done nothing. Experimentally, he eased a finger, then a hand, an arm, and finally his upper torso into that light, and blinked at the reality that faced him… He was no longer burned by the Sun!

No… wait… not Suns. These beams, bright though they be, were not like the Sun. Curious now, the Raider climbed carefully over the side of the boat, and dropped to the floor of the dome like ice cave he found himself in. The “Suns” stood on thin black trunks, but seemed surprisingly stable despite the reed thin appearance of the spars holding the magical bucket that threw forth the light. A slick black rope twined it’s way from the back of the bucket, and he followed it to see where it trailed to. He found a small growling… something. It was squarish, brilliant red and shining silver, and smelled worse than an alchemists failed brew, but the magic it held it seemed content to growl to itself, and it was obviously the source of power that fed the magical lights. He was no Kvitki… he knew only the simplest of charms… best to leave it be. He explored the cave next, and found wonders he scarce could describe… Small boxes with sweeping runes floating across their faces, odd materials of every description… neither metal, stone, or wood, yet it held a shape as well as a forged work… sheets of papyrus so well formed and smooth one could find no blemish, and indeed a book of those same sheaves conceived and worked by a master craftsman! Such wonders! He found there horror and rage as well, however…

Here, laid on a metal table and given no honors, lay Olven, his own brother, and he had not only been stripped bare of all clothing, but someone had removed all his ornaments… the rings that he had claimed in raids, the broad belt given him for rescuing Ingral from the river, and even the necklace his wife had given him that he swore would be burned with him. There lay Thorin as well, in much the same condition, but with his hands and arms broken and laid as a display beside him…

The pretty lights and wondrous magics of this place were a thin memory burned away in the flames of rage that built within him, and as he returned to the ship, he began chanting a song that may well not have been heard on this world for millennia… and he sang it as he prepared for war. The ship itself lay still half buried in the ice, and he could see Rathgar and Olluni where they sat at their benches just beyond that shining wall, but this was no time to mourn… this was a time for vengeance. Someone would pay for defiling the dead like this, and in a strange twist, it fell to Varic’s mind that it was fitting that one of the dead act on such a task…

He went to his bench and opened it, drawing out the things he would need. Here was the knife he had forged himself, Tevi watching him to make certain he did it correctly… Here, the helmet his Grandfather had left him, the slight dent from the axe blow telling all the story of the fight Varic should have lost, and of the wife he won that day. The rest was as dust, or was not needed for this fight. He gathered his spear from the rack, and was reaching for his sword when he bowed over slightly, the hunger suddenly gnawing at him as thoughts of his wife led inevitably to her death, to the deaths of their children… and the feast and fury of the blood that had all but covered his body when the villagers had found him… He struggled through it, fought to stand upright, to draw a deep breath into his dead lungs, and reached again for the sword, but hesitated.

Should he not use the better blade? Should he not use the best they had to fight these defilers? Setting his withered jaw, he dropped his hand and turned to the center of the ship. There, beside Gunnar, who had died with the strikers still in his hands and the drum between his knees, just as he had always told them he would when they were gathered around the evening fires, lay Ulrick, the richest among them, and the leader of this particular raid. From his hip hung a broad blade of fine steel, chased with gold and better by far than the iron and brass that had filled his own scabbard. He slid the blade free, cracking the ice that held it to do so, and had to cut through the wide belt to get the hard leather sheath free, slipping it onto his own belt and easing the blade back into the still cold-brittle carrier as he continued on. He moved to Olven’s place, opening the bench he had occupied while the world had turned around them, and drew forth the armor that saw secured there… His brother, now laid with no honors on that metal pallet, would not be needing it, and its metal banding was better protection than his own boiled Leather… Next, he strode to the bow of the vessel and wrenched free the double bitted axe that they had sunk into the back of the keel as a prize to the one that showed the most valor… He may not have the rights to it yet, but he was certainly going to use it to that end!

The final act, one that he knew was more important than all the others, was to move to the small shrine built near the back of the ship, and remove the precious item it held… He opened the small doors, his lips peeled back to expose his time-yellowed fangs, and he hissed dangerously when he found the space empty. The Oath Cup was missing! Shaken, trembling, he fell back, knowing what this meant. The beast within him would… would… He doubled over then, the raging hunger suddenly surging through him with renewed force as the demon that had invaded his soul reveled in the prospect of freedom at long last. The power of the Cup had kept it at bay for over twenty years, and the ice had kept it locked away for an uncountable number of years… Now, at last, it would be free to feed again, to feel the death of those he caught, that he killed… just like… just like…

Footsteps. Two people, chatting quietly… unsuspecting… Varic leapt from the deck, landing nearly silently behind the protective barrier of a metal rack used to hold strange objects, and waited with a growing excitement, a growing rage… and a growing hunger. The pair was walking toward the ship, chatting away in a language that was almost familiar to his desiccated ears… and never saw him coming. The hunger drove him, his need for vengeance drove him…his very burning undead essence drove him, and he sank his yellowed fangs into the nearest one even as his mummified hand locked in an iron grip around the throat of the other… He drained her, the first victim… Eva, her name was Eva… Her blood was rich, sweet. She had wanted to marry him, but he had never asked… He could feel the strength returning to his body slowly as he stole her life, as he killed her… She had such fun playing with Thufir, he was such a funny cat… She was weak now, too weak to struggle, to weak to fight. He held her up, draining the last from her. The dig was going to make them famous! She would be in the papers, on television. She may have to work out a bit before the camera crews showed up…

Dropping the body, leaving the now white skin to freeze, to shrink and yellow as his had been, Varic turned to his second victim. His body had recovered a bit with the infusion of blood from Eva, and his skin was repairing itself even as he smiled at her… His tissues, swelling with the suppleness of life, were making him swell at the same time, taking up the slack in the tunic he wore, filling out his frame… he drew the young man closer, seeing the terror in his eyes, and said ”You will die boy, for disgracing my clan, and to feed my hunger. You should have asked her to marry you, she would have said yes... Now prepare to enter Tuonela…” He then sank his extended canines into the flesh of his prey.

Again he killed, and again, and again… he had climbed the carefully carved steps and torn through the entire staff of the archeological site that had been set up on the surface of the glacier, taking them one by one, hunting them through the corridors and rooms of the modular construct they had called home for the last six months, and taking their blood, their lives, and all they could tell him of this new time…

A village. There lay a village nearby… but not a village… a what? City? What a strange word, and such sights he saw in their minds! So many swirling images, so much chaos… it made no sense to him. Yet it there was a village, or City, there would be humans, and Varic knew from the maddening jumble that he had drawn from their minds that it was humans that had taken the Oath Cup! He must retrieve it! He must have it’s magics once more! He stayed there, picking among the carnage, singing songs of mourning his kinsmen and friends, and prepared the site as best he could to allow their spirits to enter Tuoni’s shady lands as he waited for the sun to set. He stacked what wood he could find against the hull of the ship, and sifted through the borrowed memories as best he could to find anything among the the gathered gear that might help things burn. He carefully returned his brother to his place onboard, dressing him in the best tunic his brother had owned, and slid the unforgiving stiffness of the boiled Leather Armor on over that, and even added a ring from his personal collection to make up the difference for the trade. He knew his brother well enough to know that such a token would be appreciated. He added the noxious brew that he found in metal casks near the growling red box, and made certain that the wood itself was coated well with it.

Once the sun had set, the Vampiric Reaver faced his kinsmen one final time, thanked them for allowing him life, and threw the magical light nearest at hand onto the wood. It caught quickly, due no doubt to the alchemist brew, and the fire began consuming all it could reach. With a quick prayer to those ever hungry spirits, he turned and bolted up the steps, rushing through the complex and bursting out onto the icepack with a triumphant laugh as he heard the dull thunder that marked the first explosion in the ice cave below him. Taking to the air, using the power that the flush of blood gave him, he climbed high into the cold air, and spied the distant glow that must be this “city” their dying minds had spoken of. There would be the next step in reclaiming his property, there was the next step in regaining control over the ravening beast that coiled within his spirit, within his mind… that already pushed him to take more blood, to feel again the silken wash of it across his skin, to experience the sensual caress of it as that hot, sweet nectar splashed…. NO!! Faster he flew, a blur in the darkness. He must recover the Oath Cup!

 

[Anise Lecroix]

Making the rounds, for the final time, within the small, sparse emcampment. The woman with Long locks of tresses that would put many a raven to shame speaks soft words of compassion, spoken in hushed whispers, from red painted lips that grace the sick and injured with the smile rivaling the warmth of a thousand suns. Bright green emerald eyes gaze on to take in all that surrounds the petite one, that stands idly clutching a washbowl within the digits of her right hand, The left hand clutching a washrag stained crimson with the lifeforce of more then one single survivor. The soft whispers of encouragment continue from the small woman as the moans of those in deep pain sound off throughout the small hastily set up tent. The woman making her way towards the flap of the tent before turning to give one final gaze towards the injured before slipping from the tent.

Having done all she could as her form sinks to kneel before the tent. Hands folding as whispered prayers are offered to those gods that would intervene. Knowing that it lay no longer within her hands but up to the gods and the will of strength of those within the tent to live on or perish. Rising slowly as a right hand extends upwards, Slender digits wiping away tears of grief for the ones that remain. Then knowing that time waits for no one Anise moves to make her way from the almost empty emcampment. Trailing down to the small river not far off as a desire to bath the blood and grim from her very clothes. The sensation as if the blood had crawled deep into her pores to stain the womans very soul. Slowly removing her clothing before turning to make a slow path into the water. Wading out a small distance as Anise halts then gives in to her form breaking into desperate pain.

Tears flowing freely as sobs sound off to be heard by none but the ancient tree's bordering the river. Sometime later the woman now bathed simply allows her form to lay back as the water supports her form. emerald hues gazing up at the starlit heavens above as red lips tremble with the afterfects of releasing her souls anguish.. Her life having been peacefull untill the very end, the talents she had shown from a very tender age only grew with her. She had been blessed upon her first breathes. Having steady hands that held strength within her small frame, Eaily able to mend the most severly broken bones, her grasp at healing plants seemingly intered at birth. Anise simply had received age old clan abilities in a most percular way. Many deeming the woman a godess in her own right, while others shunning her from fear of such a being able to have such abilities.

Either way the woman turned none away that had called upon her services. The family clan of gyspies becoming famous and rich upon gifts and spoils of her work. Nothing of earthly things desired by the woman called Anise, A husband, children, family..friends nothing more nothing less. Parted lips give way to emit a soft sigh of calmed serenity at the sensation of water slowly relieving Anise from the great burdens placed upon her the last few weeks. Unaware as to what was in the making as hidden eyes scan the womans form slowly floating then turn to gaze towards the direction of the camp, Silent footsteps gone uunheard as the image of several large dark shadows creep towards the camp. Moments later the calm night air is broken by a series of earthshattering screams. Anise rising as she glances back towards the camp. The scent of fire filling her nose as it drifts towards upon the wind.

The screams continue as she moves from the water while quickly scooping of her clothes. Clutching them to her form before her as she races back to the camp. The image of three large men standing near the small tent gaze upon the clothlike covering as it burns. The sounds of shrieks coming from within as the survivors of her clan burn alive. A fourth man stepping out from the burning tent screams in anger "SHE IS NOT HERE...FAN OUT AND FIND HER NOW!" Anise running up to try to save any she can is caught then as she shrieks at the men "HOW COULD YOU...I SWEAR UPON MY LIFE RETRIBUTION SHALL BE MINE." The one holding her captive as she struggles still to break free to save her family drags her by the wrist towards the leader. Anise remembers the image of a large hand coming down towards her head before everything goes black.

The last thing remember till later is the feeling of her form being hoisted up. Sometime later groggy and bound she finds herself captive. Shackled and disheviled as she spends many months doing her captures bidding. Gaurded over while healing the very people she yearned to kill with her own hands. Spending many months in a spiral of loathing and hatred at the outcome of her life. The woman learned a new emotion.One of hatred towards all. No longer was the calm woman filled with serene tidings of love and compassion. but of anger, hatred and muderous intent. Her family line gone all hope of some of her desires lost to her forever Anise merely is pushed to exhist. Time flowing onwards yet again finds one night deathly still as if all life had ceased to breath,to live. The moon overhead an unearthly hue in its full brilliance. Sleeping lightly as she rests from a days grueling work to bring her captures ill gained wealth.

A snap of a twig starts a new horror for the woman. The sound of an ambush causing the wagon she had been manacled within tells of a fight ringing out. Metal clashing as screams of injured fills her ears from behind the closed wagon. Then the sensation of being watched. The flap suddenly thrown open to reveal a man that holds tattoos of various snakes etched across his torso and back. A large snakeskin of immense proportion set over his head to flow down his back. The image one of great horror as eyes seek her form. The sound of the shackles falling off only lead to a hard yank that pulls her form out and to the earth below. Anise is carried off into the darkness of the night to strange catacombs in a strange land. Finally after a short period of time Anise finds her form being shackled to stand upright within a large chamber. Struggling to break free of her confines.

The few that stand around idle suddenly begin a chant in an unkown tongue. The words sounding off in almost hissing sounds. Then Anise halting to watch as a shadow moves within the large cavernous door frame before her. The image of a huge single coil of serpentine skin reveals itself as a loud hissing voice speaks "WHO HAS DARED SUMMON ME?" The sheer volume causeing Anise to tremble then shriek at the sudden image of plate sized yellow serpentine orbs gaze towards her from the darkness. Then the horror of what is yet to come reveals itself. A massive coil springs outwards as a tail flows to wrap around Anise then pulling her free before the tail withdraws into the darkness yet again. Anise dragged off only can offer a shriek like none heard before as her form is swallowed by the darkness what she thinks are her last words "IT CANT END LIKE THIS...I DESERVE RETRIBUTION....I CANNOT DIE WITHOUT SPILLING MY ENEMIES BLOOD."

Silence ensues as she finds herself being hauled upwards to face a huge Naga. Its form pure white as scales are deadly cold to the touch. The monster speaks in a loud voice. " Tell me why i should not drain you within seconds." The gods interest now obvious as to what she had voiced even within great fear. "Tell me....would you like the gift to serve me eternally ....if i grant the wish you desire...The desire to spill blood might be your saving grace....Do you wish life eternal to serve me with bloodshed? answer quickly!" Anise is hauled higher as the god parts its jaws as if ready to devour her. Anise screaming once before shrieking "YES I WANT TO LIVE TO SEE THOSE ENEMIES OF MINE DEAD....I SHALL OFFER THEIR HEADS TO YOU IF THAT IS WHAT YOU DESIRE!" Then Anise finds herself falling.

Caught once more within the strong arms of a male that is of the purest white she had ever seen. The next moment a pain within her neck leads to her life reborn. She had earned the Darkgift from a master god for the next several hundred years of her new life in eternity. A sudden knock at the door startles the woman who sits within a large overstuffed chair. Her train of though lost as the past is ended within her mind. Now drawn back to the future, her search for any memories that may have been clues about "The Cup" lost from disturbance. An old maunscript clutched within her right hand gives way to place it upon her lap. Anise calls softly "Enter " then watches as an elderly man enters " Lady Anise there is no word on the cup you seek " Anise rises then tossing the scroll to the chair before making her way from the room intending upon seeking out the discovered ship herself. Anise moves to make her way from the city towards the ancient ship.

 

[Rufus the Mad]

The air was cold and crisp, blowing strong from the sea, but bearing a tang he was unfamiliar with. There were metals in the air, and strange smokes, but everything carried with it the same trace scent as that small red and silver square, one that sat heavy in his lungs as he hurtled through the night sky. Had he been one to breath, it would surely have had him fighting to catch his breath, coughing and wheezing as this acidic stew burned in his struggling lungs. The world, it seems had fallen into a sad state during the centuries since his entrapment. The bright dome of light that was what his victims knew as a city loomed ahead of him, and the closer to it he got the thicker, and more prevalent the stench became, despite the strong wind blowing in from the sea. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, and wondered what degenerative descendents of humanity lived in such a poisonous atmosphere.

Approaching this “city”, Varic began to hear a dull roar, like an eternally crashing wave against a thick hull. There was distant hum of conversations, a buzz and surge of strange sounds, and even more, the increasing pressure of the thoughts of thousands, of hundreds of thousands of living creatures. Gritting his teeth, driving onward, the Raider, pierced that glowing dome, and hit the strangely smooth black path below him like a falling stone. There was a tremendous screeching sound, as though some terrible beast were charging to attack, and he reacted instantly, yanking the axe free from it’s place on his back and spinning around, facing the demon that attacked him. Red it was, with brightly glowing eyes, it’s mouth gleaming with shining teeth, and a lower jaw seemingly made of bright steel. In a vicious arc the ace fell, catching the beast at the crest of it’s long skull, and there was a great gout of foul vapors as the beast lurched to a stop, felled with one blow of his blood engorged strength. He had split it almost to it’s gleaming jaw, and though there still shone an evil life behind those eyes, the creature seemed more than defeated, but there was a pack behind it, and he had no time for such a battle no matter the glory he might find. Snarling at the bystanders, drab, lifeless husks of humanity, barely fit to hold the blood he needed to survive, and he snatched the nearest one from their feet, demanding information as to the whereabouts of the Oath Cup.

Finding no answer, he moved to the next, and the next, bellowing at them, demanding the answers he sought, and receiving only terrified looks, screams of panic, and unintelligible gibberish for his answers. Soon however, there came a new sound, one removed and above the normal din. He had ascertained by now, much to his surprise, that what he had taken to be some beast, what he had actually struck, had been a wheeled sledge of some sort, like the carts used in the summer to haul stones… but these moved by sorcery alone, growling and roaring with the same spirits that had lived in that now-destroyed red construct, and disgorging their occupants as he approached so that they might make their escape. Now however, in sledges of like design and marking, came humans bearing familiar looks, a grim manner that he knew well. These then were the guards of this township, the defenders of the people here, and the at last someone worthy of his rage. He slung the axe and hefted his spear, ducking behind his shield, and flipped the visor of his helm down to protect his eyes as he slowly advanced on the magical lights that marked their line. He heard their speech, distorted and vulgar as it was to his ears, and was startled momentarily to note the fact that it was intensely loud, louder even than his own powerful battle cry, and seemingly no more than a spoken, not bellowed command. Yet he came on, the meaning of their nonsense words lost on him, and he likewise continued through the two subsequent hails, ready for the battle he knew would now come.

What he heard, rather than the charging feet and drawn steel he was familiar with, was a slight pop, and was taken aback by a sudden, stinging pain in his left leg. Looking down, he could see a tear through his leggings, and seeping blood from a wound that was already closing. It had left a hole about the same size as an arrow, but he had seen no shaft, could see no archer… Growling, he continued on. Again that strange pop, and another pain, this time in his thigh, again leaving the same curious hole, though he could see no weapon. Shaking his head, growling louder now, the Raider came on, ignoring the slight and already fading pain as he strode toward the enemy… Suddenly, there was a single word, one that sounded a bit like “fire”, and the entire line erupted in spitting plumes of bluish smoke, and showers of faint sparks as his body was slammed by stinging bits of white-hot metal, fast flying shards that tore through cloth, leather, and even the thin metal covering his shield drive into him and send him staggering backwards! With a roar of rage he hurled the spear, driving it forward, with all the strength his corded muscles held, and piercing through not one, but two of the men before him, mailing them bodily to the side of their strange conveyance as he drug his sword free and continued his charge. Again and again that hail of minute metal shards fell, almost like a molten rain, and he was forced to halt his advance, wounded to grievously even for his dogged determination to continue on. Instead, with a snarling hiss, he leapt upward, flying through the darkness and escaping their onslaught before they sapped the strength he needed to do so. Too much was different here, too much was strange… he had no understanding, and it was clear to him now that for all his strength, for all his prowess, he would quickly lose any confrontations here. Seeking safety, seeking shelter, he found a tower at the end of one bright street, and could see from the refreshingly dark windows that it was empty. He closed on the top of the tower, and found it open to the elements, almost seeming to invite him to seek sanctuary within those strangely white walls. Landing in the open vestibule beneath the sloped roof, Varic was startled to see a large bell secured beneath those eaves. Finely crafted, and seemingly crafted from solid brass, he thought to himself that his brother would surely have been moved to secure such a prize, be the Vampire only shook his head and descended the stairs to the dark interior far below.

 

[Anise Lecroix]

Making a slow silent path out of the mansion set in the distance of the City before turning her chin upwards to allow yellow orbs to gaze upon the heavens above. Taking a deep breath inwards before allowing the breath to be released as it turns to frost. slowly disipating before the sound of far off sirnes reach her hearing. Pivoting to examine the city as she watches several police cars via their vexing lights and wailing sirens. Red lips forming to pout for one brief moment before Anise begins to move. Using her ability at great speed to close the gap between her and the city. The fifteen miles an easy trek for her. Anise shows up several miles from the old church to stand alone amidst the humans.

Just in time to watch the Police sail by as they try to find the one that had upset the normal order of their chaotic lives. Anise makes a soft growl before allowing her lids to close. Using her ability to seek out all those kindred around.Seeking the most powerfull. Finding Varic's energy causes Anise to Gasp as her lids fly open. Glancing towards the Church before remaining still. The power she had felt was imense, Far superior to that of even her. Red painted lips frown at the thought of sharing power with another that had come to the city. Growling under breath before gathering the courage to move slowly towards the church. Several minutes later she stands before it just to take notice as a lone figure stares at the churches bell.

Moving to slip into the shadows nearby as she watches. The only hint is her serepntine orbs watching. Gaurding her presence from the other as she watches the male move lower into the church. Narrowing lids revealing her anger and surprise that a vampire could actually walk into a church. Thoughts pondering in anger and jelousy < Who is this one....How can such actions be able to be attained?> Anise holding her breath as she expectantly waits for the vampire to race from the church screaming in a fit of pain.When no such thing happens she merely blinks in confusion then ponders just how to get the lone vampire from the church.Her line of sight directed yet again upwards towards the bell.

Slowly the heavy bell begins to tremble before begining to arc as it begins to toll. Smirking gleefully as she steps from her hidding place. Having to wince at the loud tollong of the bell as she waits wondering if the other will flee the church to escape the noise.Anise chuckles to herself wondering if her ploy will work on one hell of a rather strange kindred.

 

[Rufus the Mad]

The interior of the building was dark, and carried strange scents to his keen nose. The stale dust of time, the acrid strains of bunched humanity, and the curiously cloying traces of incense and wine… A strange place, to be sure. The main hall, which he entered easily enough through the narrow door at the base of the tower, seemed to be a meeting place of some sort, with long benches set to face a raised dais. There were candle holders everywhere, though none of these were lit, and a single, strange light shone from the apex of the vaulted roof to shine on the wall behind the dais. There, hung on the wall in a proud fashion, was a massive construct of strange materials, chased in cold and hand-carved woods… Ornate, but unwieldy, the entire thing seemed to represent some particular symbol, like that of a crucified man, much the same as the distant Empire of the south did to convicted criminals during Varic’s own time… How strange then that there should be such a design here. Was this a hall for justice? For the allthing perhaps? Such a place might well be the scene for the arbitration of legal maters, and thereby the place where punishments such as this were handed out. It was strange, however, that such a place should be empty.

He had just begun moving toward another doorway, curious as to where it might lead, when the deep tolling of the bell above him caught his attentions. Had he been found? Was he not as alone here as he had thought? Quickly he checked the base of the tower, and found the rope there twitching, swinging, but untouched. What, then, was causing the bell to toll so? He raced back up the tower, arriving at the bell just as it sounded out yet again, and looked for some means to halt it’s ringing. He was hiding, after all, and could hardly expect the guards to ignore so blatant a signal… Seeing no way to stop it, the Reaver drew forth the heavy blade of the Axe he bore, and dug it into the timber that held the swinging bell, slicing neatly through the bands that held it, and letting the oversized form of it’s brass weight settle against the stone that formed to tower’s upper floor with one last rolling tone. As it fell, however, he caught the faintest shift to its direction, almost as if some unseen force were shoving it to the side as it fell… He saw it, and knew suddenly what had moved it.

Reaching out with his senses, the Raider found her, a strong presence, old, powerful, and nervous as to his presence here. Where… Spinning slowly, the sharp-eyed warrior scanned the area around him, and saw her then, her strange golden eyes glowing softly in the gloom of the street below as she looked up at him. He focused in on her, feeling her presence as much as seeing her, and let himself fill in the area between them, allowed his presence to sift into the void that linked them… and spoke to her in that quiet space, his words echoing through the darkness in a silent murmur as he said I am Varic, lost to time and but newly come hence… If you would challenge me, so be it, but I seek no new enemies as yet. The press of my quest allows for no battles, and the dawn will find me before it’s end. Go your way, or enter the hall that we might speak, I have no quarrel with you.

 

[Anise Lecroix]

Gazing upwards before feeling his presence growing stronger as Varic searches for her. Hearing his reply of either be on her way or enter the church. Narrowing lids slowly close halfway as she gazes intently at the distant form high above her. The sound of the bell falling dismissed as she ponders the best way to reply to the elder vampire. Parted lips giving life to a soft sigh of anoyance at the thought that she cannot enter such holy ground.Thoughts racing through her mind as she actually attempts to find a slim but possible way. A loud snarl the only act she makes to the finality that there is no way. Then allowing her eyes to cast downwards towards her feet she suddenly laughs loudly " There is no possible way that one as myself could enter....I do not undertsand why you alone have such an odd gift to be able to!"

Anise moves towards the front of the church then allowing her form to sit down upon the old decrepid steps of the church before placing her hands behind her near her sides.Then leaning back to glance upwards at the church ionce more with an upside gaze."Come out of there unless you truly desire to bore me with the primitive act of sitting here and waiting for you to finally come to me....Why are you here. What is the quest you speak of ? Do tell please" Sitting as she shields her thoughts whilst pondering about him , the cup, and the timeframe all being one within these recent weeks.

 

[Rufus the Mad]

Varic looked down at the female with consternation… Could not enter? What barred her way? The raider thought back to all that lay below him, seeking some reasoning behind her words, and could find none. There was no running water to cross, the lintel of the door seemed made of a strange metal, and not the holy woods of the Druids, and the hall was certainly not scribed with any holy symbol he could name… I lacked even the strange fish-glyph of the odd new one-god cult that grew from the south. No, there seemed nothing to block the passage of their kind, yet he could sense the turmoil within her. Strange indeed, and he had seen many strange things since his rebirth from the ice…

I care not to share the secrets of my quest with one only just met, but well it is that you might aid me in some other manner… I have slept long, and much of this world is unknown to me. Have you a place of refuge where we might speak in peace? I have not the time to destroy the swarms of city guardsmen and their strange magics before I must press onward, but as you cannot enter the hall below, for whatever reasons, then I leave it to you to select a place more suitable. In truth, he would just as soon have ignored her, but in an unknown land, one takes that allies that present themselves… Besides, should the need arise, he could better handle an unarmed woman than another warrior.

He allowed his form to shimmer, let the darkness take him momentarily as he shifted from the tower to the portal of the lower Hall, opening it wide enough to see her, to hear her words, but not enough to expose himself overmuch. He knew not what sorceries were available to the guards, and would keep the solid strength of the walls between himself and the open air, had he the choice.