Walkways spiraled everywhere, each ending in an archway that was void, leading off into a star-filled nothingness. Each of the heroes appeared here, beneath random archways that all came to a cross-roads at the center. At the center was a glowing casket that floated above a chair. In the chair, sat a robed man who seemed thoughtful as each of the travelers finally made their way to him. It was a peaceful sort of place, if a bit strange and removed from reality. Moss crawled across the entirety of this odd floating bundle of gateways as if it had been long been abandoned and forgotten. Alien statues of unknown persons adorned pathways made of a shiny marble only made dull by the green masses across their surfaces.



The robed man, despite pleas or question, stood still in his pondering until finally the entire group had found it's way to the main platform. Only then, did he stir, standing up slowly and looking over them as a whole. "Welcome to the Gateway, a place between places.. and yes, I have summoned you here." Slowly, as if time meant nothing in this place, he stepped down to meet the group at eye level. A slow scowl crept across his face. "I would not normally do this, nor beseech strangers for such a task, but this is of utmost importance. In my keeping was a creature - a most malicious type - that a worldwalker decided it was best it be freed upon the worlds. Now it crawls in the shadows of your worlds... yes, your worlds, each and every one of you." Giving a heavy sigh, he continued. "Suffice it to say, I thought it best that everyone were to search out it's fragments and bring them back to my keeping, so your worlds can be just a bit safer than they were. I only hope you can see the seriousness of the situation and agree to work together to defeat it. Believe me, your enemies will only grow stronger with it's presence.. and I will do my part by helping you walk between worlds.." The man then folded his hands into his robe, content with his small speech and convinced it would be enough to stir the party of warriors into action.

---

---

The deafening sound of countless, frantic footsteps envelopes the halls of the nameless ruin. The noise thundering ever louder the closer the footsteps come to the ruin's entrance. Then, bursting into the open: a young man with peculiar wild white hair. With hastened breath, he runs without forethought towards the lush jungle canopy straight ahead. Alongside him runs a white-furred dog with floppy ears carrying several bags of luggage; on one of its legs is a sheathed dagger. Why are they running with such fervor? Well, impending doom is a fine motivator. Behind the pair, in chase, is a mob of a demons—spawns of an ancient, sinister magic lost in history. The dog looks to its master and barks. "Save your breath for running, Iago!"

The pair makes their escape into the heavily-forested jungle. Still, the demons aren't giving up their pursuit anytime soon. The young man impressively weaves through the thick brush of trees. Climbing, leaping, swinging—doing whatever it takes to escape from the clutches of danger. His canine companion, Iago, follows suit. After some time, the two find themselves at the precipice of a tall cliff—they're trapped, and it'll be only a matter of time before the demons catch up to them. "So much trouble for just one." The young man holds up a card emanating a powerful mystic aura. He looks over the edge of the cliff and sees an expanse of water below. "Hmm..." He loses himself to his thoughts for a brief moment before looking back at Iago. "You know... If I just toss you to the monsters, I'd buy a few seconds for myself."

Iago barks disapprovingly in response. The young man laughs it off. "Relax, I'm only joking." He picks up Iago in his arms and gives his companion a reassuring smile. "Time to take a gamble." Iago whimpers. "No risk, no reward, right?" Hearing the demons closing in on their position, the young man takes several big steps back then runs and leaps off the precipice, diving towards the water below. Iago puts its paws over its eyes in fear. As the pair hits the water, they find themselves on the other side—in an otherworldly place. The young man stumbles for a bit before he finds his footing. As he and Iago looks around, they become mesmerized by their strange, new environment. "Guess the risk paid off... Big time."

He sets Iago down and scans his surroundings. Twisting, warping walkways can be seen all over the place. The ruin seems lost to nature as everything is covered in a thick blanket of green. Behind the two is a black expanse of starry sky. They were expunged into this place from that very expanse it seems. Terra Mater this is not... Iago barks to gain the attention of his master. "Right..." He nods at Iago. Nowhere to go but forward. The Fool and his dog begin their journey to the center. Along the way, they take in the alien scenery: foreign architecture and statues of a history unknown to him.

All roads lead to one place and at this place sits an enigmatic man on a throne with a floating, magic coffin hanging overhead. Quite the precarious placement for such a heavy thing. What if whatever is holding it up fails to do just that? In any case, the young man knows exactly what is going on. He looks to Iago with a casual smile. "We died." Iago whimpers in response. The young man then looks to the man on the throne and makes an attempt at conversation. "Hello, uhh, God? But the man does not respond or show any signs of a reaction. "Not the talkative type, huh? Disregarding the man for now, the two pace around the platform to see if there is anything else of interest but, soon, they find themselves in the company of others. Travelers just as confused as to where they are.

Once enough people have gathered, the man on the throne finally breaks his silence and addresses the group. He states that he is the one who summoned everyone to this place. It seems an obvious thing but it's good to get confirmation. He approaches the group and explains his purpose for bringing everyone here. The young man listens intently, absorbing every bit of information given by the man. It was... a lot. And sudden at that. A notice in advance would've been preferable. Surely, there are a number of questions to be asked. Why them? Why can't he do it himself? Surely he is powerful enough. What if they refuse? What do these "fragments" look like? How will they find it? What if they fail?

"Okay, go to our worlds, retrieve these 'fragments', bring 'em back here. Got it. Where's the exit?"

Korian Dale soon to be Asif Wang

"Everything's on fire!"

The voice sounded half anguished and half just in panic. A mix that really made the already overly-dramatic cry rather pathetic. Then again perhaps that's what happens when people find them in life threatening situations, not everyone has the benefit of being able to make novel worthy quotes. People have a tendency to sound rather pathetic in times of crises, not that one should be faulted for such things, that's just the way things are. Then again, such musings mattered little to robed man standing in the center of the room, who arguably was responsible for the flames that now engulfed the area. He had already set out to play a certain role of sorts, and thus his lines had to hit that novel level of worthiness. He was the hero of this tale after all, what good is a hero that can't spout off catchy one liners and remarkable phrases regardless of the situation they find themselves in.

A crackling noise could then be heard, as another pieces of the flaming rafters above him gave way bring with it bits of ember and ash. The smoke had was beginning to obscure all vision in the burning palace, and the throne that had once set at the head of the room was now little more than a molten mess of melted gold and leather. A hole was blasted in the upper right corner, another direct casualty of the vendetta raged by the man standing in the center of the flames. Even the wood beneath his feet was cracked, splintered and acting as tinder for the inferno raging everyone around him. At the far end of the room, another man, one far larger than the first, lay broken and bruised against a fountain with three lion heads still spitting water out in vain. Only the fourth head, shattered and resting inside of the far wall now ran dry.

As the man robed in green advanced towards the large man at the fountain, the last remnants of evening light illuminated the petals that floated in from the holes in the ceiling. Pink swirling blossoms that melded with the gentle amber of the soon ending dusk. Fire and water, light and shadow, life and death, opposites were in play wherever one looked in the once opulent room. A stage had been set, an end to a battle that had raged on for 10 years, and now the man in green approached his opposite as a savage grin appeared across his face. There was a brief glint in his deep brown eyes as the man opened his mouth:

"Enjoying it are we? The stage that has been set for you end."

Only a grunt came out the lips of the man beaten and bruised in the fountain. Yet as the man in green stepped closer, for the first time the evening twilight illuminated the person behind all the flames that now engulfed the area. For just an instant, shadows disappeared and one could see a glinting silver sword, borrowed from a friend and the reddened eyes that had given to that friend. Then the shadows returned and only a dim outline back lit by flames remained.

"It's a shame really, normally I'd be having a lot more fun at moments like this, yet you actually ripped something interesting away from me. It's really put a huge damper on my mood."

"Is that so," this time there was an actual reply from the man on the other side. The voice was just as broken as the man, a voice resigned to death but not quite accepting of defeat. A cough soon followed the words, blowing away some of the blood that had dripped down from his forehead to his mouth.

Yet there was no opportunity for a silence, as a furious "No!" resounded from the other man. "This is all wrong. You're supposed to be giving some evil laugh or big speech or something, why do you think I'm using his sword man. Dramatic irony come on, have you not heard of it. You're the Khan, this is what it's all been about."

It'd be generous to call the Khan's response a laugh or even a chortle, there was too much blood and soot for that. "You're crazy, foreigner."

"Yes, well, I get that a lot. But let's get one thing clear," by now the man in green was upon his target and the tip of his sword raised the Khan's face to meet his own, "My name is not foreigner. I am Korian Dale, The Great Magician of the East, I have walked hundreds of miles through dust and blood to reach this place. I am the friend and disciple of Asif Qureshi and it is by his blade that I now claim your head."

With the last of the magic enhancing his strength still flowing through him, Korian Dale raised his hand and brought his sword crashing down on the Khan's neck.

****

"Damn that felt bad ass. Nailed the delivery." It was the unfamiliar echo that first alerted Korian Dale to his new environment, he was used to being ripped from his world, although this was the first time something like this happened while Korian was doing something of import. Still within the man existed no sense of trepidation or even disappointment, much to the contrary Korian's face lit up the moment he saw the archway he now found himself under. He didn't need to open his eyes to realize he was in place filled with old magic.

At the end of the path Korian could already make out a man robed in red and gold sitting upon a stone throne and wasted no time in sprinting towards the obvious next stage of his journey. His feet only halted once he arrived at the main platform, where upon Korian was quick to bow and prepare his new introduction, "Asif Wang, The Comedian, reporting for duty." A grin appeared upon the lowered head of KorianAsif as he mentally congratulated himself on his new persona.

Yet the robed man provided no response to Asif, leading the magician to suppose that he must be the silent and mysterious type of quest giver, a fact he was perfectly content with. The notice of another man, well more of a boy, circling the other end of the platform with a wolf popped another idea into Asif's head. One he promptly voiced to the robed man, "Ah I see, you're waiting for us to form up as some sort of group. Love the concept. I'll wait then."

Indeed, a few moments after Asif had backed away from the robed man, others filed in. Many of whom Asif noted appeared to carry traces of magic with them, of course he was respectfully to never keep his eyes active for too long. Just a cursory glance that only served to further increase the man's bubbling excitement. The eyes that had shed tears only hours ago in another world could no longer be seen. Instead all that remained was literal embodiment of a kid in a candy store.

Then, now that everyone else had gathered, the robed man finally stood up and began speaking. Which of course only caused an even giddier Asif to lean over to the person next to him and whisper a simple "Called it." That quest itself was also interesting, a chance to journey other worlds in search of fragments of a powerful creature. It was the kind of adventure Asif had long been dying to embark upon and when the speech had completed Asif had but one simple adjustment he had to make.

While the young man from earlier opened his mouth expressing a desire to leave, Asif took a bit different approach. Whether urged on by bravery or just stupidity, the magician approached the robed man once more until he was looking the other being directly in the face. Only a few inches separated them at this point as Asif posed his own queries. For once, he actually made sure his ring was off, after all he wasn't some idiot that was going to try and cheat a cosmic being. "Loved the speech, really I did. This whole thing sounds absolutely breath taking. But..."

There was a slight pause as Asif trailed his last word and walked to the right side of the robed man to look at the congregation of everyone else with him. Once again such overt familiarity was likely born out of stupidity, but nevertheless Asif treated the other man as a long lost friend. "I've just got one teeny-weeny suggestion. Look at all those guys, heroes that you brought on who are bound to take this quest just to save the world and all that. I mean I know that I personally would love to jump right on this for the adventure, but don't you take it's a little unfair just taking advantage of their kindness like that?"

Like a teacher lecturing a student, Asif now paced with pointer finger raised behind the robed man until he arrived on the man's left side. "So how 'bout this, some vague promise to be willing to listen to any requests we might have after everything is said and done. I mean every quest giver offers a reward even if it's not collected. You can always refuse anything too crazy, just the right to ask is all I'm asking for. Hell if need be that'll be my request, just trying to look out for the other good Samaritans after all. So what say you padre?"

His request complete, Asif rejoined the others on the platform, facing the robed man once more to say one more little thing. "But seriously sir, loved the speech, I'm excited."

A bead of sweat rolled down the man's cheek as he slowly poured liquified lead into a large round vial containing quicksilver. There was a slight hissing sound as the molten metal touched the mercury and the two began to mix together. The man than pulled a switch and a electric rod was lowered into the mixture to charge the mercury in the concoction. The hope was that the mercury would transfer the charge to the lead mixture before it had a chance to cool down. The man took the moment to pull the linen cloth away from his mouth and nose allowing him to take a deep breath of fresh air for the first time since the experiment started an hour ago.

Andrey stretched and looked around his lab at the various pillars of bound leather books, the high vaulted ceiling and diagrams of the human anatomy and alchemic symbols hung from the walls. This particular experiment had to take place at a far corner of the lab as it involved some of his hazardous materials. It was time for the rod to be removed from the mixture as the lead was starting to cool off and solidify around the quicksilver.

"Now if this is right. It should have received some of the conductivity from the mercury which could transfer over to an alteration in the chemical makeup." The scientist muttered to himself as he looked over his hand written notes on his transmutation experiments. "Introduction of another kinetic energy should be the tipping point that should start the change into gold." With these famous last words, Andrey grabbed a powder horn of black powder and poured a good helping into the vial. He than inserted a fuze into the neck of the vial before stepping behind a metal barrier as he ignited the fuze. Andrey closed his eyes and covered his ears as he waited for the impeding explosion.

The scientist cracked one eye open with some confusion as he no longer heard the hiss of a fuze nor an explosion. He blinked and took off his tinted work goggles as he was suddenly not in his lab anymore but in the middle of a stone archway that lead to a long walkway. Releasing some profanity in his confusion as he wondered how he had gotten to this strange place. There was no scientific explanation for this place unless he had been knocked out during his experiment and this was all a dream. Though it was so strange that it felt so real.

Deciding it was better safe than sorry, Andrey drew his personal pistol from its holster and made sure it was loaded before making his way down the walkway. There was no way this anywhere within the Commonwealth as there were no old stone ruins on any of the islands and there were to many strange figures. He soon came to a large open area wth a single man sitting on a throne underneath a large floating chest. This has to be a dream. There is no way that large casket can be floating in the air, unless it is a large example of diamagnetism like the islands to the North.

He quickly saw a group of people gathering at the base of the dais that all seemed to be dressed very strangely. He put away his weapon but make sure it was ready at a moments notice as he rolled down his sleeves to cover up his tattoos except the twin Ouroboros tattoos on his hands and fixed his tie before he approached the group. He stayed to himself as he started biting his thumb as he tried to figure out what was happening as it all started to continue feeling more real.

All of a sudden the robed figure sitting on the throne suddenly stirred and stood up to address the group. His words didn't make much sense as the laws of the world did not seem to pertain to this place which was hard for Andrey to accept as a person of reason and science. It was with a sense of defiance that he realized that this was no dream and seemed to be real meaning that his entire world could no longer be calculated. There were many questions that rose toward the end of the man's speech but before he could speak his mind another person got up onto the dais and started spouting more nonsense about good people, quests and rewards.

Andrey didn't see himself as a good person inherently and found it weird for someone to just assume the kind of person that he was. This guy must be some sort of idiot, part of some theatric troupe by the way he is dressed. None of the stuff he is saying makes anymore sense than the other one. He gave a sigh as he started to tune out the strange man and turned away from the group as he tried to remember which walkway he had appeared from.

The sounds of boisterous laughter, slurred voices yelling over each other and the overall chaotic ambiance of the tavern rippled through the far to thin wooden floor, making Icarus momentarily reconsider his destination for the night. The thought only lasted a moment, it was unlikely he would find any other vacancies at this time of night, let alone a place that would have an atmosphere quieter than this one. Resigned to his fate of a poor night's sleep, Icarus made his best attempts to block out the noise as he placed his armour alongside the rest of the gear next to the bed. Even the discomfort warm sea breeze drifting through the town of Erorth and seeping into his room through the open window could not ruin the feeling of freedom from discarding his armor for the night.

Collapsing on the bed, Icarus took one more glance at the information he had gathered today. This was the first real lead he had found after weeks of fruitless searching in a climate that did not treat kindly to those in heavy armour and encounters with a number of his enemies, and it made all of that hardship worthwhile. ”Well may as well try to get some sleep before chasing after this tomorrow” Icarus murmured to himself as he heard the sound of glass shattering, no doubt thanks to one of the many drunken patrons downstairs, the chaotic noise that continued for the rest of the twilight hours ensuring he would drift in and out of sleep.

It was during one of this drifts, that Icarus noted a dramatic shift in the ambiance of his surroundings. Gone was the distracting noise of the night-life of the town and in its place a peaceful silence was carried across the air, the feeling of a cool damp wind the complete opposite from the hot and dry breeze that was in Erorth. There was a moment of confusion, before Icarus’s mind woke with a full realisation of the situation, his eyes snapped open as he quickly sat up in his bed, his hand tightening on his trusted blade that had lain beside him. Despite the familiar feeling of the hilt of his blade though, Icarus’s confusion only grew as his hand scratched against stone rather than the frame of the bed he expected. Glancing down at the ground he found himself no longer in the bed he had fallen asleep in, instead there was a cold rock floor that was just as comfortable as the bed had been.

Confused, Icarus quickly moved to a crouching stance while he examined this new area, both so he could react to any danger and draw minimal attention to himself. As his eyes swept across the landscape, he was met with architecture that appeared to defy any common sense, stone walkways spiraled in all directions until they suddenly stopped at an archway, paths overlaps and diverging in a pattern he could not understand. The paths seemed to ascend for miles above him and given what he could see of the towering structures nearby Icarus could only assume they descended just as far as well.
Contrasting the gray stone of the ruins was the green of the moss and plants, nature seeming to have claimed this abandoned citadel of what Icarus could only assume was once a great civilisation. Yet despite the all encompassing growth of vines, plants and trees spanning across this structure forgotten to time, the lack of noise of wildlife was disturbing, as though all life had abandoned this place. What was more, Icarus could not identify any of the plants around him despite his travels across the land, their structure similar and yet undeniably different from any plant life on the lands he had travelled.

After what must have been minutes, Icarus finally stood up, if anything was going to act to his presence he would have expected it to have done-so by now. In his search of the nearby vicinity Icarus had spied his gear not too far from his location which relieved him somewhat, the thought of being in a foreign land unarmoured was not an attractive prospect. Taking a moment to don his armour, his mind considered the possibilities. ”A kidnapping does not make sense, as if one wanted to capture it would defy all logic to also bring me my gear. And I doubt this is anyone invading my dreams again this landscape is too real, its details are otherworldly and...alien“ Icarus spoke out loud, not minding if anyone heard him as the rattling of his armour would have given away his position regardless of his actions. ”I suppose it could have been a summoning spell of sorts but where is the summoner in that case, and where in the bloody hell have I been summoned” Icarus continued as made the final adjustments to his armour.

Taking another look around, Icarus spotted one of the many archways behind him, its inky star-filled void like interior reminding him of a night-sky. ”Can’t say the prospect of walking into the sky strikes me as a pleasant idea, so we’ll leave exploring that for later Icarus thought, the idea of walking into a potential void being rather unsettling. Turning the opposite direction, the only other path available to him was the marble walkway. Taking care not to slip on the moss-ridden steps, Icarus followed the pathway as it twisted and turned through the strange landscape, the statue’s of persons of the unknown only added to the strangeness of this setting.

Though Icarus knew little of the lay-out he could not help but feel from the way his path was joining up with others he must be headed towards a centralised location, and it was perhaps at the very core of this structure that he may finally get some answers. His theory was given credence as his path drew closer to a large platform where nearly all of the pathways he could see converged. Dominating the view at the centre of this platform was a large casket floating in the air, no doubt kept in the air through some means of magical nature. Secondary to the casket was the gathering of a group of individuals at the platform as well, some of them almost as alien as the landscape and all defying any common themes between them. Gathered as they were around an unmoving robed man at the centre of the group, Icarus could only assume that the others were in a similar situation to him or served this figure as they seemed almost as lost as he was in this situation

Joining the group and overhearing the comment of a few others, Icarus picked up the idea that this figure appeared to be waiting for some condition before they would speak and it seemed the best guess at the moment was waiting for all to arrive. Looking around as others trickled in, joining the already gathered group, Icarus gave a curt nod to those who acknowledged his presence though otherwise remained silent, he was still on-guard from being in such an unfamiliar position and until he knew why he had been summoned here there was no way to tell if these people were friend or foe. There was the chance he was just as likely to join these people in a quest as it was they would be placed in a blood brawl where only one would emerge.

These lingering questions remained in Icarus’s mind until the individual finally spoke, silencing any of the murmuring amongst the group as they all listened for answers. Though the man (or at least Icarus was assuming it was a man, though when magic was involved you could never be too careful in your assumptions) provided answers to some of the questions that plagued Icarus over the situation, his answers only fuelled more as well. With the information given at least, Icarus could make sense of the immediate situation, it appeared that he had indeed been summoned and, thankfully, it appeared he was to work with this assorted group of individuals in solving a problem that could very likely be a threat to most worlds.

The news of a creature that could crawl across worlds was troubling, though the brief description gave little indication of what it was like or what it was capable of, the description alone made Icarus’s mind flash with images of those who had already dabbled in such magics and if they could use its power it could very easily spell the doom for his planet. Given the power used to summon such a large group to this location, Icarus could only imagine that the situation must be dire for all parties involved, meaning that he should keep any information probing to a minimum and save everyone’s time. Letting a few others make some statements first, Icarus noted as one of them moved up to stand near the robed man, making a few strong points that Icarus himself would have considered as well.

Glancing around the group once more Icarus did comment in response to Asif’s statement of calling the group heroes ”As flattering as the title of Hero may be, I would hardly find that label appropriate for myself, and I imagine the same might be true for some others here. Which raises the question of why did you choose us? Did you hand-pick us for a specific reason or was it more luck of the draw?” Icarus questioned the robed individual, though ultimately the answer did not matter too much, it would help provide some content to the situation one way or another

43 Hours.....Halen had been stalking this beast for 43 Hours. The reward for this creature would be grand, but Halen wasn't doing it for the money, it was the challenge, he was absolutely obsessed. The very rare but very dangerous Canopy Dasher was a magical cat monster that was terrorising the haflings of the nearby woodland, Halen had taken the contract with great enthusiasm, looking to put his skills to the test, and his skills were indeed tested. Stalking, scouting, tracking, but staying just out of the beast's awareness, following it back to its den, waiting for the absolute right time to strike. The Canopy Dasher was extremely dangerous and could easily kill Halen if he didnt strike at its most vunerable. But the time for stalking was over, it was time to kill this creature.



Halen messed up, he shot the creature right between the the shoulder blades with a custom made arrow, but he laced it with the wrong poison, the paralasys of the demon toad would not set in quick enough on a spellcasting mammal creature he should know better by now. The Canopy Dasher was running, but not at full speed, the injury was just enough to keep it at a pace where Halen could keep it in his sights, darting through the trees and firing off arrows. But the Canopy Dasher was not going to go down quietly, it was summoning mini lightning blasts at Halen as it was being chased, narrowly singing his flesh and blasting the branches of the trees. The entire forest was now awoken, something powerful was going to die, but would it be the Cheetah or the Half-Elf?

After 10 minutes of vicious and violent chasing, the Canopy Chaser lead Halen to its home, the magical part of the forest, the part where no Halfling would dare enter, Halen was bloodied and slightly burned but couldnt have felt more alive, he was close, he was going to kill this unholy beast and drag its corpse back to the village for his reward. Just as the wily hunter was lining up his killer shot, the dying cat dashed into a magical archway in an open part of the forest. A very unnatural green light was emitting from it, but Halen's excitement clouded his better judgement and he ran straight towards it in pursuit. The screeching cry of the Canopy dasher was loud and painful, but it became something close to a laugh before everything went dark.....

Halen felt like he was knocked out for a few minuites and he sprung awake panting heavily with his hand still on his bow, but he was no longer in the forest, he was in a huge temple like hall, and surrounded by individuals who were standing and listening to a robed figure speak. It took Halen a moment to collect his thoughts before he realised he was standing with them and they were all very odd looking, clearly not from his realm, their auras were all very alien to him. After listening to pieces of what the robed figure was saying he caught the most interesting part. The warning of a realm crossing entity that was clearly malicious in nature. Halen looked behind him, and caught eyes with a what looked like a human although he had a full sized pair of wings on his back. And turned to what looked like a demon knight, clad in red armour and giving off a burning hot aura.

There were many others, clearly this robed figure was putting together some sort of small army, and Halen was here among them, looks like it was going to be a while before he could get back to his hunt so he pragmatically accepted the situation and spoke up.

This creature, do we know much about it? Its habitat? Its breeding grounds? Maybe its prey or combat style? Anything could be useful, I could start to put together a scouting plan...

---

Twist and step and twirl and stop. One beat. Two beats. And step and turn and hold and entwine...

The atmosphere was palpable you enough that you could nearly cut it with a knife, all attention drawn to the dance's epicentre. Here and there, a gasp or whispered word could be heard under the music's sonorous notes. Almost without meaning to, people hushed such interruptions, their eyes never leaving the spectacle. Two figures were the unquestionable masters of the floor, their every motion sending out ripples through the greater crowd. No one in the ballroom was anything less than a master, else they would not have merited an invitation. Nevertheless, all but the two were merely set dressing, background. Much like the music, they seemed to fade away as your eyes drew ever in on the undulating figures in the middle of the floor.

One and two and three and four. Footstep around footstep, no more than a breath apart. Lean in, sway...

On the one hand, Lady Lyanne cut a striking figure in cream. Her dress looked so soft and smooth, fingers itched to caress it and it almost whispered as she moved. And she was tall, taller than most on the floor and half a head taller than her partner, yet still inestimably graceful. On the other, Lord Wylde lived up his name, ever the rogue in purple. His cloak was dusty, his cloth was humble, more like travelling wear, and he had been impertinent enough to wear his sword-belt. But he moved with such grace no dancer could claim to have been inconvenienced by it, the legendary sword seeming to shift to avoid tangling or tripping. Even his lackadaisical dressing seemed almost calculated to draw the eye or, even better, a comment.

Move, counter move, readdress. Passion, poise, precision. Back and forth and on and on...

The dance was approaching its crescendo, the tempo building from a comparative lull to new heights. Almost automatically, all dancers but the lady and the lord started to move off the dance floor. The two circled and watched, sizing the other up. Thus far, neither could be said to have had the better of the dance. Not a foot had been put wrong, not a turn misjudged. This sort of dance could never be learned, practised or understood until it had been danced under the eyes of an unfamiliar partner. When they watched, you moved with more precision than ever before, determined not to be the first to make a mistake. Or you cracked, losing time and rhythm, only for your partner to twirl around and carefully not mention your blunder.

Further, faster, more. Upwards, onwards, more. Build and build and build...

The final bars swam across the room, wrapping themselves around the dancers even as Lady and Lord wrapped around each other. All would be decided soon, the last haunting notes would see one silently admired and the other tactfully congratulated. It was better, at least in Lyonse, for everyone to know that you'd won but never mention it than to do some so gauche as to proclaim victory. The pleasure was in knowing that not only did you know you'd won, not only did everyone else know, your opponent knew and could say nothing against it. Smug, self satisfied and so very stylish; Lyonse in short.

And on and on and on... now.

The final chords sang out, the dancers span away from each other, each ready to take their final place. For a second or less, Lady Lyanne's back was to the Lord, as she finished with an effortless pirouette. No more than a moment, no more than that. But when she turned, expecting to see his famously roguish smile, she saw nothing. He had gone, not even a trace left behind. A flurry of whispers shot around the floor and, to her horror, Lady Lyanne saw a few hastily hidden smirks. It was hard to top disappearing at the crescendo of the dance, no doubt, she thought ruefully. It seemed that the Lord Wylde had, once again, exceeded expectations. Now if only she could find him to to be viciously, icily, devastatingly civil to him.

---

In another space entirely, Constantine Wylde looked up from a deep bow, grin in place and hand outstretched. To his mild irritation it was not to the sight of Lady Lyanne's dark eyes, perhaps curved in displeasure at a loss. Instead, he saw greenery, ruins, a man in red and gold and rather a lot of strangely dressed folk. Never one to be taken aback, wrong footed or even surprised, he rose and removed his hat in a fluid motion. The old man in the robes seemed very intent on babbling about some enemy, some quest. Same old, same old...

"Lord Constantine Wylde, at your service. And might I say, what charming environs we find ourselves in, matched only by such esteemed company." His eyes rolled over the other figures in that place-between-places. A mission? Well, Constantine knew missions inside and out. But a band of heroes, united by common purpose, all working as one to save the worlds? That sounded rather diverting.

Perhaps, he thought, I'll even be able to finish my dance.

This Wren had been watching her for weeks now. There was nothing unknown at this point, other than when the right time to strike was. The problem with people who had rigid schedules was it took something major for a break in the routine. Every morning she woke and had a breakfast of beans and bread and goat's milk - on weeks end the addition of pork fat sausage makes the breakfast more palatable but no less depressing a reminder of poverty. After breakfast is the market but nothing is purchased, merely perused and mentally noted for later. Later never comes. From the market she arrives. She works at a brothel, a trade managed by the Merchant's Guild. People assume the Merchant's Guild deals only in trade and products like food, spices, poltices, and the like but This Wren knows all too well that the sale of human flesh, the sale of false company is far more profitable than food and goods.

This Wren has been watching her for weeks now. The brothel where she worked was not meant for high class customers. The current Guildmaster has no secrets about his love of working women. It is only frowned upon by those who assume the workers are forced into it. The brothel where she worked was not for the conventionally pretty folk. She had burns all along the side of her face, burns that extended down past her bust on the left side of her body. Her skin was marred and though she put on a smile This Wren knew it was a false one. Few customers wanted to waste their coppers and coins on a whore with rough skin, not when they could get one with a pimpled face but plump attributes. The Madame of this establishment was fat on her own excess and cared little for the men and women that sold their bodies for barely enough to keep living. Between the kickbacks to the Merchant's Guild and the Madame, it was a wonder the workers made anything at all.

This Wren wanted nothing more than to turn her Talons onto the Madame but that was not permitted. It was not This Wren's decision who lived and who died. But the more This Wren watched her, the more This Wren felt sympathies. Who would want this girl dead? A question like that was dangerous. Songbirds didn't question, especially not a Wren. It wasn't love that This Wren felt, just sympathy. The girl, even with that which some would call a 'flaw' made trips to the market every morning and night not to buy or even to consider buying, but to turn her gaze to the produce vendor's son. A strapping lad with broad shoulders and a smile that made up for a shocking lack of business acumen. The whore, such as she was known to This Wren, was in love with someone who would never notice. And for that, it seemed, she had to die.

It would happen tonight. This Wren waited, as she always did, from the shadows, from the rafters, from the front. The brothel didn't pick up business until the day carried on; it was the fiend that bought sex before the sun was high in the sky. But even as the sun grew heavy and the clients came in for their reward after a long day's work, still The Girl was attracting little attention. The meek, burned girl swept the floors. Poured and served the swill. Wore her negligee that couldn't hide the burns as well as it hid her curves. This place had no class. In a dark corner a tavern boy was with a stout man and This Wren was not sure money was exchanged. From behind the fake silken curtains were the sounds of aggression being worked out on people who just worked there. This Wren was not surprised when the working women often showed up with new bruises. This Wren hated it. But The Girl was a bright spot on an otherwise blight of a location. But it would happen tonight.

Every night The Girl would clean rooms after they had served their use. A girl not 'working' was a girl who had to keep things moving for those who were. It would be simple. This Wren would follow into the empty room and draw her Talon across the neck. None within the walls of this establishment would care much. None would cry except, of course, for This Wren. Someone had to mourn the girl who did nothing wrong, who dared to love, who tried to see the best of her unenviable situation. Someone had to care.

The Girl disappeared behind the curtain and This Wren followed. The room was empty. The bed was messed and there was spilled drink in the corner...oh how The Girl hoped it was drink...but the room wasn't empty. The Girl looked into the brown eyes of another woman. This Wren said nothing, how could she when she had given up her voice long ago. The Girl saw something in those eyes, behind their deadly intent. She saw regret. Sorrow. And she understood. She closed her eyes and waited for the warm feeling of her neck being cut and her blood adding to the mess of the room. She thought of Corwin, the produce seller and his beautiful face. She smiled even at the end. But no warmth came. Her eyes opened and the room was empty.

She was alive.

~~

Wren had her hands gripped around her Talon but when she slashed for the neck the only thing she cut was air. What? That wasn't supposed to happen. Wren had never missed a target, had never let one who was supposed to die...live. Her eyes adjusted and she realized that this wasn't the brothel. She was standing underneath some sort of arch with unfamiliar masonry and even more unfamiliar layout. Then came the voices. The voice of the robed man. The voices of the strangers that Wren couldn't really parse. Her leather boots stepped along the brick and greenery towards the chair, the coffin, the crowd.

Questions. She had so many of them, but she could not ask them. All she could do was look. Look at the ones that had been here, wonder where they had come from, where they even were, and how she had gotten here. Her confusion was such that she hadn't even remembered that her hand was still clutching her Talon, a dagger poised and ready to strike. All she needed was a reason. All she could do was listen.

---

---

People fancied their possessions far more than their lives. Luxuries came first, pounded against the cornerstone of each and every foundation. They each swam in masks, gliding from gilded aisle to gilded aisle along the street cobbles. Even the stones sang out, decked in gems so precious under the warm, evening sun. The mountain burdened their trifles and petty dealings. She was the foot with which the boot covered to stomp against the ants below. Solomon's guts roiled at the thought, willing his eyes close.

The din surrounding him chimed, it did not pound like the heavy foot stomps of thin limbed horses. It rang in tittles and prattles against the pristine white of each surrounding building. Bells, chimes, tinkling of glass in their voices - silk, it was, lacking the thick, opaque roughness of turmoil. Every tink grated Solomon's teeth together, a pearled movement of his lips. No one took notice, too busy in their revelry to watch the man in the corner with a gloved hand wound tightly around his cane.

"Dreadful, isn't it?" a crow called behind him. Solomon turned to watch his beady eyes savor the sight of him. A hand outstretched and reflex bid Solomon take it in a firm grasp. They shook while Solomon gestured to his side.

"I have work to do," Solomon said with a furrow in his brows, "trivial compared to this: a party celebrating the culinary genius of toasted rye bread." The man beside him coughed a laugh, catching the sickening twist of Solomon's humor. "You think I'm kidding."

"No, no, I wouldn't dare question the importance of unburnt bread," he paused, perhaps to stare at Solomon's side - he could certainly feel the heat of the gaze. "I apologize, we'd greeted but an introduction must have slipped my mind. Jasper Corbeau," Jasper said, sidling next to Solomon just a slight bit closer.

Years of working these cases tightened Solomon's lips. Relishing in practically sealing a contract seemed amateur. Not a man was as professional as Monsieur Shade. His own hubris wouldn't admit a damn thing. But, he let slip a smile, if only to goad the man further. Jasper mimicked the movement, stepping a midge closer into Solomon's personal space.

For a brief second, Jasper leaned back, eyes carefully watching the crowd of Gents rising in their cacophony. He hummed, casting Solomon a side long glance before giving his suit jacket a shake. "I best leave, the wife comes home tomorrow evening," Jasper mentioned, coughing into his sleeve, "with the home the way it is, she'd have my hide." From behind the mask, his beady eyes twinkled and begged to catch Solomon's own. They winked the minute Solomon turned, the crow taking one last, savoring look at the man before him. There were no rules against preening, even if the disgust in his gut nearly rushed from his mouth.

Even as he left, Solomon couldn't wash out the taste of bile on his tongue. He'd wait, as he would, as he always did, though watching the lunacy before him would only slow that wait down. Knowing the room hung over the front entrance of the manor, Solomon took to one of the wide windows. As most gents, Jasper only afforded the best carriage, the best horse, and contracted the best coach. Solomon squinted his eyes, the world's color flushing from around him as his eyes centered on the man with the ebony crow mask. He glowed, a dim grey aura, against the black and white backdrop of the surrounding street. Solomon's fingers sat as his lips, watching the man sit in his carriage before it glided upwards and around the polished corners of Le Coeur.

Minutes past, then an hour, heavy with Solomon's footsteps against the stone. Marquis Corbeau held a grand title in the Gentry's Court. The Crow offered an intelligence that belittled many of his surrounding colleagues, yet his power belittled them further. He held a large portion of Le Monte, the city surrounding the mountain, and its contracts. That meaning he held a large portion of very valuable, very wanted businesses. It made him both a vastly important ally and a dangerous enemy. Intelligent, cunning, and with an insatiable penchant for playing with his food.

Of course, everyone knew most of Corbeau's power laid his wife. Among the Gentry, Marquise Corbeau held many hidden daggers under contract. If anyone feared a shadow, they feared the Raven above them. In the light, Jasper lead a very debauched lifestyle, even if he presented himself in a pristine manner. Most of his time spent often came in the form of a gentleman's company, seeing as his lovely wife hopped from city to city at a near inhuman pace. She was paranoid. He, on the other hand, couldn't have felt safer. Sophia Corbeau's security measures weren't to be trifled with. If there was anything Solomon hammered in, it was that much, and yet there was always a loophole. And that loophole involved the Marquis' insatiable libido. Which lead Solomon to this very moment, gliding past guard after guard after guard and into Monsieur Corbeau's quite illustrious chambers.

"You looked so," Jasper searched along his lips, already having settled against the finery of his bed, "statuesque. Unobtainable." He gestured toward Solomon, hands flourishing as they raked the air.

Solomon twisted the tie from his neck, loosening the strands of his tunic. His gaze never left the already disheveled man while he further disrobed. "That is not uncommon."

"What, being called a statue?"

"Being considered unobtainable."

"Oh," Jasper crowed, lifting himself onto his elbows. He beckoned Solomon, batting his hands away from the shirt. Cold hands gripped the back of Solomon's neck, pulling him a hair's length from Jasper's lips. "Hm, would I be the first to steal a kiss, then?" he could barely contain the rumbling giggle the puffed hot air against Solomon's lips. It took a considerable amount of strength not to recoil from the man's breath, but Solomon persisted with a cutting smile.

His eyes flickered toward the crow mask sitting on the nightstand. The smile grew considerably dark, shaded heavy against the low light. "I'm certain you'd like to know." Solomon sealed the man's next query with his lips, careful not to taste and only to give Jasper what he'd so desired. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at the man beneath him as he scanned Solomon's face. Jasper licked his lips, drawing them into his mouth a few times with a furrow in his brow.

"What is that? You taste like..." he paused, watching Solomon closely, squinting at the crimson line dripping from his nose. "You... you're bleeding."

As expected. Solomon wiped the blood, examining it with a light chuckle, "Ah, it appears I am. I timed that wrong - clumsy of me."

"What-"

---

---

Blood rushed through Solomon's ears first, a deep trilling sound vibrating against both of his temples. He was positioned tilted forward, still disheveled and - he paused to check his fingers - still bleeding. Despite the blurriness adding to his disorientation, Solomon shoved his hands through the pockets lining his pantaloons. A fit of coughs broke his concentration, lining the stark white of his sleeves in clots of blood. With a curse, Solomon tipped back grasping a clear vial, already uncorked and sinking down his throat. He coughed again, vision still blurred but the ringing in his ears having dissipated.

It took but a few moments with his hands pressed against the soft moss beneath him. Antidotes as shoddy as his took longer than the poison to kick in. It worried Solomon, at first, but having grown used to it in the years, he'd taken to keeping everything in stride. Once the dizziness faded and the black circling his vision disappeared, Solomon cleared his throat and stood. Two deep breaths. The tick in his brow angling down. Then the sudden realization.

"Ah," he muttered, a held breath that constricted his throat.

It seemed that either everything had been terribly misplaced in an unfortunate turn of events. Or, the likelier story, he had been misplaced. Fortune? Misfortune? Solomon couldn't judge among the various faces surrounding him. Peering at him? Or. His eyes followed their gaze to the robed figure before them and the words that flowed from the hood's shadows. After a moment, and deep listening, Solomon concluded the situation had been a fortune, rather than a trifle. Compared to what could have happened, at least.

"I suppose that covers my escape," he mumbled, taking a step closer to the flourishing man and then the lady who voiced her opinions - her skepticism, if the pause gave any hint.

Adding onto her agreement, Solomon turned toward the robed man, as well. "Despite my own success, I seem to have caught myself in a bind," he said, trying not to stare down at his own dishevel, "so, I have no choice but to agree to your terms." As far as first impressions went, it wasn't exactly the worst. That was reserved for being taken captive and tossed around like a piece of meat. At least, he currently only looked the part.

A Falling Angel – Azazael

---

Azazael’s wings softly sliced through the air, the desert below like golden waves upon and endless sea. He flapped his wings every now and then to stay adrift, but other than that the journey was as peaceful as one could imagine. His hair was swept back by the wind, allowing him to view the full glory of the desert, and it’s complete emptiness.

I wonder if the others watch me as we watched the humans. Azazael often pondered upon questions like these when soaring through the desert air, as often there wasn’t much else to think about, just waiting for the next dot on the horizon, the next sign of a town, or caravan. Anything really.

He twisted his head around, like a bird of prey searching for its next meal, and to the left of him, he managed to spot something, and immediately he twisted his body so that he was heading directly for it. It looked like it could be a travelling town, a group of around a hundred people who made their way buying and selling goods wherever they could get the most profit.

As Azazael neared the group, however, he spotted an even smaller dot, and noted that both groups were moving rather quickly for just travelling merchants. A small bundle of light came from the smaller group and went to the other one. Mere seconds later, there was an explosion, the larger party was mostly destroyed, and he could see survivors running in all different directions, flaming animals shrieked as their skin was scorched. They weren’t travelling, they were fleeing, they were being hunted.

His hand reached for his sword and he unsheathed it slowly, he hadn’t quite mastered doing it in flight, and he daren’t drop it. Sword poised and ready to strike, Azazael’s wings narrowed and he started to plummet towards the smaller group. Azazael had to enact justice, for His God was not the kind to interfere in actions. His God was the kind to punish such actions, but he was under the control of His God no more.

Azazael had about ten seconds until he reached the group, and it was now that they began to notice him. Some of the aggressors fled in terror, whereas others stood their ground and fired magic towards him, each one but inches away from the falling fallen angel. Some were as hot as the sun, whereas others engulfed the space around them in darkness, it was weird, Azazael had never seen magic like this bef-

And then they were gone. Replaced, to Azazael’s dismay, by moss-covered stone, which his face promptly collided with. His sword fell out of his grip and his wings quickly disappeared from sight. He pulled up from the newly appeared floor and checked for major injuries. Luckily, he had managed to arrest his fall enough to prevent anything too bad, he didn’t even have blood trailing down his nose.

”Well that’s… Strange.” That was the best response to the situation Azazael could muster, seeing as he was more than likely slightly concussed. He shook his head and pressed his hands against his eyes, trying to out the black spots that swirled in his vision. Looking back up he finally managed to assess his current situation.

He was somewhere, this was certain. There were walls and plants and statues and everything. But where? There was nowhere at all like this on Jato, that he knew of. He swept down to pick up his sword, he didn’t want to be caught out in a foreign environment with nothing to defend himself.

The pathway before him was narrow, not entire supported, and very old. This entire place seemed absolutely ancient to him, and he had watched civilizations form and fall in front of his very eyes. Bringing out his wings and spreading them, Azazael soared up into the air, and gazed down upon a network of intricate paths and archways, all leading to a focal point. In the middle of it all was someone sat upon a chair, adorned in elaborate robes and apparently uninterested or ignorant to the group of peculiar people that had begun to form around him.

Was he part of the mages attacking the caravan? It was unlikely, but Azazael would rather not take a chance, so he slowly flew down, right in front of what would be his archway, and kept his sword drawn at all times. His feet gently stroked the ground before his wings folded away and disappeared.

"Welcome to the Gateway, a place between places..” The man’s speech began, and continued on about creatures and fragments and worlds, but before Azazael had a chance to process the entire thing, voices picked up, more and more people asking different questions, introducing themselves and generally being loud and annoying. Azazael’s patience was wearing thin, but he was intrigued as to where the robed man would take them next. He also couldn’t help but wander what had become of the caravan that he’d tried to save. By now they were most likely dead, but it was out of Azazael’s power to do anything to save them. This man had killed them all, even if he had no knowledge of it, they were dead due to him.

The robed man stood still for most of the performances and replies, only smiling slightly to himself as he listened. Seeing as everyone had arrived though, he stepped forward and waved his hand for a moment, and in that moment there was silence. Each person could feel it, like a bubble wrapped around the area that halted anyone from speaking out loud - and even if they tried, there would be nothing but stillness in their voices. Slowly and with a fluid motion, he slipped his hand back into his robe and relaxed his shoulders as he gathered the attention of the group.

_@Onarax
He first stepped to Asif and gave a kind, if serious, smile. "Never did the word 'hero' pass my lips, shop keeper." His eyes glanced over the others for a moment. "As for your 'quest reward,' well.. I can only hope saving your own world, your loved ones, and your homes will be sufficient for a reward because that is exactly what is at stake. Perhaps you don't care for yours anymore - in which I will have to depend on your good graces to lead the others there when the time comes." With that moment, he moved on.

_{@SimpleD@Fabricant451@Blu}
He then turned to Wren, Icarus, and Fayte, smirking slightly - knowingly. "These are good questions to ponder. A questing mind is a healthy one, to which I'm happy to indulge. Suffice to say you are all here for a reason, because this creature went to your worlds and you - all of you - are figures of noticeable power. So I have called upon you to help guide everyone to seeking this shadowy beast and defeating it, and thus capturing it's essence. As for my role.. even the magics at my command cannot meet the full might of this company. It is best I play guide between worlds."

_@McHaggis
To which he then looked directly at Sunstone and kept that same expression on his face. "Oh, you have no idea how useful you are.. a warrior you may not be, but not all problems are solved with prowess and battles. Sometimes the silent step and a quiet breath can lead one to many more treasures than a blade. You have a place here." The tone his spoke was confident, straight forward, but he quickly addressed the next person.

_{@Roosan@HalfOfLancelot@Oskar DiLondra}
To Constantine and Solomon, he simply nodded in acknowledgment, letting them know he had heard their words before looking to the angel. "And forgive the sudden upheaval of your arrival here, especially you.. powerful as the magic may have been that brought you here, it was not of my choosing how or when you got here. For while to my eyes, you arrived at the same moment, time flows here very differently than the worlds. Do not worry however, I have done my best to coat them in protection spells..."

_{@MonkeyBusiness}
As soon as he stopped speaking, he suddenly appeared in front of the alchemist and adorned a very stoic expression. "I would suggest against it, scientist. Wandering into even the same archway as before will land you into nothingness or a random world among thousands." Drawing a deep sigh and walking a little bit to the man's right. "I know your world of science and chemicals.. and this is far removed from your understanding, but magic does exist. However if you wish to leave your world to ruin by the creature, then I shall promptly return you to your world. I'm sure those willing to stay can manage without your guidance - even though your help would be sorely missed."

_{@Dynamo Frokane}
To which he addressed the last person, nodding a few times to the hunter and replying with a loud enough voice so that everyone could hear him clearly. "It is not like normal creatures or even those beasts of magical nature. It finds dwelling in any way it can, as it does not feel cold or hot or hunger or tire. It does not breed or mate.. instead, it is a creature of shadows and darkness. It will find the greatest weakness of heart and latch onto it. Often, these things are the most evil of your worlds.. it was force itself into the person, promising power, take over their being and feed off their energy to become stronger." He paused, thoughtfully for a second. "Think, if the most evil thing in your world is a queen, it was take her over and begin to rule the lands as a tyrant. If the most evil thing is a souless husk of bones and flesh, it was become an abomination of amazing power that tramples across the land. It is adaptable, if anything else..."

Drawing in a deep breath, he waved his hand again and the bubble of silence lifted from the area. He stood back once more and put his hands outwards, as if to address the entire group. "This pla-" Violently and without notice, a high pitched sound radiated from behind the group, causing the robed man to pause and tense, magical energies swirling around his form with ease. A loud snap echoed and a light flashed, nearly blinding everyone in the singular moment. In it's wake, there was the image of a woman. Her blue eyes shined in the light as her golden blonde hair was braided in the back, simply so. She wore a skirt which was blue with white roses imprinted onto them, then a plain blue shirt - no arms, weapons, or anything to speak of. She stood tall though, almost regal, like royalty as she scanned over the crowd in confusion.

There was a moment of silence before she spoke out, leaning on her hip and folding her arms, much in a demanding way. ".. and what is this? Why have I been summoned here?" Her voice reflected her demeanor, royal, elegant, and yet blunt and forward. She stood this way, looking at them as if expecting a clear answer, before the robed man put his hands down and gave her an equally confused look.

"... you're from Camelot."

"I am. And you are?"

The robed man pursed his lips and for the first time, seemed to be thrown off guard. Slowly, he relaxed and started to pace back and forth. "I cannot summon people from Camelot.. but you are here... but if you are here.." He stopped and looked at everyone. "Then this is a greater threat than I realized." To which the woman only raised an eyebrow. The man however rubbed his chin for a few moments. "I see now. We must visit Camelot first, lest all is lost.. yes. When you are all ready, you need only step through this portal -" as he waved a hand towards a nearby archway that fluttered into a view, showing a field of lavender, "- and she will be lead you."

As he started back up the steps, he paused once more and let out a thoughtful 'hm.' "And if you doubt her claim to lead, only ask her to summon her blade.. you will understand.." Slowly, he faded from sight, leaving the entire group to their own devices - and to the mysterious woman.

"My blade? ... is it so famous as to transverse other worlds?" Though said out loud, it seemed to be more of a question to herself, her posture relaxing a little before hardening into seriousness once again, her eyes gazing over the crowd. "... well then. What is the purpose of this gathering?" Her eyes again found the entire group, as if expecting someone to just jump forth and explain everything to her.

As a chorus of voices rose to answer the newcomer’s question, Constantine allowed his eyes to slide off her and back to the others. So many new faces to learn, names to remember and so on. Obviously some would be more important and interesting than others; the long haired one shooting his mouth off seemed rather too full of himself to be worth talking to much. Some of the others caught Lord Wylde’s eye, however. The silent girl with the knives was a an intriguing figure, the armoured giant an enticing enigma and even the winged one might be worth a few words.

The one that captured his attention most, however, was the second best dressed person in the room, the tall woman in red with darting eyes and many jewels. She had a practised scepticism in her speech, held herself like a woman of independent means and was now appraising the chatter with a critical eye. Constantine got the sense she was used to watching without being seen and so when their eyes met, he leapt forward with a bow and an apology, carefully kissing the proffered ring.

“Please pardon my curiosity, my lady, I am simply entranced with the fabrics of your dress. They float and shimmer quite unlike any I’ve seen before, and yet look more solid than they’ve any right to be. I confess I am baffled to their substance and origin, would you deign to clear away my confusion?”

Sunstone had done this before. It was a step in a dance she was more than familiar with. The music and rhythm of it might have been a little strange, and that it took place under a void instead of a ceiling of solid rock was disconcerting enough, but it was little surprise that courts and courtiers were the same worlds over.

Granted, usually it was her kissing rings, but adaptability had always been a strong suit of hers. It was nice, she realised, to be mistaken for someone of concrete status or noble birth. Her importance was usually tied to the Empress, and there was no such Empress around to argue her worth.

So she smiled, curtseyed (without complaint), and revelled in the brief return to normality. “It’s made of spidersilk,” Sunstone said. Did other worlds have spiders? Did other worlds have spiders like hers? It was worth an explanation. “The smaller the spider, the more magnificent––and expensive––the dress becomes. As you might imagine, no expense was spared in the creation of this one.”

Although, she hadn’t paid for it from her own pocket.

”The silk of spiders? How interesting… I had never considered trying to make clothes from webs. I shall remember it for when I am back in Lyonse.” The last few words were murmured, mostly for the man’s own benefit. In the back of his mind, he was already plotting his comeback to Lyonse, bigger and better than before.

Sunstone quirked a brow, but otherwise didn’t interrupt the mumbling. “Lord Wylde, wasn’t it?” The name was nothing like either of hers, nor any other she had heard of in Bedrock or beyond. “You can call me Sunstone. Charmed.”

”Indeed, Lord Constantine Wylde, of Anglia. Or, I suppose, of the Circle Sea” Sensing a flicker of confusion in the lady’s eyes, he continued. “I come from a wide ocean, populated with islands. Anglia is one of them, Lyonse another, the Centre another and so on. Is your world similar?”

“We don’t have any ‘seas’ or ‘islands’,” Sunstone admitted, though she would never admit to not knowing what either of those were. Logic brought her to the conclusion that most other worlds had not yet been ravaged by magic, and that they still had skies to sleep under. “There are only four cities. Lamplit, Mountainside, The Ravine, and Bedrock. Bedrock is ‘the foundation of the Empire upon which every brick of civilisation is built’.” It was finished with the dull recital of a tagline committed to memory, complete with an appropriate eyeroll. “I should start calling myself Sunstone of Bedrock––although it isn’t quite as catchy.”

Constantine nodded slowly. ”These cities of yours sound mountainous and rocky, like the island of Talones. Should we visit my home in the course of our adventures, we’ll have to make a stop there, the views from the cliffs of insanity are simply breathtaking. Do you perhaps have great peaks and ranges like that in your world?

“Of course. Mostly in Mountainside, hence the name, but elsewhere too. I’m sure it’s very similar. I don’t doubt that the views are more interesting in your Talones, however, unless you have an intense love of granite architecture.”

“I prefer marble, but of course to each their own.”

Sunstone smiled in commiseration and turned to the activated portal. She did not want to be the first to go through, just as she didn’t want to be one of the screeching rats released into mine-shafts down in Bottomrung to test for toxic fumes. “Although it seems we’ll have to go through whatever land is on the other side of that, first. What even is that?”

“It looks not unlike a portal I once saw deep in the caves under the Centre. There was a cult and a mad priest and an awful lot of shouting at the time, I seem to remember. Still, I foiled their plan, rescued their virgin sacrifice and…” Constantine trailed off in mid grandiose retelling. There had been something off about his companion’s voice as she stared, or rather, glared at the portal. Looking more closely, she seemed almost… nervous.

“Perhaps, Lady Sunstone, you would do me the honour of taking my arm as we go through the portal?” He said, offering a bent arm and an easy, reassuring smile. “I must admit that my appearance here unsettled me somewhat and I am less than confident in our mysterious benefactor’s ability to guide us safely to a new world. At least this way there’ll be a friendly face wherever we end up.”

Sunstone nodded, and accepted Constantine’s offer graciously. She was no stranger to reassurance, though once again she was usually on the other side of it, less than genuine. “I’m sure we won’t be torn apart by forces beyond our control, either,” Sunstone said.

And so they followed the others into the portal and the unknown.

Icarus

After Icarus asked his question, he glanced around at the others as a number of them raised their own, indicating that most of them were as in the dark in this situation as he was. For a moment it seemed the situation may descend into chaos, an outcome Icarus expected as such a large group of individuals were unlikely to be in total agreement.. Before anything could spiral out of control though, the robed man stepped forward and made a simple gesture, an action that would rarely command such attention if not for the dramatic effect that accompanied it.

Silence once more settled across these ancient ruins, its sudden onset drawing the attention back to the central figure as the robed man’s motions now commanded the attention of the group once more. Curious to test the power of the spell and its caster, Icarus attempted to make a sound but found it fruitless, there was naught but stillness in the area until the robed figure finally spoke once more. Listening to the answers to the various questions the group had posed, Icarus found that despite the confidence in the figures statements, the lack of concrete answers was somewhat unsettling. ’Either they wish to keep some of the information to themselves or this seems more like a best guess situation. Guess I should have spent more time learning about magic for situations like these’ Icarus mused to himself with a brief grin, as much as he enjoyed the thought of being prepared for everything the concept of being prepared enough to handle summons across worlds was far-fetched enough to be humourous

The grin quickly faded though at the description of the beast they would be hunting. Icarus’s world already had plenty of evil scattered across its surface, from large nations warring over profits and riches to individuals sacrificing everything in pursuit of their goals. This creature would have no shortage of potential hosts to choose from and if it could amplify their powers or worse yet attune to any of the magical artifacts across his world ’ I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said the fate of the world was at stake, I only hope this group is as powerful as he believes we are.’ Icarus thought to himself darkly, his mind already considering a number of apocalyptic outcomes that could take root by the time he returned to his own world. Shaking his head, Icarus pushed the thought to the back of his mind for the momentGiven that possibility, I really do have no choice but to go along with this, there is no way I am going to solve that problem myself when it arises.

Any further thoughts Icarus may have had for the moment were interrupted, first by the silence being lifted from the area and secondly by the violent noise that immediately followed. Icarus turned to face the sound, watching the light show play out as the newest arrival joined the summoned group. As the image of the figure settled, and the conversation played out between the newcomer and the robed figure, Icarus couldn’t help but grin. Though the newcomer had the commanding air of royalty (or perhaps just nobility) ingrained in their very demeanor, the blunt and rough nature at least indicated that she was unlikely to be the pampered noble that was so very painful to deal with.

As the newcomer asked her question to the group, Icarus offered a simple answer. “The usual situation for summoning a group across world. A creature of unimaginable power is hiding amongst our planets and seeks to corrupt or amplify the existing evil within them, turning them into a desolate world that none of us would call home.” Icarus explained with a hint of humour, though he added with a more serious tone while gesturing towards the archway that now showed what he could only assume was her home world “Given the ‘information’ provided by our mutual benefactor, it seems to have nested in your world first.”

If anyone else wanted to give a more elaborate explanation they were free to as Icarus turned his attention to the gathered group once more. It would be important for the group to get to know each other better at some point, and there were quite a few individuals that had already caught Icarus’s attention. As he looked amongst the group Icarus noted that some of the others had already had the same idea as he spied what he assumed were two nobles already conversing amongst themselves. For the moment though Icarus held back, he could only assume there would be a better time to exchange pleasantries with the rest of the group than outside an enigmatic portal of unknown destinations, and possibly unknown results. It would be a pain to get to know someone only for this portal to fail.

For the moment his attention returned to their designated guide for the world they were about to embark upon, both curious about the importance of the world and the importance of this individual. Based on the reaction's of the one who had summoned them here he could only assume there was something of great importance about her

The Painted Hunstman – Azazael

---

Azazael’s eyebrow raised as the robed man spoke to him of his concerns. A mind reader? I’ll have to stay aware of that, could be dangerous, never enjoyed people who have more knowledge than they should. At least his motives seem decent, that’s a starting point I suppose. And, whoever you are, I can assume you’re listening to everything I’m thinking now, how reassuring. Azazael smirked as the summoner moved on to the others in the group.

As the summoner did so, Azazael glanced around the gathering a second time, trying to garner more information than he had managed to previously. Sometimes you have to know your friends better than your enemies, for it can be hard to tell the two apart. Everyone in the group was rather attractive, as if they’d been written as a hero from the tales of old, and two in particular seemed to already be getting rather closely acquainted.

What Azazael had noticed in particular was that, apart from himself, three other people had chosen not to speak, the girl clutching her knife as if it was her lifeline, the seemingly mechanical man looking for a way out, and a long haired man with a painted face. All were of similar age to himself (or so they appeared), but looking much younger, their face was not marked by a tough life, well, apart from the blond man with a painted face clutching a bow, a most impractical weapon, too unreliable, especially in harsh winds. But, for all the impracticality of the weapon, the way in which the summoner spoke to him implied the thoughts of a huntsman, so a good person to interrogate about the practicalities of hunting creatures, even if this creature was like something they had never seen before.

Just as Azazael was to head over to the painted huntsman, there was a screeching as if thousands of crickets were erupting in turmoil, and a girl appeared, with an air of authority around her, well-armed and instantly the centre of attention. Azazael despised people who evidently knew their own importance, sufferers of pride, so questioning her would have to come later, for she obviously had something that no one else here did. It was for this reason that Azazael was relieved when someone else decided to speak first, he was not in a prime position to answer questions such as the one just posed. She definitely had power, but to what extent, Azazael did not know, he would have to try and discover what her capabilities were.

Deciding against revealing his wings once more, Azazael strolled over to the painted hunstman and held out his hand, “Azazael Redde, Fallen Angel. Shall we?” Azazael beckoned towards the portal that had just opened, and gave the hunstman a thin-lipped grin, eager to discover what this man could discover.

Wren held the grip on her dagger all the harder when the stranger in the robe spoke up. She hadn't asked questions. She COULDN'T ask questions, merely think them. And yet he spoke to her as if she had spoken as easily as the others around them. That was unheard of. No one could read minds, no one could look into the head of someone unless it was on the chopping block and the axe has been brought down. Who was this person? More importantly, who were these people? She heard the voice speak, but she understood even less than before. There was talk of worlds. Of saving them? Helping them? Wren was skeptical. How could she not be given what she was hearing. The one that believed words from strangers were the ones that wound up taken advantage of.

Wren only took a cursory glance at the others gathered. She didn't know their strengths, their weaknesses, or anything beyond the physical, but already she was thinking of ways to make their lives shorter. There was something to be said of civility, yes, but it was the soon to be dead that didn't plan ways to take out the people you met in these situations. Some of these people looked dangerous, but Wren did not see any who had the same eyes as her. The eyes of someone with true remorse. With an empty heart. How could any of them truly consider themselves killers otherwise.

It was only when the high pitched sound reached her ears that Wren flinched and loosened her grip. It wasn't deafening but it was noticeable. Audible. And alarming. Once she regained her composure from the sound, the grip tightened further. Was this a test? A target? Some threat? There were others around but Wren had gone so unnoticed. WOuld continue to be. And it would be easy to Sing her way closer, to slide her Talon across whatever neck was responsible. But instead she gasped and nearly dropped her dagger to the floor. Blinking didnt change the scene. Nor did closing her eyes and re-opening them.

Whatever conversation the robed figure was having with the new arrival was lost on Wren's ears, for her eyes were already taken, quite taken in fact, by the blonde woman whose siren call alerted her arrival. Wren had felt something like this before, an affection from a glance, but it was rare that it caught her off guard. Rare that it made her nearly drop her weapon. Rarer still that made her sheathe it. And yet she did, putting her Talon back in its nest. The last time Wren had felt something like this, she was forced to take the other's life.

Wren was still curious as to why she was here. Why any of them were. But the answer was secondary now. For Wren, for that ever foolish girl, she only wanted to get closer. But for now, she remained behind. In the shadows. Watching. Observing. Hoping that this time...would not end in tears.

_@SimpleD
As the small company looked to Morgan and mostly let Icarnus speak to her, she moved her eyes across the group before settling on the red knight. "Has it?" she replied with a light pursing of her lips. "... there are a number of creatures that could cause great harm to Camelot.. but the most obvious.." A spark of urgency crossed her face before standing up straight and adorning a scowl. With a sudden rush of energy to her steps, she started to march to the archway, stopping halfway and pronouncing her voice with purpose.

"It is best that you follow my guide, for one particular reason alone - for in Camelot, I share the royal crown with my brother. I am the queen." She let the slip of information soak in for a moment. "With me, you'll be granted safe passage in all of the kingdom without question, so long as you behave and keep civil." The queen then smirked. "Though by all means, if you come across ogres, feel free to strike them down... they are an unruly, cruel lot." At this point, she already saw that a few of them had started to pair off. In the back, though, she saw the mysterious man once more talking among a few of them.

_{@Oskar DiLondra}
Towards the back with Halen & Azazael, the robed man appeared and pulled the hunter away for a moment in gentle whispers. Before long, the hunter had disappeared in a dim flash of magical dust as he walked past the angel and smiled lightly. "Apologizes... it seems the creature is restless.. and the hunter - since the danger was no longer present - wished to return home." His aura had changed a little, apparently more than happy to let the young queen lead the company. Though he faded into the background, he did not fade like before and instead sat upon his chair - however another had disappeared as well by this time.

_{@Fabricant451}
Shifting to lean on her hip, thoughtfully, she shrugged lightly as if the reduction of the party didn't not bother her much. In truth, she was unsure what to feel or what to think, but whether she liked it or not, it seemed fate could not let her adventure alone. Drawing in a breath to speak again, her eyes seemed to suddenly find Wren's own, giving her pause. It would be noticeable to anyone paying attention and likely more than obvious to the mute girl, but she shuffled lightly in place as if uncomfortable, which seemed odd for the young queen. ".. either way, you may call me Morgan, though in the castle, it may be prudent to say 'your majesty'.. despite that I care little for the crown.." Biting her lip for a split second, she looked away from Wren and gestured to the archway. "By all means - welcome to Camelot. These are the lavender fields north of Ouset. It is not a long journey to the castle itself from here." Morgan stood to the side and watched as the strangers stepped through the portal, briefly curious how important Excalibur truly was to other-worlders. Again, her eyes caught the small songbird, giving the woman a gentle smile as she passed.

Icarus watched with a hint of curiosity to see how Morgan reacted to the news of the situation unfolding on her planet, eager to know more about the person who would be their guide in the world. She held herself with a regal air, her reaction seemed to indicate someone who had dealt with hardships and difficult situations before. ’And she can already think of a number of creatures that may trouble her planet, she either is well experienced in combat or has a great knowledge of her land’ Icarus reasoned to himself, finding her almost eager rush to battle in her own world as she headed for the archway a very positive trait for someone who would be relying on to lead them around.

The news that she was a Queen confirmed Icarus’s suspicion that Morgan was of a high class but even with that in mind he was still caught off guard to hear she was a Queen. Unconsciously his hand reached down and fingered the hilt of his sword for a moment, his interactions with royalty in his own world had left a poor taste in his mouth though he did wish to give this woman the benefit of the doubt, especially given the free passage it would give them throughout the kingdom. ”Hmm Ogre’s, that sounds like a brutish name for a creature. I think I’ll look forward to the chance to strike some down” Icarus mused out loud, his overall opinion of Morgan still uncertain as she seemed to be unlike any of the Royal’s from his world.

Reserving his judgements for now, it would be far to unfair to make any rash assumptions of her character as of yet. He followed her gaze to the back of the group, where the robed man seemed to finish a conversation with one of their companions who then vanished. Only catching a snippet of the conversation he quickly counted the remaining companions and noted that another had disappeared as well. Icarus had originally kept to himself somewhat as he was uncertain if everyone was going to be sticking around, but now that they were going to travel to another world it seemed more likely that the remaining members would stick around. Glancing at Azazael he commented “Well that’s lucky for those few, though they miss quite an opportunity at least they don’t need to worry about a world destroying beast. Names Icarus, yours?”

Walking with the rest of the group through the portal, he gave the Queen a curious glance but turned his attention to the visions displayed in the archway, somewhat eager to see what this new world held.