---

Most of the events that had transpired had been lost on the vampire, as the dark depths of unconsciousness had assured this. However, as the escorted group made their way into the inn and Ixion gave his thanks, Morgan would stir on the red hooded assassin's shoulder. It wouldn't be a violent wakening, nor would it be accompanied by angry words. Simply, the assassin would feel his ally stiffen suddenly and go limp once more. However, this would not be due another lapse of unconsciousness, but merely because the vampire was trying to recognize what had transpired. 'Where am I?' From his shouldered perch, the sniffer could not see where he was, or what he was doing there. But, thanks to past experiences, he would quickly place the missing pieces into the missing puzzle.

The surge of energy around him, both from guard, ally, and now new strangers filled his inner eye as his enhanced senses picked up the stink of sweaty patrons, the bitter stank of beer and other alcohol, and the general sounds of inn behavior. A gloved hand made its way to his temple where Ixon's dagger pommel had so accurately struck him. It was still sore, but not as much as his pride. 'What struck me?' His confusion mingled with a injured dignity. Even though he was fairly new at being a vampire, it wasn't usual to be taken off guard in such a way that he was instantly removed from combat.

Any other inner reflection was interrupted by the corporal's "friendly suggestion:"

"Don't leave the city without notifying the Ducal Guard for the next few days, sirs; we may have more questions concerning the murder of this... Blue?"

A slight tug of his upper lip couldn't help be issued in the form a sneer as he saw the guards walk past his newfound companions and out of the inn. 'Wanderer's curse upon those miserable...' Morgan's disgusted thought drifted away as he slowly moved his arm moved, from a limp, hanging position to begin propping himself upward. The action would be non-threatening, and a basic, universal signal that he was well and awake, and very much wanting to be placed back on his two feet.

If Ixion complied, the vampire's balance would be questionable for a moment, but his footing would be found quite quickly. A rush of blood hit his head with a slightly alarming wave, causing a covered hand to reach instinctively to his head. But, with the passing moment, Thrainsson would lean slightly against his staff with a reassuring confidence. Making note of the penin's negotiations with the innkeeper, Morgan's scarlet eyes would lazily scan the room. In all truth, it was like any other inn that he had seen in his travels: full of those with drink and those who found merriment with those who had drink, mixed with those who liked the intimate atmosphere that inn's often provided.

However, the woman with the electric blue hair, as well as her companion, caught his undivided attention. His talent began to zero in on them, trying to absorb as much information their souls could tell as the vampire made observation after observation. Wasn't it odd that they made such a room of happy people subconsciously uneasy? What were they doing here? Why were their eyes so strange? What was growing on the woman's face? Morgan had heard rumors of a terrible disease, but with so many rumors flying about and no real detail about what was truly the face of this disease, the sniffer often waved the whole issue away all together. However, an immediate prejudice was placed on the pair as Morgan caught glimpse of their shining silver badges. He had seen them before, though he didn't remember where. 'It does not matter though,' thought Morgan, eyes narrowing under his mask, 'Those who hold a badge are all under the same banner.'

"Yeah, I've got some beds to spare," the innkeeper replied to I'on's inquiry, his gaze straying only briefly to his two companions before shifting to the guardsmen behind them, whom he watched until they had left his inn... which was only a couple of seconds, but enough to make his awareness of their presence evident by the attention he gave them and his curious expression. Once they were gone, though, his focus returned to I'on, and a smile replaced his puzzled mien. "As always it'll be four rodlin a night; five, if you wanna throw in a meal per day."
While he waited for the penin's two acquaintances to decide how long they would be staying, he continued addressing I'on directly. "I'd ask if you'd like anything else, but I think there's someone else that'd like to talk to you first." He nodded in the direction of the corner of the inn, where the evidently female deo'iel was rising out of her chair, snatching up a short spear that had been resting against the wall behind her, which she rested passively against her shoulder. The other deo'iel, shrouded in cloak as it was, was standing as well, though much more slowly and clumsily. Its right hand emerged from within the cloak, clutching the knob of a sturdy, but otherwise ordinary wooden cane, which the person leaned on heavily as it got on its feet. The hand was clad in a black glove, but even through the garment it was obvious how unusually thick the joints of its fingers were, and how there seemed to be odd round little protrusions on the back of its hand.
"Don't worry, they've been asking everyone questions all day, but they haven't harassed anyone," the innkeeper felt the need to assure his guests. "They're on our side, anyways; they're deo'iel, after all, and of the sixth circle at that."

Morgan, with his attention caught and focused, would first and foremost be able to confirm what would already be evident from the one common visual trait all of their kind shared - that of their mirror-eyes - and their twisted physiques, which was that these two were demonspawn. They both gave off an ominous sense of danger and raw power, their souls being made up by a mass of swirling darkness surrounding a center of calm light, which constituted the mortal part of their beings. Moreover, while the infernal energy that permeated them was different, their mortal parts were surprisingly similar; enough so to suggest that they shared the same mortal parent, these two, in addition to having the Dread Mother in common. Finally, he would be able to sense that the more human of the two - the blue-haired woman - had a finely balanced soul, nearly half-mortal and half-demon, whereas the other, cloaked one was far more corrupted by its demonic heritage than its companion. Its mortal self had shrunk away to almost nothing, and its infernal soul was immense, pitch-black and contained colossal power, even for a demonspawn.
Patrons of the inn stepped aside to as the deo'iel advanced, opening a wide path for them to walk, and a palpable silence seemed to follow them as they crossed the room, as the patrons nearest the two fell silent until they were at a comfortable distance again. It was not surprising that they did so, as became evident when the deo'iel came close to I'on, Morgan and Ixion, as while the blue-haired one seemed a bit odd and disconcerting at best, the other one was downright frightening. Not only did it give off a feeling of cruelty and murderous intent, but every step it took with its left leg was accompanied by a dull, nasty screeching noise, like hearing someone gnashing their teeth loudly in the next room.
"Greetings," the blue-haired one hailed them when they were but three feet away from the nearest of the three. Her voice was quite feminine and melodious, and she spoke with a slight lisp. "Would you mind answering a few questions? It won't take long, I promise, and you would be doing the Order a favor by doing so."

The abyssal contract and the eerie quill dissolved into fine dust and future memories of regret, drifting away on the wind that carried away all hope of turning back. Even the little witch, so full of gall and bravado, found her words stuck in her throat, and a cold lump of fright writhing in her stomach when her viridian eyes, dormant thus far, opened up to the world beyond the world – a place of eldritch and divine things, where mortals and gods transgress the elemental rules that were imposed upon them. Outwards reaching, grasping hands of sanguine darkness covered the world around her, forbidding sight of everything that was normal and calming, and forcing upon her a sight that was wholly unsettling. They all originated from that one nexus of monstrous evil, the great demon above the lake before her, whose very form seemed to writhe with formless ecstasy and whose hellish, burning eyes stared straight through the human’s flesh to behold her exposed soul – feeling a great want.

No sound escaped the tense, uneasy woman’s mouth as she shuffled closer to her companion, seeking protection, or at least unity. What only was the demon doing? Did he think to betray them? Could he, even? Was this some vulgar show of power, or did they simply become aware of his true form? And if he did turn on his word and chose to destroy them, was there even anything Jillian could do about it? Certainly, no mortal spell could harm this fiend, not even the dreaded invocation of Gaath – death, as it were, of which Vincent had warned her many times not to even consider under normal circumstances. Regardless of the futility, she found herself retracing the forbidden symbol in her mind, wanting to go out in a blaze of glory if this nameless outskirt was to become her grave.

Yet, no betrayal came to pass, only hideous pleasure. The Grand Master, once recovered from his flash of excitement, clarified the situation once more: his power being unsealed, freedom granted, he was still bound by the limits and rules of the contract which the two magicians had signed. In his own words:

"I belong to you, now, and you belong to me. For as long as the contract exists, until it is fulfilled, we are connected."

This filth around her and she, connected? The very thought was upsetting, and Jillian wondered if it had been the right decision to trust Gerald and become part of this unholy communion. He was a desperate man with little to lose, prone to making decisions of dire consequence such as these, but what of her? Was whatever dark knowledge the demon held worth the price of becoming his eternal jezebel in death? Did she still believe that they could fulfill their unlikely quest in but half a month? It would all depend on what the demon chose to reveal next.

Fully calm now, the Grand Master held his end of the bargain, and gave away his knowledge on the origin and nature of the Withering. Dreams? It made sense, after all. The disease, as it was called, drained the very souls of whomever was infected with it, and the one link that mortals had with the Spirit Realm existed through those souls. As a magician, she should know, for it is in those precious dreams that she and her kin regained their magical energy after having burnt much of it on tiresome sorcery. It would only make sense that, just as much as energy could be gained from that lofty plane, it too could be taken away by vile creatures. But how would they be able to traverse the realm consciously, and defeat whichever demon was at cause’s avatar therein? How would one even fight in a realm of dreams and illusions?

“As to 'who'...” the Grand Master continued, finally unveiling the true source of the Withering: a certain Kevin the Insignificant – or, as the world now knew him as, Kreshtaat, the Lord of Darkness and bane of all life.

“Should have expected nothing less,” Jillian, addressing nobody, absentmindedly murmured with a mild chuckle, tinged in madness, “How are we going to accomplish that? One does not simply walk into the Spirit Realm. Even if we could, we cannot simply ask Kreshtaat to kindly leave, can we?”

“We signed a fiendish pact, and we’re left with as many questions as we got answers,” she mused, now looking towards Gerald. Her vacant expression was a mask that hid a breaking will, too battered by a day of unbearable hardships for a mortal mind to endure.

I wonder what that is, Gerald pondered as he watched the hands of bloody shadow start to spread from somewhere behind the Grand Master and begin the process of capturing them both in a dome of darkness. They had appeared as soon as he had set the tip of the quill against the parchment, but to his eyes it did not seem as though it made any difference when Jillian set her signature on the contract; the hands seemed to continue their spread relentlessly, regardless of what the two of them were doing now that the contract had been infused with the power of their free wills. That was where Gerald presumed the contract drew its power from, anyway; it siphoned the freedom of others to the sealed demon lord, letting him use the freedom of others to act rather than the freedom that was taken from him. Those hands... I don't sense any magic in them. In fact I don't sense them at all; I don't think they're real. But what are they, then? Are they appearing? Because of the contract?
He felt more than saw Jillian move closer to him, staring at the wicked embrace that was moving to surround them, and he realized that she had not been able to see this visage before she had signed the contract as well. We can see them because we made the bargain, he thought grimly, thinking that maybe he had some semblance of understanding of just what those hands really were. They must be the embodiment of his sealing; captivity incarnate, not truly magical, but made up by his contained will. We can see it because we partake in a small part of his imprisonment now, and the hands are reaching out to seize the freedom we have given to him. Very interesting... and quite unnerving, honestly. I wonder if the vision is necessary, or something the Grand Master does to make his partners realize the gravity of the bond they have just made?
Frowning, the wizard looked behind him, wanting to check what could be seen there before the shadows completed the sinister dome around them and blocked out the outside world completely. He noted that the two others back there both seemed frightened at what was happening, but for different reasons. Renold was staring directly at the demon's avatar, eyes wide in horror, as was to be expected; especially now, when it was emanating such a sickeningly strong sense of raw power. Crone, on the other hand... Crone was looking at the shadowy hands. Aah, I see... so you made a deal as well, since you can see them. Interesting.
His attention returned to their infernal accomplice. The Grand Master, the Ancient One, oldest of the immortals, one not made by the Spirits of Union... just what are you?

Then, once the apparent euphoria that came from receiving the freedom they had just sold him had passed, the Grand Master wasted no time in keeping his end of the bargain. The necromancer furrowed his brow as he listened intently, determined to find a way to end the Withering within their allotted time and to not betray the trust Jillian had shown him in agreeing to this. He would find a solution, he had spent years of his life on this... he would not fail now, when they were so close to achieving what no other being in all the planes had ever done before.
"How indeed," Gerald murmured in response to the witch's defeated remark, but he was not ready to forfeit just yet. Their enemy was not Himyth, as he had thought, but rather Kreshtaat himself, the most powerful immortal in existence. And he committed his deeds from the Spirit Realm, which mortals could only enter in their sleep. That explained why demonspawn and tarken appeared to be immune to the Withering, at least; neither of those species were capable of dreaming, tarken because their souls were too interwoven into their physical bodies, demonspawn because...
"Immortals can't enter the Spirit Realm," he said out loud, looking at the Grand Master in wonder. "That is a well-documented fact. Kreshtaat shouldn't be able to go there. And why would he do that, anyway? The Spirit Realm is parallel to Reniam; he could reach our plane as easily as that."
"Because it is not Kreshtaat," the Grand Master explained gleefully. "I told you that the one spreading the Withering in the Spirit Realm is Kevin the Insignificant, though few remember that name today. The Lord of Darkness remains imprisoned in the Lower Plane."
Once again Gerald found himself frowning confusedly. "What do you mean?"
The demon sighed. "You are aware of the fact that most powerful immortals are capable of splitting themselves into fragments and existing in multiple physical forms and places at the same time, yes?" He continued without waiting for an answer: "This is the ability that Kreshtaat is taking advantage of now, in spreading the Withering: not only is he shaving off splinters of his essence by the thousands and planting them in mortal souls to spread the Withering, the fact that he is in a position to do so is because of this property of deities as well. Immortals cannot enter the Spirit Realm, this is true, but Kreshtaat was not always immortal. Even now, millennia after his ascension, part of Kreshtaat retains the humanity he once had, and this miniscule part of him remains mortal. By breaking off that part of him and forcing it into hibernation, Kevin - Kreshtaat's human self - is still able to dream."
"So Kreshtaat is not actually in the Spirit Realm?" Gerald asked, starting to grasp the situation. "Physically, I mean."
"Only Kreshtaat's mortal soul is in the Spirit Realm," the other confirmed. "His mortal avatar, if you will... with only the power Kreshtaat had before he became immortal and, as a mortal, capable of being killed."
Gerald's eyes widened in disbelief. "We can kill Kreshtaat?!"
"No," was the disappointing reply. "I thought I told you that Kreshtaat isn't in the Spirit Realm already? You can kill Kevin the Insignificant, not the Lord of Darkness. And in killing Kreshtaat's mortal self, you will make it impossible for him to ever return to the Spirit Realm."

The assassin watched as the penin thanked the guards for their assistance and began to walk to the innkeeper. He had kept in mind that the vampire had stirred on the way to the inn, meaning that the vampire was soon to be awake. If the man held any grudges for the events that led him to be unconscious, this would be bad on him. Ixion would have to soften the blow to his waking companion, giving him the reasons for the action that he had done. If the vampire was open to reason, the quick instinct to keep the guards alive would, perhaps, have saved the trio. But until the vampire would be able to stand on his feet, Ixion would have to carry him to the room.

After a brief moment, I’on turned to him to ask about how long they wish to stay in the inn for. The assassin tilted his head slightly, indication that he was thinking the same thing as well. He then looked up the penin. “I should think that five days would suffice. I still need to conclude some business that I was doing before I was… incapacitated. It would also give me a chance to get some replacement armour, seeing that I will be needing it again once I am able to leave the city.” Right when he was finishing his answer, the vampire had managed to stir enough that he wanted to be back on his own two feet. He complied with the request, gently getting the vampire back onto his feet. He kept his right hand close by just in case they stumbled, but the staff seemed to be a suitable crutch to keep him where he is at.

The innkeeper mentioned the price to I’on for the room per night. It sounded expensive, but then again, he is currently low on money to pay for the room at the moment. However, as soon as the money has been said, the normal question about anything else that they would like was replaced with the notion that someone wanted to speak to them. The innkeeper indicated to the two figures in the corner, who were already starting to stand up. The one that was shrouded in mystery revealed that they were leaning on a cane, which indicated in the assassin’s mind that the person was of an older age. While the innkeeper reassured the trio that they were not a threat, Ixion still mentally prepared himself for the possibility of them being hostile towards them.

In his mind, Ixion was still sizing up the two deo’iel in terms of the threat that they give. Both of them seemed to be frightening the patrons as they steered clear of the duo. He still concluded after every scenario in his mind was run that the woman with blue hair wasn’t too much of a problem. Yet despite all of that, he is still unsure about the hidden figure, despite indicating that they were hindered in motion by the combination of the cane and the screeching sound that came with every step towards them. When the woman was three feet away from the vampire, who was the closest to the duo, she hailed them and wanted to know if they would like to answer a few questions. The assassin took a step closer towards her, grey eyes looking back into her mirrored eyes. “That would entirely depend on the questions. What is the purpose of the questions? And how would our answers benefit your ‘Order’?” The mental image of the inn was still his mind, yet his hands remain relaxed. He didn’t want to give away any hints of hostility towards them in case they attacked. He certainly don’t want to give them a reason to start yet another fight in close quarters.

Aemoten

His stay in Reniam had long exceeded several normal human lifetimes, and he was a warrior who had been through war and many a land alike. He had seen a lot in his time ... but no literal devils, or demon lords who - despite retaining all of their old manners - masqueraded as gods, as the case more accurately was with Rilon. Not before today. And that had been an experience none of them had needed or deserved.
He had originally woken up feeling good, only to be soon greeted with an infamous dread artefact that thirsted blood and a devilgod taking personal interest in them specifically, been attacked by recklessly fanatical birds, practically had his ribcage crushed in by a maddened drug-addicted beast, been completely healed, then forced to use a significant portion of his magical energy to defeat a lunatic who could shrug off being nearly decapitated as if it was nothing, which in turn left him with quite severe magical exhaustion. - "Magical exhaustion" felt like a strong understatement that quite did not do the the associated condition any justice. He had been coughing up blood, and he did not even know whether he would manage to stay conscious through the day.
...And that was just him; the woman he loved had gotten the brunt of everything, his two other humanoid companions each had their own newfound troubles, Etakar had fought something and evidently won, but not without injuries... All in all, it had not been a good day this far. He could not even recall one quite like that. Strangely enough, the most hopeless scenarios he had been in had predominantly been contrastingly mundane. Just humans and man-made weapons, nothing more. No gods. No devils.
But in the end, the four of them were still alive, though two of the guards were not. And as long as they were alive, there was still hope. Things could get better. They eventually always did, even if it sometimes took time. Luck fluctuated. They desperately needed rest, and some of them needed to heal, but they were all alive. And they had managed to get the chance to clean themselves up as much as possible. At least they would not be marching into the city with their faces half-covered in dried blood. Even just that was ... something. And once they manage to get to the city, they would be getting their rest. That much he would make damn sure to arrange. As long as he manages to stay awake, anyway. One thing at a time...
Things had been packed. The animals were ready. Etakar had gotten up with a tired sigh. They were as ready as they could be, though a large part of him insisted he just gave up and collapsed where he stood. No. He had draped the blue coat over Thaler's shoulders an suggested she rode with him - it would have been faster than going by foot -, but she wished to walk. It was perhaps slightly surprising, but if so, then so. He was not going to try to convince her otherwise. So be it, then. Let's go. He had already informed the others on roughly what he expected of them once he let go of Thaler's hands and turned to face the others. That was about how much he was still capable of at the time being.

For a brief moment he continued to look at them, expression weary, but once more oddly determined. It also came along with functioning on pure willpower alone, the focused look.
"Let's go," he noted again, and then turned towards the animals, somewhat unsteadily making his way over to the paladin's great white horse, setting his hand on the saddle, foot in the stirrup, and pausing to take a few deep breaths. His throat was raw, his chest hurt, and it took conscious effort to suppress another coughing fit. He still tasted blood. If there was the time, he would have liked a cup of tea, and even more so rest, but there was none.
Even such simple thing as heaving himself up to the saddle took significant effort, and required him to pause for a bit, as his vision darkened again. He took to blindly gripping the horn of the saddle until it subsided; at least the paladin's horse was a fairly calm beast. Hopefully Jaelnec realized that a large part of why he had asked him to ride close was to have someone who could keep an eye on him. He could sleep in saddle, or at least close to it - but if he was to begin sliding off then, he would just jolt awake. If he actually passed out ... suffice to say, he would hit the ground or worse, get stuck and be dragged along. Not a very pleasant outlook.
It took half a minute before he slowly straightened and looked around, seeking out his companions who - with the exception of Thaler and obviously Etakar - had hopefully mounted by now. If they had not yet, he waited in silence until they did, habitually wrapping the reins around his right wrist and hand as he waited. There was not much to say. Nor was there even time to bid the guardsfolk - who all appeared to have vanished into the buildings - farewell. He did hope Alaine would suffer no repercussions for helping them.
Just as wordlessly, he would turn around the horse and urge the animal onward. They were finally leaving this place behind.

The foreign warrior's posture dropped soon. He was mostly riding with his head bowed low, only occasionally seeming to force himself to look up, at the path ahead. He did not urge the horse to move any faster than a walking pace; there was no point, not with one of them going by foot. He did not think of much aside of making sure they were still headed in roughly the right direction. One thing at a time.
Etakar was walking much more heavily than a person who had seen his normally nigh silent stalking manner or moving around would have expected. His left forelimb was stiff, partly bloodied, and while the noble beast did a good job hiding it, supporting even a small portion of his weight on it was extremely painful, and became gradually more excruciating as time passed. After half a dozen miles of trailing behind the others at the same slow pace the others were keeping he finally let out a slight annoyed sound from the back of his throat, lips ever so slightly drawing uncharacteristically back into what was either a subtle annoyed snarl or gritting one's teeth, and rose onto his two rear legs once more. A quite unnatural thing for a dekkun to do outside of climbing and some combat.
The noble beast's manner of moving on two was strange; he was not quite running, though he was certainly moving fast. It was more akin to slightly unsteady speedwalking with oddly drawn-out strides and forward-leaning posture. With shoulders like his, it was probably impossible to not appear somewhat slouched. He covered over a mile that way in one go before dropping back to fours, and then simply waiting for his companions by the side of the road. Lying down and getting up would have been more painful, so he opted to simply stand on three until the others caught up, overlooking the path like a guardian statue.
The next section of their journey he once more covered on fours, but no longer adjusted his speed to match that of the others - he was moving at his own pace now, ahead of his companions. Felt less arduous. From there onwards, he kept alternating between moving on two, moving on fours, and waiting for the rest of the party after each section.

At least the weather decided to hold. It was still damp, cold and cloudy, but it was no longer pouring as it had been for a couple of days before the last day. Several rather monotonous hours passed, but monotony was perhaps a blessing after everything that had ensued that morning. Matched how they felt, though - or at the very least how he did. Drained, physically and emotionally. Really only capable of focusing on one thing at a time.
They were, however, not going to reach Zerul City entirely without encounters as Etakar - perhaps unsurprisingly, considering his keen senses and the fact that he was mostly moving ahead - did notice something, or someone, not too far off the path, and for some reason insisted upon investigating. There was no arguing with him, and in a land where dekkuns were not a common sight, it was wiser to go along. Perhaps the noble beast knew it just as well as the foreign warrior himself ... else he would not have pointed anything out. He would have just gone and looked alone.
"That way," Aemoten just laconically noted as he tried to sit more upright once more and lead the horse after and next to the noble beast ... something not even this horse was too fond of. Natural instincts, he supposed. A horse would be an easy dinner for a dekkun if they were not generally capable of outrunning them on flat, hard terrain. Admittedly, they would be turning off the road, and hence it was probably harder for Thaler to move around... She still had the replacement cane he had made her as a stand-in until she got the chance to replace her sword-cane. No. She would manage. She had always done surprisingly well moving about, in spite of her blindness. Olan could probably aid her if she needed it; he himself would most likely just end up leaning on her even if he decided to unmount and offer to be her eyes, if she would even accept. "Should not be long." He hoped so, at least.
The noble beast seemed to lead them over what had once been a field, now covered in shrubbery, towards some taller trees in the distance. As it turned out, there was a small clearing before the larger trees began, and in that clearing lay the fresh corpse of a very dead lohk. A fair amount of its flesh was gone.
The downed brute was not unaccompanied, however. Under a tree nearby, a large black creature slumbered, somewhat canine in appearance, but with a mane that was intricately braided and a metal gauntlet of some kind adorning his one arm. There also were two humanoids, a man and a woman. The woman had a wolf by her side and appeared very humanlike, very fair-skinned and green-eyed, the only hint of inhuman heritage being the slightly blueish tint of her lips. The man, black-haired and with a short black beard, was much more ... distinct. His skin-color, a patchwork of green and brown stood out. (And one would think that his complexion marked him as being foreign easily enough...)
The man seemed to have momentarily consider grabbing the crossbow or spear next to him as he stood, but evidently opted against it, and simply got to his feet as soon as he sighted them, eyes flickering from Etakar to him, them back to Etakar. Seemingly concluding that Etakar was not going to assault him head-on, he took a couple of steps forward to meet them, stopping and waiting for them to come nearer. The man had a knife in his hand - he appeared to have been carving or otherwise working on something where he sat, but appeared otherwise unarmed, if a bit uncertain on the newcomers' intentions.

Thaler didn't want to walk so much as she felt she needed to do so. Despite how her entire body ached from head to foot and how at the time it was awkward to manage even that without tripping and stumbling she needed some space from the others. With them all mounted and herself walking she got just that, space.

Under the over sized coat and clothes given to her by the guards folk she still bore the marks of her run in with the devil god, though it was perhaps the unseen damage that was worse still. She felt as though Rilon had reached inside her and hollowed her out, taking every crumb that was 'her' and whisking it away with him when he disappeared. She was fighting through a haze that made her head feel so heavy and full she could barely bring herself to think let alone navigate her steps and there was a deep sense of hopelessness that chilled her to the core.

She managed though, to follow along the road, listening to the hoof falls of the beasts and correcting herself if she felt she was going too far a stray. The stick sourced for her while useful to make sure there were no large bumps to mind was utterly useless as a cane not that she had the heart to tell Aemoten as much. She couldn't deal with any more of...what had transpired today and she was going to avoid any chance of it for as long as possible.

Luckily the trip was rather uneventful for several hours and while the chill seeped into the fabric of her clothes her skin didn't feel any colder than it already did. She just wanted to get to Zerul, to find a bed and then sleep until all of this went away. Of course sleep was hardly any reprieve for the girl and she somewhat came to dread the idea of what would happen the next time she closed her eyes. She spent a good portion of the silent journey trying to will herself to think and process all of what had happened but her mind appeared to have alternate ideas. Every thought she gathered was soon scattered by a hundred other smaller thoughts and lost in a tidal wave of distraction.

Despite this there was a slow and gradual progress to this attempt at mental mapping, though she was by far too tired to be proud of such a thing, and she felt a little of the fugue surrounding her lifting. That was until the dekkun seemed to grow fractious and Aemoten announced a change in direction. Thaler was terrible with maps for obvious reasons but this change in course seemed unnecessary, the path from the guard post to the city was more or less straight and by following the sounds they would be leaving the path and slipping back into the woods.

She hesitated on the path a moment, allowing those mounted to slip in front of her -it would be a rather poor move on her part after all to swing the stick and strike one of the animals in the legs- and then followed them to the tree line just off of the main road. There she used the make shift cane to feel out the roots of a tree and then to find the trunk. She used her hands to measure the gap and close it before she eased herself to the ground, facing out into the road with the stick across her lap. Once down she leaned up against the tree, her head on the bark and her eyes lightly closed. It was not the most comfortable place to rest but it sure beat some of the places they had been this week.

While no doubt it would have been seen as an act of petulance or spoiled behavior Thaler had no intention of attempting to navigate those trees in her current condition, nor did she much relish the idea of what it was the dekkun and foreigner were leading them to. While it would have been wise to speak her thoughts the others were already ahead and she could not muster the energy nor care to call out to them. They'd soon enough notice she wasn't there and Olan would likely have enough of his wit to guess she had simply stayed by the road to await their return. Aemoten had promised her no more detours, no more distractions, they were meant to go straight to Zerul and that was to be that, Thaler had no intention of going anywhere that did not directly lead to the city. Of course it didn't for a moment surprise her that his promise was forgotten for the sake of curiosity, let them have their adventure and she'd wait for when they were done.

It was surprisingly quiet under the tree by the road and it wasn't long until she could no longer focus well enough to follow the progression of her comrades. Instead she was treated to the sound of chirping winter birds and lightly rustling leaves and branches that were over head. After everything this last week it was almost euphoric to hear something so simple, peaceful and not foreboding.

---

'Demonspawn?' Morgan's surprise would cause his physique to stiffen suddenly, his lazy gaze transformed into a fully aware, wide eyed set of crimson eyes. The sniffer had only experienced such an encounter once. The details in the entire even were hazy at best, but the moment he touched the tormented soul, Morgan knew that the experience would forever be solidified in his mind.

The apparently crippled demonspawn, with all of his raking of his leg and the aura of pure evil, was something Morgan would expect. This soul in front of him was similar to past experience. However, the vampire couldn't help be disturbed, tingling shivers going up and down his spine as the deo'iel limped over to the ragtag group. 'Gaze too long into the abyss...' However, the balanced soul... Morgan wasn't sure what to make of it. 'How does one even balance two souls in one vessel? Each face is so perfectly aligned...Perhaps an agreement was made?' In all honesty, the Thrainsson's knowledge of demonspawn was limited, and this was a gracious estimate. The only real knowledge he had managed to gather over the years was rumors from his handlers. The soldiers that surrounded them late in the night, when the fire's embers glowed low, spoke the horrors of this world, including the "truth" about demonspawn. It was hard to determine what was real, and what was not.
Regardless whether or not half of the things that were said by the superstitious and fearful, Morgan had witnessed one undeniable. The binding or housing of such a soul - it was unnatural. At this observation, Morgan would snort gently. 'A vampire claiming something as 'unnatural...' The irony.'

The sway they had over the present crowding patrons was impressive. It was if these two individuals were gods walking through a raging river, dry land appearing with every step through the once raging waters. It only added to the tension rising in the vampire when they stopped a few feet in front of him, inquiring if they could a moment of their time. Morgan could feel a disturbance of his own soul, the inner vampire viciously to violently make its opinions known:

'What power do they think they posess, demanding questions of us?!'
'Trying to prove authority of us!'
'Let's go hound!'
'The law has no hold over us!'
'Cursed hound! You think this is acceptable?!'
'Their god thinks he has say over us?!'

Morgan would exhale, long and smoothly. He had already lost control once today, and here would not be the place or the people to do so. His inner demon's vengence would have to wait. For now, his attentive gaze continued to fall, seperately and in a seeking manner. Hopefully, by doing so, he would be able to sense anything... bad coming. 'Though with such a pair of tormented souls... it may be too late before I can see anything anyway...

'...The abyss starts looking back at you.'

---

Nodding as he listened to the man, I'on's head eventually turned as the innkeeper mentioned the two figures in the room, the same two whom everyone was giving a wide berth. He didn't like this.

Turning around, the sturdy mage's eyes observed the approach of the two deo'iel with a look somewhere between tiredness, worry, and annoyance. Every time he extracted himself from one problematic situation, it seemed he was pulled straight into another one. This time it was through no fault of his own as he found himself recalling the corporal's actions before their entry. The turning head, something often done to survey a room, the subtle change in attitude. The penin almost gritted his teeth in annoyance, but thought better of it and forced himself to take a deep, quiet, breath and relax.

At least Ixion had decided the length of their stay. Forty rodlin, fifty if they wanted meals. He continued his deep quiet breaths at the thought. He barely knew the two, but was putting them up in a fairly nice inn for five days. They were suspects for a murder, they'd disrupted the peace. Then again, he'd been on scene as well, in fact, the only reason the guards likely hadn't put the lot of them down--or at least tried to--was because of his reputation. It was a nice perk of having lived in Zerul city for awhile and garnered a certain level of notoriety. He was a respected member of society here.

As the two arrived before them, the female before the male, I'on felt his senses pick up additional details about the two. Subtle energies that danced about and through them notified him, even before he saw their mirror-like eyes, of their heritage and further of their individual power. While the female seemed normal enough, her aura containing only subtle traces of infernal influence, the slower cloaked deo'iel was a different story. It was as if darkness pervaded the entirety of the space around the demonspawn. He couldn't sense anything truly mortal from the man, but his senses only stretched so far so he made no conclusions, an eyebrow raising slightly for a moment before lowering.

The woman spoke, swiftly followed by Ixion and I'on's eyes darted to the assassin for a moment before looking back to the woman, taking a step forwards, and revealing a congenial smile. Even as he did so he heard the long exhale of his other companion and glanced in his direction for but a fraction of a second, a barely noticeable movement of his eyes.

His hand lightly touched Ixion's own arm, a friendly gesture where one might not have been appropriate given their prior interactions, but he found it necessary. There was a firmness about the action. However, as if to contrast the firmness, the penin's voice, when he spoke was level, friendly even, but weathered—his exhaustion plain in its timbre, “I'm sure it won't be at all troublesome. Though, I must say we've had a long day so I'd at least hope to keep things brief, if that is at all possible.” He hoped his companions got the message in his actions. They couldn't afford any further trouble and he wasn't willing to deal with anymore either. While he felt somewhat responsible for the two strangers, if not only because of the involvement of the guardsman and the investigation, he was down to his last nerve and anything further was liable to rightly garner his ire.

He'd had quite enough. Hopefully the two deo'iel would pose no real problems.

Hopefully.

"The short version, then," the blue-haired one nodded at the penin, idly reaching up to play with a lock of her hair with her left hand. She smiled at them charmingly, although a particularly perceptive individual might notice a slight squint in her eyes and a trembling of her brow, as though she was silently suffering. The other one glared menacingly at Ixion, clearly dissatisfied with his response to their request. There was suffering in that one's eyes as well, but it was far from as evident as it was mixed with wide-eyed madness and face-scrunching bloodlust.
"It takes a lot of effort to behave," the masked one told him, its voice surprisingly similar to the blue-haired one; in fact their voices would have been exactly alike, had she not lacked the other one's lisp and instead produced an odd clicking noise every time her jaw moved up or down. "I would prefer you not making it harder than it already is."
"Relax, dearest, I'm here," the more obviously female of the demonspawn consoled her kinsman, earning a glance from the other one that probably made every baby within several miles cry from the sheer intensity of the murder in them. "We'll be leaving the city soon, then it'll be easier. Just hold on 'till then."

Turning her attention back to the others, the blue-haired one looked first at I'on, then at Ixion, and smiled at them once again. Her left hand was no longer playing with her lock of hair as much as occasionally yanking on it, hard enough that it would have to be causing her significant pain.
"My sister and I have been hunting an especially troublesome demonspawn for nearly five months now, and our latest information makes us believe that he is either heading this way, or has already been here. He has killed a lot of people, including deo'iel, and we have been sent to stop him." She sighed. "We can't be sure what he looks like anymore, though - or if he is still male, even - so all we can do is ask people if they have noticed anyone unusual lately. You three seem like you would notice something out of the ordinary: have you encountered anyone like that?"

Domhnall McRaith

Well, that had certainly been something unusual...
He had been a hunter and trapper most of his life, true, but his usual prey did not get much larger than deer, and even with larger species of deer, some caution was advised, especially during a certain time of the year. And moose were just as bad as deer…
The worst of all normal game, however, were boars, and those all year round. Not bears, not wolves, not big cats - boars. Get too close to one and you likely would be attacked, and those tusks were not to be trifled with - something he had felt on his own skin quite some years back, and still carried a nasty scar on his leg from. He had been quite lucky to get away alive indeed… Heck, who was he kidding - he had once found the corpse of one of the great ol’ striped ones gutted by what he had managed to identify as a boar. Vicious creatures.
That thing they had taken down now, though… Whatever manner of beast the gray-skinned brute had been, it certainly was of the monster-variety. He was not entirely certain he would like the reputation that came with being a monster-slayer, but he supposed they could call themselves such now… Most of the honor fell on his companion, Iridiel, though - she had been the one to deal what was most likely the killing strike.
Iridiel was a marked one of Sulis; through Her favor she had called forth heavenly lightning. ...Or something of the sorts; Domhnall was a fairly irreligious fellow and thus little acquainted with infernal and divine affairs alike aside of simply acknowledging that gods and devils existed and were better not excessively angered. Iridiel, however, was devout and took her status as a marked one quite seriously. Was quite evidently rewarded for that, too…
Domhnall himself had just made the first move and drawn its anger onto himself with shouting and a crossbow bolt (apparently, shouting had not worked its way into the forefront of the brute’s mind; it had taken more drastic measures to catch its attention), and later on, when it was already flat on the ground and smoking, just rammed a spear into its throat to make sure that it was, well, dead proper. One never knew with these kinds of beings, and the Planes knew it had acquired a particular taste for his blood as soon as he shot that bolt into its back…
A bit of a strange thing, that … it had been an impulse that had little to do with self-defence. Oh no, he himself had been safely up in the tree. It just so happened that the lohk had not noticed them first, but rather attacked another being some ways off, and they had initially merely gone to investigate. That other being? He was still quite not sure what it was. It was large, had black fur and looked a bit like a wolf-man. But it … he? seemed a fair bit more sophisticated than the eleven-feet-tall brute that had attacked him, so he had opted to aid him.
And so here they were: the gray brute was dead, the wolf-man had disappeared to the side, and his ears were still slightly ringing from the crack of the lightning Iridiel had summoned.

With both his crossbow and spear in hand, he made his way over to where Iridiel was still standing, but a rustle of leaves made him turn just in time for him to witness the re-emergence of the black-furred wolf-man. He certainly looked bigger now that Domhnall himself was standing on ground rather than sitting up a tree... Now’s to hope that he had been right and the wolf-man would, indeed, be positively - or at the very least neutrally - minded towards them.
It, however, seemed that the wolf-man was not immediately interested in them, but rather headed directly for the downed brute, leaning over the still-twitching corpse. At first, the hunter assumed that the being was simply going to consume the dead monster in a rather straightforward manner, but instead the creature did something a bit stranger. The wolf-man seemed to concentrate and take a deep breath, all the while the air between them lit up with a faint eerie luminescence. The phenomenon did not last long, but whatever it was, it most likely was something magical. (So the wolf-man knew some odd magic? Would certainly explain the sensation that had briefly washed over him when he and the brute were fighting, and the monster stumbled...)
Much to his surprise, he realized that Iridiel was carefully moving forward as the wolf-man straightened up, inquiring in her clumsy Rodorian whether the being could understand her. - It was usually him who did the speaking to the locals - or interacting with strangers in general -, and while he still spoke with a strong accent and was not too confident in expressing himself on all occasions, he was certainly better at actually speaking proper Rodorian. It was certainly an unusual experience, staying back and observing for the most part for once...
Quite evidently, the black-furred being did indeed comprehend their words, as he responded to Iridiel. He thanked them for their aid and offered them a share of the dead monster in turn, but also asked them why they had helped them. Indeed, why? He could probably not fully explain his own motivations, and Iridiel’s even less, grateful for the support as he was. Call it intuition.
For a long while, the wolf-man - who introduced himself with the Rodorian word-name “Claw” - conversed, with him offering fairly minimal input. Mainly only when he was asked for it. Talking about who they were, why they were here, trying to get to know one another… At one point, Iridiel offered to heal the nasty axe-gash in Claw’s side (and the other minor bruises and cuts he had possibly sustained in his struggle), but the being declined on basis of honor. Something about principles, enduring one’s mistakes. (Wouldn’t it make future confrontations needlessly harder?)
In the end, the damage and weariness took over the black-furred being; having eaten, he found a place nearby and succumbed to slumber. He was not entirely certain what had happened here, but it appeared that the black one was now with them...
Iridiel took slices from the downed beast’s meat - the grey brute was vaguely humanoid in build, but meat was meat, he supposed… “Waste not, want not” and all that. On related note, were the brute’s horns valuable, should he figure out a way to detach those in a somewhat clean way? Not only as a crafting material - given the nature of the monstrous brute, he would not have been surprised if there was some kind of reward for slaying them, even during the hard times that had befallen these lands. (Since in the end, they, too, had to earn money for all those things they could not acquire from the wilderness, and the pelts and other things they bargained with only got them so much. Taking everything they could from the beings they killed was not only respectful towards nature, but also terribly practical...) - Unless, of course, he was gravely mistaken in how the world around these parts worked and the gray brute was in fact some manner of holy beast that was supposed to be free to kill and take whatever it wanted. In which case, he had gotten them in a terrible mess...
Domhnall eventually took a short trek back to their old camp, bringing along the supplies they had left behind there; Iridiel, in turn, retreated a way off to pray to her goddess in relative privacy.
Left with not much else to do, he eventually settled with gathering a number branches to fashion simple crossbow-bolts out of. Those bolts, made from available branches and with his knife, with no metal tips or anything fancy, were not particularly good, but with small game, those were serviceable, never mind the lack of any kind of cost associated with obtaining the metal-tipped variants. And it gave him something to do until Iridiel returned and opted to keep watch beside him.

It did appear that they were not to be left without company, however, as he caught a subtle motion on the foliage not too far from them, instinctively halting his hands and ever so slightly turning his head to take a look at the disturbance. What he saw made him very, very slowly set the unfinished bolt aside and focus completely on the newcomer, a beast unlike any he could name.
The color of its fur and plated limbs and face melded perfectly into the yellowing autumn foliage. It moved almost soundlessly, carefully pushing the plants aside and keeping its head low, much like a predator stalking its prey. It moved almost like a large cat - almost. It walked on its middle phalanxes rather than on paws, and a closer inspection of a few of its steps made it evident that the being was, in fact, limping. Its left forelimb was stiff, probably swollen - the plating made it hard to tell - and its outer side had remnants of trails of dried blood running down it.
The eyes in its elongated face were brown, deep-set and uncannily intelligent - and what was worse, it was looking directly at them. If it had ill intentions, then … well, it was injured, but so was Claw, Iridiel probably would not be able to call upon her goddess’s power again so soon, it was also massive - over seven and a half feet tall at withers - and clearly built to kill. If they had any luck, it would not try to attack them in its injured state and would allow them to just slink away. It was most likely the smell of the dead grey brute which had lured it here. Many carnivores were also opportunistic scavengers, and injured carnivores were doubly so…
His thoughts had been occupied with the exotic beast, but once most of its length was out in the open, he registered that the creature was not alone, but rather accompanied by something following behind it, and for a brief moment, he seized up completely as he was trying to further consider their options. Of course there would be more than one...
It took a couple of heartbeats before he realized that the other beings were both much smaller and noisier than the first (It had offspring with it?), and soon after his eyes could distinguish white specks amongst the leaves. A moment later two horses - one white, the other a dark brown bay - emerged along with their riders. The hunter relaxed slightly, but remained wary; if the creature was traveling with humanoids, then it probably was not immediately hostile to all humanoids. Hopefully, at least. Now to see the humanoids’ intentions...
The one riding the white horse was a human man wearing a black coat - perhaps in his late twenties, maybe thirty or so. He was either fairly tanned or had slightly darker complexion than most Rodorians ... the facial structure was different, too - could be a foreigner of some sort. (Would explain his rather exotic beast companion, at least, not that Claw was any more common sight.) The other man riding the bay donned an ill-fitting brown cloak and was much younger, by the looks still a few years short of twenty, and seemed much likely to be local - pale-skinned and blond-haired.
There was much he could read out from the expression of the younger man - he looked mildly confused if anything -, but the older one bore an expression that was at once hardened and, it seemed, also tired … nay, exhausted, seemingly almost to the point of collapsing. The large beast continued to scrutinize them and their recent kill in a distinctly unnerving manner.

Domhnall’s eyes momentarily flickered to the crossbow next to him - against the large beast, it would hardly have any considerable stopping power unless he managed to hit it directly in the eye, but the humans and horses were a different matter -, but quickly reconsidered. They could do without any premature hostility. At the very least, the newcomers did not look like bandits, and even less like the so-called Crusaders. Besides, it was not like initiating a fight could do any good aside of convincing the beast to rip their heads off after all.
Slowly, he got to his feet instead, his gaze shifting from the beast to the man on the white horse. He was not entirely certain whether or not the older man was the more important figure - or whether there was any kind of order between the two, for the matter -, but well, he simply looked more important, and the younger fellow seemed to be following the other.
In any case, he took a few strides towards the newcomers and stopped, waiting for the others to make the next move. He was still holding his knife, though his arm was hanging neutrally by his side. The beast made a slight half-circle around them and came to stand to the side, waiting. The riders came to a halt in front of him, the older human man looking down at him, inspecting him, still stern, still seemingly worn out to the point of being only partially conscious. Well, it certainly doesn’t look like you’ve had the best morning behind you…
It was but a moment of silence, but that was one uncomfortably long moment.
“Can I help you?” he finally asked. Whatever it was one was supposed to address men like that. Certainly was an odd place for them to end up, in the middle of nowhere…
The man closed his eyes for a moment - it seemed he was trying to concentrate.
“That would be a question for Etakar, rather than I. It was he who insisted we head this way, rather than straight to our destination.” He probably picked up the confusion on Domhnall’s face, as he continued, referring to the beast, “Etakar is the dekkun. Him.” The man sighed, dropping the arm he had briefly raised to motion towards who was apparently something called a dekkun, gripping the horn of the saddle. “Quite surprising; with his leg, I’d have assumed he’d not stray … we’re headed for Zerul City, and he knows well there would be healers. Unless you have a healer amongst you, I would not know. Not unless he decides to elaborate.”

The assassin noticed the vampire had stiffen up when they noticed the two figures in the corner of the room. Apart from that observation as well as the long sigh, the vampire did not do much once the deo’iel reached the group. Instead, he looked at the penin as he turned to the new arrivals. He didn’t really notice I’on’s eyes darting towards him, but he did notice his arm being touched by the penin. Ixion understood what the gesture meant, but the two beings still made him uneasy, keeping his guard up throughout. “I'm sure it won't be at all troublesome. Though, I must say we've had a long day so I'd at least hope to keep things brief, if that is at all possible.” The assassin fully understood the meaning behind the words as he was in no position to confront anyone either.

As the two deo’iel started to speak, he took note on the look of their eyes. He could note the one with the blue hair’s brow trembling, her eyes indicating that she was suffering. The cloaked one, however, glared at him. He could feel the malice that was behind that glare as she retorted. He noted that the two had a very similar voice apart from a slight differences; the blue haired one having a lisp and the cloaked one having a click that seemed to be timed with her jaws. Her companion tried to console her.

Finally, the blue haired deo’iel looked to the group and began to recant their reasons of being here: they were looking for a demonspawn that had been killing many people, which just so happened that some of those people had been deo’iel, and were tasked to stop them at any cost. The assassin turned his head slightly in thought, his mind sifting through the past five months. He did admit that he had travelled a lot due to various contracts that helped with his one with the Grand Master. He had to admit that there were a lot of extraordinary things that he had either briefly seen or have heard during that time, but that wouldn’t help with their request. He would have to ask them about some of their target’s modus operandi , though a few names that this person had been called would help as well. He turned to the two deo’iel. “Forgive me for the ‘accusatory’ questions,” he started. “As you can see, I am not in the best of conditions after an ordeal that we faced on this day. As for what you are asking, I may have briefly seen or heard of such an individual during my travels, which are a part of my job. What is this demonspawn’s name? If you don’t know the name, how did this individual kill these people?”

The words ‘this is pointless’ lay heavy on Jillian’s tongue, and had she not been as exhausted and defeated as she was, she might just have said so – as it was, she was too tired to even do that. It was fortunate that Gerald still had the presence of mind and strength of will to go on, to question the demon lord’s every word, to inquire ever more knowledge. While his witch companion withdrew into herself, wallowing in pessimism, he continued to interrogate the Grand Master on the subject of immortals and their relation to the Spirit Realm. The demon’s answer was confusing to say the least, and Gerald too seemed unable to follow his implications. Kevin the Insignificant and Kreshtaat – were they somehow two separate entities, in spite of being one and the same? Two souls trapped in the same body? Was it possible for one half of the old evil to dream in the Spirit Realm, while the other remained ignorant and trapped in the abyss? What a hollow, tortured existence it must be.

Following the ancient one’s exposition on the matter, it seemed that the witch had been half right, at least. Apparently Kreshtaat was indeed a being of a dual nature; an age old demon, so powerful that he is considered anathema to all life, and there it was, a tiny, mortal, human fragment buried deep inside the sea of infinite darkness that was his soul. Could he be saved? Freed from his demon part? The romantic in her wondered. If his human part dreamed in the Spirit Realm, perhaps they could sever his bond to the rest of his soul. No, that would only cause an even more painful existence, maybe even result in the birth of a ghost. Still, at the very least they might be able to communicate with him, hear what he has to say when he is not under the sway of his demonic being. For all they knew, he might still be sane and yearning for freedom – or merciful death.

“Is that really wise?” Jillian interjected, lifting her gaze once more and casting glances at both Gerald and the Grand Master, her expression unusually soft and almost sad.

“We just learned that the most powerful and most evil creature in existence has a sliver of humanity left in him, buried somewhere deep within – and you’re suggesting we just kill it? Might be that it ends the Withering, but if there had ever been a way to save Kreshtaat, or Kevin, from himself… well, we’d have gotten rid of that chance for good. I- I don’t know. All I’m saying, I guess, is that we should consider talking to him before we get to the killing. You never know, right?”

Jillian nervously shuffled her feet, looking uncertain of herself. Halfway through her words, she already began feeling like a fool. It was a charming thought to be sure, the idea that they could somehow cure Kreshtaat from being what he was, but most likely there was no chance for them. Indeed, by showing reluctance as she suggested, they might be wasting their one chance to land the kill that they so desperately needed to save their own souls from the infernal deal they struck. In their predicament, perhaps they should not worry about other people’s souls any longer.

The two deo'iel seemed to possibly glance at the laser-cut in Ixion's shoulder for a moment when he mentioned his condition, but it was really impossible to tell exactly where they were looking at the moment; as was the case with Nightwalkers, demonspawn's eyes were uniform across the entire surface, making following their gaze difficult under normal circumstances. The exception to this was when they invoked the power of their demonic blood, of course, as their mirror-eyes would crack then, creating something akin to glowing pupils. Neither of them seemed to react to the assassin's condition in particular, though, and they seemed more interested in his questions concerning their prey.
"Well," the blue-haired one began hesitantly, her left hand keeping up the painful pulling of her own hair, "the original name given to him by the Dread Mother was Gaath - that is 'death' in the Devil's Tongue - but not only is it unlikely that he would use that name, but it is no longer the only name taken from Himyth's womb he possesses. He also has a number of ways to kill, though his favorite appears to be to melt people."
"He is special," the other deo'iel broke in gruffly. "The ability he had from birth was one to draw Himyth's blood from other demonspawn and take it into himself, stealing their name and power. He has quite a few demonspawn inside of him... including some pretty troublesome ones."
The less demonic one felt the need to clarify. "Until recently we were able to track him because demonspawn can sense each other, and he normally gives off a much stronger aura than other of our kind. Now, though, he's absorbed a demonspawn that was capable of completely masking her own aura and appearance... so we can't do that anymore. All we can do is sense him when he uses his powers, which is what lead us here."

---


"Save Kreshtaat?" Gerald murmured as he looked at Jillian curiously, his eyes narrowing in thought. How, he wondered, did she intend to accomplish such a thing? What did she think she could say to sway this ancient nemesis of Reniam? Did she presume that one could talk sense with him? No, that would be preposterous; there was no logical argument that could possibly dissuade Kreshtaat by now. He was probably the single most powerful being in existence, with a horde of bloodthirsty demons and a number of powerful demon lords at his beck and call. And he had the Withering. Logically, Kreshtaat was not only unlikely to back off from his current course, but was in fact quite likely to be able to force any opposition the rest of the planes could ever muster against him into submission.
Did she presume to speak to the good in him, then? Was she hoping for a fairy-tale ending, where the big bad demon lord was made to recognize the error of his ways by the intolerable redhead and her feeble companion? That they would be able to speak to his heart, remind him of love and friendship and all of that nonsense?... Well, such ideas did come from mortal minds, after all, and part of Kreshtaat was still mortal, apparently. Maybe it was not impossible.
They would have to be careful, though; even though Kreshtaat was allegedly not very impressive as a human, the time of Kevin the Insignificant had been thousands of years ago. Not only would he possess experience far beyond the scope of other mortals, there would be no way to ascertain how much his mortal power had grown in that time, either.
"I suppose it couldn't hurt to try," he decided with a shrug, though he was far from convinced that they stood even the shadow of a chance of managing such a thing. And if they did? The implications were almost too overwhelming to even think about.

"You're free to do whatever you want, of course," the Grand Master waved them off impatiently. "As long as you end the Withering one way or another, our contract states that you will have won our wager, and if you fail, you lose. I am satisfied either way, honestly."
It occurred to Gerald that they had missed an important question. "How are we supposed to get to Kevin in the Spirit Realm? I don't know about you, Veldaine, but I can't reliably make myself have a lucid dream."
"In Fokon," their fiend announced, "in the Joint Temple of Immortals, you will find that the Wardens and scholars there are capable of brewing a potion that can force the dreaming self of the imbiber to awaken in the dream. From there, you can get to the Spirit Realm."

---

There were a lot of things that Jaelnec had wanted to do before they left or while they were on the road; things he had been planning ever since last evening, when he had officially - or at least as officially as a squire-ranked member of the order was capable of - included Thaler in the Knighthood of the Will as an apprentice. He had wanted to reinforce the bond between them that this shared affiliation would give them, to tell her more of the knighthood and the knights of its past glory days, to describe the world she had become part of to her and to immediately start teaching her the skills and techniques that they were expected to possess. Last night he had been almost giddy at the thought of trying to teach her to fight as a Knight of the Will and start educating her on the nature of various monsters and opponents and how to deal with them. He had had even more plans than that, plans of bonding with Aemoten as well, trying to keep the spirits as high as they had been that night...
But when morning came, spirits had no longer been high... had they? Waking up to find the world collapsing around him, having no idea what was going on, and soon finding himself surrounded by danger and despair on all sides; even if he had not been the true victim in all of this, and probably the least affected of the four of them, it had still been far from pleasant. It was hard to feel sorry for himself, though, when all he had done was to fend off crows, be bitten by an yth and blocking a single blow from a treacherous rune mage's blade. So what? Thaler had apparently been harassed by Rilon himself, though the details were still unknown to him, and had been forced to betray the deal she had made with the Blood God both because Aemoten had forced her to, and to stop Rilon from killing them all for wanting to get rid of the Black Thorn. She had witnessed a creature she had pitied get killed by a man who had just - apparently - confessed to be in love with her. Aemoten, in turn, had suffered all of this from the opposite side of the table, realizing that the woman he loved went through all of this, all while she seemed to resent him for insisting that she do as he thought best. Fighting monsters, one relatively mundane, the other so abominable that he had had to sacrifice part of his magical energy to even render it killable. Even Olan, the harmless old man, had suffered; being impaled by Rilon's thorn-clad hand, nearly dying and only being saved by Thaler's trading of the Black Thorn, and then somehow losing his memories... or most of them, anyway.
Compared to the others - perhaps even Etakar, although Jaelnec did not really know how the dekkun had been injured - it seemed pathetic to feel bad about his own, comparatively gentle fate this day. That said, it was still hard for him, even now... not because of what had happened to him, but because of how his friends were suffering.
Yes, Jaelnec had had a lot of plans last night, but they had all worked under the assumption that there would not be a disaster before he had the chance to carry them out. When disaster struck while he was still sleeping, however, there was little he could do about it.

Off they went from the outpost, heading towards times that Jaelnec could only hope would be better than this morning. Had he still had faith in Laon, he might have prayed for just a short while of mercy... but that was why he had lost faith in the first place, was it not? Because gods, spirits and demons were all the same; none of them had any mercy, and their indifference to mortal suffering made them unworthy of his worship. It was ironic that their suffering came at the hands of a devil-god, of all things, and a Death Clan-member. It would always be ironic when the world itself seemed to verify one's thoughts. Just once in a while, though... he wished that he would be proven wrong in that regard.
The squire rode next to Aemoten during the entire trek, trying to stay as close to the other's horse as he could so that he could catch him if he fell. The young Nightwalker was the only one of them aside from the Sekalyn himself who knew that their leader was suffering the effects of rather severe magical exhaustion at the moment, and he knew that he would need to be vigilant in case Aemoten was assailed by greater weakness than he could bear. He did not speak much aside from when spoken to, but simply remained near the man, silently being there to support him.
Meanwhile it was somewhat evident that Olan was still himself, even if the loss of his memories was quite observable as well. The older Nightwalker rode the donkey and stayed with Thaler, and occasionally spoke animatedly when he noticed something he thought unusual or otherwise interesting. His spirits, at least, were high as ever, and he smiled and laughed as he commentated their journey as though he did not even register Aemoten and Thaler's misery. There were times when one, if one ignored the hopelessness that lay over the rest of them, could almost forget about the ordeals of the morning in the face of Olan's enthusiasm and optimism. But in between the times when the explorer extraordinaire had things to talk about, he fell into periods of silence that were most uncharacteristic for the cheerful man; silences that came not from lacking desire to speak, but from not having anything to talk about. Yesterday Olan had been filled to the point of bursting with countless crazy stories and apparently boundless knowledge of the world, but today he had no stories left to tell and no insight left to share. He was as he had been before, just... emptier.

Then Etakar had them diverge from the road, and Jaelnec remained by Aemoten's side as they went to follow the beast... if such a label could indeed be used about a creature of such evident intelligence as the dekkun. Olan, he noticed, followed only for a short time before turning back, going to stay with Thaler at the edge of the cluster of trees, dismounting and settling down on the soil by the tree next to the one she was resting at. Jaelnec did not mention this to Aemoten; wherever Etakar was taking them, they would hopefully return to the road shortly.
What they found was enough to give the squire pause: two humanlike beings, a man and a woman, accompanying some sort of creature the like of which Jaelnec had never seen before. Some manner of large, black-furred beast slept there, and near them lay a dead and mutilated lohk. It was just a male, so far as a lohk of any sex or size could ever be "just" anything, but if these people were the ones who had killed it, the Nightwalker was impressed. Lohks were powerful and tough to kill, and were foes to be respected even by experienced hunters of monsters and evil; for someone not trained to fight them, defeating a lohk definitely spoke volumes of their prowess.
Noticing the strange man among these people glancing at what appeared to be a quite advanced and high-quality lever-operated crossbow, Jaelnec's own right hand automatically went to his chest, brushing aside the cloak to allow easier access to the throwing knives he carried in the straps on his chest, and incidentally uncovering his ghiril cuirass as well. Once the other seemed to decide not to brandish his crossbow - a wise move, considering that Etakar would likely have horrendously mauled him for having done so - Jaelnec instead raised his right hand to the brim of his hat, pulling it down a little to shade his eyes better in the gray, sporadic light that filtered through the trees.
Jaelnec wanted to ask these people if they were the ones who had defeated - and subsequently cut apart - the lohk, but the man spoke first, addressing Aemoten, and the Sekalyn replied. The stranger seemed somewhat amiable, at least, although one could never be sure how much of that good nature came from fear or suspicion; Aemoten was rather harmless in his current condition, but Jaelnec was in good health and capable of fighting, and Etakar - even injured - was still a force to be reckoned with.
These people had possibly killed a lohk, though... so chances were that their two groups were more evenly matched than they would appear. Especially if that big black-furred creature was even half as dangerous as it appeared to be...

Thaler was glad for Olan's company, as she always was. While she still felt guilt for what had happened to him at Rilon's hands his presence still had a soothing and calming affect on her. She had always enjoyed his tall tales, though she often found it hard to decide whether they were embellished or the truth due to the sheer fantastical nature some of them had. Not that she had ever thought Olan a liar or a cheat mind and often chose to believe them as the truth regardless of how silly they may have seemed. Though even in the silence's he had looked out for her, protected her, he'd treated her so well and always knew how to make her smile when she needed it.

It was odd though, sitting in near silence with Olan, after all they had been through there were few words she could think worth saying and so instead she leaned ever so slightly towards the older nightwalker. She briefly contemplated what the others were up to but the sheer quiet of the forest, the relaxing atmosphere and her own exhaustion compelled her to believe they would be fine without her and to stop worrying over them. They'd just taken on two gods and a...thing. It would be silly to think they couldn't handle whatever had steered them off course.

Leaning back against the trunk of his tree, Olan allowed himself a quiet sigh of contentment, putting his left arm behind his head and crossing his legs. He smiled to himself as he watched the donkey head off to the side of the road to graze for a while, and smiled even wider when he looked at Thaler, who seemed at least marginally more at peace now than she had back at the outpost. He smiled when he thought about the promise and the friendship that had somehow persevered even through the loss of his memories, and he felt genuinely happy when he thought about fulfilling that promise to the utmost of his abilities.
Still, he wanted to talk; to share, to regale and to enlighten, to brighten everyone's day and open their eyes to the way he saw the world. He wanted to do this, but it was hard to think of anything to say... There was nothing happening around here, and no sights to be seen. No inspiration.
Thoughtfully he raised his right hand high, the palm facing away from him and his fingers spread, to let the grayish sunlight filter through beautifully.

"I'm a Nightwalker, you know?" he said, initially just to himself more than anything, but then he realized that it was probably a good idea to clarify the point to Thaler, too, since she would have no way of knowing without being told, due to Nightwalkers and humans being as similar as they were. "But the light doesn't hurt my eyes. It should, I know that; I'm not supposed to be able to see very well when it's bright, but I can see just fine, you know?"
He chuckled to himself. "I also understand people, you know? Or well, not people, I guess... but I understand what they say. Languages. I can't explain it, but I understand what everyone's saying, you know? Back at the outpost, a magpie was telling us 'good work'. So I understand magpies, too. I can talk to them as well, you know? When I think about a word, it's just there, in all kinds of languages."
Closing his eyes, he continued a bit more somberly. "I'm at peace with losing my memories, you know? I don't care who I was, and I'm more than happy just to know that I'm your friend, but... when I think about these things, I can't help but wonder what I am, you know? Because clearly I'm... not normal."

Thaler turned to face Olan at his announcement, a small smile on her lips, she'd always thought of him as a nightwalker, between the long length of memories he had and the way he spoke to and treated Jaelnec she'd always thought of him as such. Though to have it confirmed for her was nice, she was about to comment on the others, guessing Aemoten to be human and more certain of Jaelnec being a nightwalker when he carried on with mention of the sunlight. She fell silent, content to just listen as he spoke as often she had been, though this time it seemed more for his benefit than for her own.

Turning a little against the tree trunk to try and face Olan she attempted to make sense of his words. The light didn't hurt his eyes? Both were pretty extraordinary in Nightwalker terms but she guessed it could be reached in mundane ways, now that she could really think of many but it could she was sure. As he went on to explain his multi-lingual ability she was baffled, right up until he described how he did it and for a moment her eyes widened, he knew 'words', like she did only properly she guessed. It would make sense of course, his warning of her use, the only time she felt he had disapproved of her, his reaction to things he shouldn't have been able to comprehend.

When Olan had come to a finish with a clear, quiet dilemma Thaler spent a moment in silence gathering her thoughts. While Olan didn't seem troubled by his existential crisis it was something that clearly played on his mind, he'd always been there for her and she wanted to help, this was likely quite an important moment for him after all. Blindly she groped for him, findign his arm and feeling down to his hand, taking one of his in both of hers and giving it a gentle squeeze she offered him the brightest smile she could muster in her exhaustion, "What you are? That is simple, you are Olan. You are my friend, my guide, my protector. You have more stories than an entire college of bards, more good will and compassion than a church full of Reina followers, and more good humour than any fool on this plane. You are amazing Olan and nothing else matters." She took a moment to catch her breath and gently clear her throat before continuing, "As for normal? I have had a god whisper in my ear since childhood, Aemoten can call down the power of a god to do, pretty much whatever he wants within reason and Jaelnec is the last true Knight of the Will. I think we have long since passed normal, besides...normal is boring." She tried to sound at least a little jovial, willing her heart to remember what that felt like for Olan's sake if nothing more. She had traded away her Black Thorn for their lives, his life but she hadn't once mentioned their hearts and their souls, she'd be twice damned if she didn't try her best to keep those in tact.

---

A brow raising slightly at the explanation provided by the deo'iel, I'on found himself intrigued. He almost found it unfortunate that he had not encountered such a being, though he knew that if he had he would not be thinking such a thing. As they said, its ability truly was unique. He'd never heard of such a thing, but sadly he had nothing to contribute to the conversation.

Glancing down to a pouch at his side, the penin turned away from the two slightly, more to notify them that he had nothing to say, than to disrespect or ignore. Reaching into the pouch he extracted several rodlin and glanced at the Ixion and then the innkeeper. He raised his hand, the necessary rodlin in his palm. All the while he kept an eye on the hunched demonspawn, and an ear to the conversation mostly to sate his curiosity more than anything else.

If the innkeeper took the coin, I'on would turn back to the two deo'iel a moment, before glancing at their other companion. The man seemed off somehow, but he still couldn't pin down why or how exactly—it was frustrating. He hoped the fellow had nothing to do with this demonspawn business, that'd be just his luck though wouldn't it?

As the conversation between both his newfound party and pair of demonspawn trackers continued, Morgan found himself becoming more and more annoyed with entire affair. While his face would be as blank as a stone statue (his default expression unless his inner beast decided to burst forth), the hidden movement of darting eyes would be examining all parties involved. Being a sniffer, he was supposed to hunt things of magical entity - everyone knew that. But what they didn’t know is that Morgan was forced to look for the smaller things in a person. It was a necessity for survival, to avoid his handlers’ wrath or to avoid looking idiotic when a good liar crossed paths with his hunting squad. The small signs of suffering, or in the case of the lame demonspawn, evident signs of suffering did not go unnoticed. The obvious restraint against something, paired with the side comforting of the blue haired huntress was impressive. ’Is it sheer will power that these two can walk among the common people?’ Thrainsson couldn’t help but wondering as he allowed Ixion and the penin to ask the questions. ’With such a delicate balance, it would be best if I didn’t provoke them…further.’

Morgan disliked—no, hated the law. Any badge, any authority of any lord, god didn’t matter. They were all the same, in all of their corruption, their cruelty and… The vampire caught himself, halt a forming snarl that was pulling upward on the right corner of his mouth. Gently closing his eyes, he once again inhaled, and then exhaled, smoothly and quietly. ’This is not the time, nor the place,’ he gently reminded himself as he turned to focusing his energy on paying attention to the movements of the sisters’ souls. However, his eye could not help but wander back to the badge. More hateful thoughts were about to rise into his mind’s eye, but then something dawned on him. ’Deo’lei?’ What were they inquiring about a demonspawn… ’Or rather, demonspawns…’

But someone who uses the name “Death.” Morgan’s attention had been dragged from his delayed discovery, his annoyance levels spiking at such blasphemy, as he practically immediately responded after the blue hair sister was done speaking, “A bold choice to name their own spawn after a god.” Morgan commented irritably, his masked eyes gazing directly in the huntress’s mirrored eyes, “But tell me, why is the deo’lei hunting one of their own?” He finished, his voice in almost accusing tone. The sniffer would have been more wise to heed his own warning, but the mention of his god had added fuel to his already smoldering fire of anger. Instinct was to again be followed over logic and reason. But then again, didn't it make sense? Two highly feared... beings were sent in an obvious elite group to track down a more dangerous member of their kind. It was small enough and the questions asked were subtle enough to play down any real sense of danger, at least until further inquiry was pursued. On the other hand, Morgan didn't like their tone they used when speaking about him, their words they used to ask pointless questions, their assumptions that he would know something about their own problem. In other words, prejudice was beginning to taint his judgement.

The innkeeper was sufficiently distracted by the deo'iel discussing their business with the other unusual group of individuals that it took several seconds for him to realize that he was being offered money, and another couple of seconds after that before he collected his thoughts enough to retrieve the silver coins from the penin's hand, and even then he simply pocketed the Rodlin without counting them and without considering to store them somewhere safer, but simply went back to listening to the others' conversation. Deo'iel occasionally visited Zerul City when a merchant discovered that it had accidentally purchased a shipment of goods infested with yth, or when a mage decided to dabble in the forbidden arts and summoned a demon too powerful to control, but they rarely stayed for more than a day or two, and they had never been beyond the fourth circle. To be able to listen in on two sixth circle deo'iel discussing their business was incredibly exciting for ordinary people such as the innkeeper, who only ever experienced adventure second- or third-hand.

When Morgan addressed the demonspawn he was met with furrowed brows and confused frowns. "Wait, what?" the blue-haired demonspawn asked, so taken aback by his question that she stopped yanking on her hair. "The deo'iel... Gaath is not deo'iel. I don't know what you have heard about the Order, but it is actually very rare for demonspawn to join, especially since we rarely care about anything but the Dread Mother's parting wish. And we are hunting him because the deo'iel are monster hunters, and while cursed ones like demonspawn and vampires are a gray area between man and beast, Gaath's actions have named him a monster. He has killed quite a few people, and one of the demonspawn he consumed was even deo'iel; that is why we hunt him. He is dangerous, and needs to be stopped."
"And he is not named after the Wanderer," the shrouded one took over. "He is named after the concept of death, not the Spirit of Death. The name a demonspawn receives from Himyth is less of a name and more of a directive; an order we cannot ignore, and which defines us. I imagine that Gaath would be compelled by his name to kill to sate it, or perhaps even just keep company with the dead. My sister and I are both Baigai; pain. We are compelled to inflict as much agony on those around us as possible, and have a constant urge to hurt others." She averted her eyes. "We circumvent this desire by inflicting pain on ourselves instead. That is what our Mother-given names are; they are not indicative of our power."
"But we promised to keep this brief," the blue-haired one resumed. "So just to be clear: none of you have noticed anything unusual that could hint at where we might find Gaath?"