The daunting stairs before them practically greeted her every unsteady step, taking, supporting and seemingly guiding her feet gently, even though such a thing was not possible since they were merely unmoving stairs, yet still the journey down them with the confident, sharp dressed gentleman at her side was near effortless.

”Wouldn’t do good to have you falling now.” He said subtly as if reading her thoughts but answering nothing. Then they were at the table.

@Pasion Pasiva

Dorian cut through the gazes as he made his way to table. His own dark eyes falling upon the apparently frail meek young woman. For a split passing moment their eyes connected and a world of depth reflected in them back upon her.

“She needs a seat.” He simply said with a soft apologetic smile as he helped Alex into a nearby chair.
“Keep an eye on her and everything is on house for you tonight.”

“Here you go.” He said to Alex as he finished helping her down. Half embracing her as gently he assisted her.

Without waiting for any further reply he was gone. Traversing across the tavern floor with the soft clacking of his shoes. His head nodded in greeting to the others he passed. Flashes of a warm welcoming smile being handed out generously.

@MasterLink “I hope your horse found his way to the stables out back, we have a surplus of carrots at the moment that I’m sure it would love. You didn’t leave it out in this stormy weather did you?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, carrying on to the bar where he began busily pouring a multitude of various drinks into an array of different styled drinking containers.

How long had he been wandering through this lightless and empty void? One aeon? Two? A million? Did it even matter at this point? Of course not. Time as humans knew it was a meaningless thing to an eternal being such as him, this much Samael knew all too well. Why it was almost as meaningless as whatever mundane and utterly banal passtimes those same hairless apes enjoyed partaking in, yet the latter had been of some use to him even then. A man could not declare himself king without a realm and subjects to rule, nor a lineage to proclaim, and while he had the first and the last in excess, it was that second part which drove him so. Samael had sworn in those ageless halls, in the days before time itself had even began, before the face of his father and the face of his brother that he would rule all one way or another. That was why he hunted man, why he tempted him so.

For humans were nothing if not easily swayed towards whatever destructive or impulsive whims they happened to have in mind at any given moment; this despite being made in the image of a supposedly infallible and ineffable god. To the point where they would sign away all that they were to him just to keep chasing the next high. How fortunate they were, then, to have a king as gracious as he. One who would fulfill their each and every desire in exchange for their immortal souls. A steep price for many, but a meager sum for those whose lustful exuberances ensured they walked forevermore with one foot in the grave. Granted, it wasn't always that easy. Especially not with the subtle approach he took. Most took years to corrupt, while the more morally upstanding ones took even longer than that, though they all gave way in the end - just like the earth to water. That was part of the reason why he had made his way through the primordial chaos between worlds in the first place, to find new souls to hunt now that those residing within his universe had dragged themselves to the endless pleasures-and gilded chains-of Hell at long last.

To that end he called forth his sword-a jet of flame so bright and so pure that it turned even the all-encompassing night of the void to day-and parted the un-space which lay around him, opening a rift just large enough for a man of average height to pass through. His target had been carefully chosen from the start, for it was a strange nexus that should not have existed to begin with, one that managed to attract all manner of folk from as many walks of life as there were grains of sand in the sea. That alone made it the perfect hunting ground so far as he was concerned, and the fact that it was an establishment which lowered one's inhibitions was merely icing on the proverbial cake. Nevertheless, he passed over, lighting upon the muddy road that lay on the other side.

With nary more than a thought he dispelled the weapon-having no further use for it at the moment-and straightened his attire. Checking that everything was in the right place, he set off down the winding path a moment later, though calling it such lended it more credence than it truly deserved. It really was little more than the vaguest outline of a road snaking off into the distance, one that any mortal would be lucky not to wind up lost on. The journey took some time by an outsider's estimation, yet for the angel himself it had passed in the blink of an eye. Resting his hand against the tavern's weathered door, Samael pushed it aside and stepped into the warmth beyond. A quick glance was all he spared the building's patrons as he proceeded to the bar to order a drink-one caught very little by brooding ominously in the shadows after all-though it was more than enough time for him to get the measure of them.

More than a few weren't human. A surprise to be sure, but not an altogether unmanageable one. The rest were varying degrees of human or mortal. Some more advanced, some less, yet all equally enticing prey.

The door to this nameless tavern banged back on iron hinges; the newest arrival on the landing heedless of the pairs of eyes that swung her way as she calmly stepped through and swung the door shut again.

She cut a menacing figure among that eclectic crowd, being clad in a severe-cut red and black uniform overcoat. An iron cuirass topped by a two-headed eagle gleamed from her chest as the remaining rain water sluiced across and down onto the floor and her knee-length jackboots. There were few identifying marks on this woman to tell exactly who or what she was. But to those who were in the know, their hearts would have sunk as the the brunette's darkened eyes glowered from beneath her peaked cap.

She was Severina Raine - Commissar, 11th Antari Rifles of the God-Emperor's Imperial Guard. And she was here to ruin someone's day.

Her gaze swept across the various tables and booths that populated the ground level until she located who she was looking for. Placing a black glove on the pommel of her power sword, she calmly strode up to one of the tables and sternly cleared her throat to the three men who sat around it.

"Gentlemen," she curtly cut in, interrupting the trio's game of cards. "You're overdue back at barracks."

The Antari Guardsmen froze. One of the men dropped the cards he was holding out of shock, while another - wisely - immediately got out of his seat and left, leaving a credit behind where he had been. The third man, back facing to the Commissar, made no move.

Severina glowered, her burrow furrowed beneath her cap's brim. "Guardsman Verrak!" she reiterated. "You will return to barracks immediately."

Verrak turned in his seat. "Naht until ah finish ma game." the man slurred, his breath reeking of overindulgence in alcohol.
"Giles, don't!" his compatriot warned, scraping his seat back in preparation to leave.
"Ah, sha' down!" Verrak rumbled clumsily to the other.

Severina's patience broke.

A hand shot forth, grabbing Verrak by the lapels and heaving him out of his seat, sending the latter violently clattering onto the floor. Verrak - despite his state - struck back, shoving the Commissar out and away from him and cracked a fist forward. Years of Scholea training took over for Raine; she ducked the clumsy blow and hammered a fist into Verrak's chest. Verrak landed, back first onto the floor, his inebriation rapidly giving way to blinding rage as - with a shout - he shot to his feet and charged forward.

A fatal mistake. A second blow sent the man flying back into his table, sending both man and the booth's contents to the floor with a violent crash. Verrak's will to fight finally gave out; concussed and bruised, he could only stare stupified as the shadow of the Commissar cut into his vision again, swallowing the tavern's lighting in his sight whole.

"90 days confinement to barracks, penal duties and loss of month's pay, Guardsman Verrak. Consider yourself fortunate that you're not up on a charge of assaulting an Astra Militarum officer!" Severina growled. She shot a glare to the other Antari and gestured to the fallen Guardsman. "Get him back to barracks, Guardsman Eckhart, or you will be joining him!"

As the two men limped out of the tavern, Severina removed her brimmed cap and shook her scarred head sadly to herself. Realising that the brief exchange of blows had caused some damage to local property, she tucked the cap underneath one of her jacket's arms and strode up to the bar counter, intending to settle the matter.

The hulking mass of a nine foot tall man with broad shoulders eclipses the open tavern door. His gargantuan hand clutching the door frame. His face is darkened by a hood, attached to a strangely thick looking coat. He breathes heavily as he squeezes past the threshold awkwardly.

As he steps into some lighting, his face and hand are illuminated, they are covered in what appears to be freshly pink scar tissue. A multitude of silver facial piercings, glimmer in the light of the day, shining through the overhead hatched opening, which bathes the room in a warm glow. It revealed an ugly muzzle, adorned with strangely fashioned facial hair. A strangely taboo looking individual, at least that’s how he felt he looked to strangers.

Salvador’s custom made coat is jet black, and looks almost reflective. Though anyone guessing, would find it difficult to tell what kind of material the coat is made from. As he takes another step in, something looking like balloons tied to his back also squeeze in. They jumble around and reorganize themselves, seemingly of their own accord.

When Salvador solemnly stands away from the entrance, to make room for others, he appears almost meek. At least in body language, not so much in stature. Like a shy teddy bear. When the pack of eight “balloons” move into place, with their slightly obscured tubes, they look almost like a set of wings in arrangement.

But they aren’t really balloons, it’s just the nature of them that resembles those. Anyone standing close enough would see clearly that they’re floating glass bags, filled with something of a reddish-gold tint. Something within them, bubbling, maybe even boiling? It’s hard to tell. The man has a belt with a few daggers nested safely in their holsters.

He takes stout steps and pulls back his hood. Revealing an inside lined with short metallic blades of some kind. His bald head is then etched in reddening lines, drawing deeper. Then, the blood bubbles and seeps back in and molten tendrils slither out. Now the contents of the glass bags seem more telling.

The tendrils form thin but flexible blades that move independently from each other and their host. Then they further form mouths, and heads resembling that of many tangled cobras. Although they also lay a bit flat, like actual hair. Somewhat like dreadlocks, if they were wide, iron, and sentient. It’s tamer towards the base of the skull. Though, they can also change their length at will, they’re roughly the same length, at current.

The towering heap of a man smiles grimly as he stands at the bar and looks for a bartender.

He asks in a deep, reverberant voice for two drinks, to no one in particular. One of the beverages non-alcoholic. His hands are trembling, but his jade eyes show kindness and patience.

He then notices a sign that didn’t appear to be there before that says only; “Get it yourself.”

A small child with ruffled short brown hair and an owl mask runs in the doors shortly after, to hide behind him from the strangers, like she doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a bit chubby, wearing a small striped blue and white outfit that seems to be made of a stretchy material.

“Sal, Sal. Dad.” she says in a hushed whisper. “Can we get something to eat too?” She asks sweetly, and loudly, tugging at his hands that are almost as big as her. He puts his hand to his pointed goatee, as if to think and then nods with a brighter smile. “Okay, but I think we’ll have to find and make it ourself.” He tells her, in a louder voice.

He grabs from behind the counter a bottle of rum, trying to sneak it past her and looks for something else. He finds a cooler case labeled “juice”, tucked away in a corner behind the counter and he picks out some iced apple juice in a carton for her. Ruka points to the counter sternly with a frown. Her dad puts the rum back on the counter, from behind his back and looks ashamed. Ruka smiles and grabs a carton of grape juice to hand to him. She giggles and pats his side.

Then he picks her up like she weighs absolutely nothing and sets her on top of his shoulder to look more closely for a menu. He assumes it will be higher up. The snakes are careful to keep their distance from her. But the snake hair can and does easily smooth out their edges to allow her to pet them. And they become more dormant and friendly around Ruka. Almost becoming more playful themselves.

“Ruka, no need to hide.” He says to her as he motions to her ears. Ruka pulls her owl mask back behind her head. It looks the same upside down as up right. There are earmuffs behind the mask and she holds onto them, then hesitantly pulls them down to her neck. She smiles and tells Sal they should make “something vegetarian” for herself, and “some kind of very rare meat” for him. She produces a small cloth bag and pours it onto the counter to leave behind for anyone as payment. It’s an almost endless supply of wooden coins. The bag is seemingly bottomless.

“You know those won’t work here Ruka, you know better than to try and pass those off as currency.” Salvador apologizes profusely to onlookers for their rudeness as he helps his daughter pick them up and scoop them back into the bag. Even the snakes help, to individually pick up coins. “I wonder if I can start a tab of some sort here?” He asks, with uncertainty in his voice, standing back up.

He looks around once more, to make sure no one’s there and rereads the sign. “Get it yourself!” It reads. “Did someone add an exclamation mark to that sign?” He scratches his brow. Then shrugs and steps around the counter to fumble around for ingredients. The oven and such are all within visible range and reaching distance.

He then notices someone behind the counter he didn’t see before. His daughter jumps back behind him, with a remarkable sense of agility, his balloons lowering automatically to let her through. She hides and braces with her earmuffs, closing her eyes whilst his metal snakes flare up on alert, just out of reflex.

He then senses that there is no danger at the time coming from this person, and lowers his guard and turns around, to tap Ruka’s shoulder and tell her it’s okay to do the same. Salvador again apologizes and steps back to the other side of the counter to ask the sharply dressed man for their meals.

He doesn’t mean to impose on the mysterious server. Sal does not expect a speedy response, as the man prepares drinks. And seems just a bit busy. Salvador is unsure whether he should feel bad for sneaking behind the counter for the juice boxes but Ruka swiftly pokes him and shakes her head, disapprovingly. As if picking up on her father’s feelings of guilt.

@Dark Light

An, elf huh? Krin looked the boy up and down after downing the vile draught in his glass "Do I look like a bartender boy?" he said, voice sounding rough as he swallowed the swill "I ain't your nurse maid kid. Get it yourself. " he slid the bottle over to the boy, grumbling about elf this and noble that it was hard to make out with the commotion coming from nearby.

@MasterLink

Krin turned staring at the Commissar, lady was damn intimidating but not enough to make an old warrior like him shake in his boots like some of the nannies who noticeably inched away from her. She was just another person in the bar, unlike a fucking server or waiter.

@MrCellophane

Another stranger made their way to the bar, at least he had the right state of mind to not bother someone like Krin with any god damn pleasantries. Just gave him and the elf boy a stare, kinda stare a demon would give if they were weighing the worth of your soul. Now that made him, more on edge than some elven prick.

Krin returned the strangers gaze with narrowed eyes. And a hand scratching the haft of an axe at his side "Oi there mister, there ain't no server so just take this bottle o' swill an' a cup. Don't give me no trouble and we won't have a reason to have trouble. Ya hear?"

He returned his annoyed gaze back to the pointy earred boy "And you, you got some gumption assumin' who people are. Better watch yourself, some people ain't like to be asked to do your bidding."

@Zyx

@Dark Cloud

Samael inclined his head in the stranger's direction, smiled, and then made his way behind the bar. Pausing a moment, he perused the selection of liquors on offer before selecting some nondescript beer. Transferring it from bottle to cup, he took a seat on one of the stools next to the crotchety old man. He wouldn't attempt to strike up a conversation though, not yet anyway. This was just positioning for later. In the meantime Samael merely sipped from his cup, examining the man beside him all the while from out the corner of his eye.

Accepting the drink but now certain that he wasn’t the bartender, he continues towards the door after being reminded about the carrots at the stable. Link heads out back to where the stable is, leading his horse with him, and lets him have a bite to eat, while drinking the nice strong drink that was slid to him. “Ahh yea that hits the spot!” he says out loud.

Walking back into the bar, he finds a table that’s empty and takes a seat, taking in the scenery and seeing all of what is going on. Continuing his drink, he feels the nice warmth finally hit the spot and relaxes for a bit.

Still concerned about the injured women he spotted and hearing the words asking for a doctor, Link heads to @timelord1101 and removes from his bag a jar of fairies. “I don’t know if this will help, but it’s all I have to offer. If not is there anything I can do for you?” he asks. Very sure it wouldn’t help but he couldn’t resist at least try and help.

Taking the last sip of his drink he places it aside but keeps note to bring it back to the bar afterwards.

Conversations began to swirl -- the door to the tavern opened and closed.

Gabriela extended her fingers toward the fire. She held her hands out and appeared like any person who might be trying to warm themselves. Her golden eyes focused on the billow of the flames, how they churned, and whirled around the thick logs. The heat radiated and her icy flesh absorbed it hungrily. But there was no comfort in the warmth. There was no solace in the heat.

With her head inclined, she listened to the conversations that began to take place near and around the bar -- it had become a popular location and she was glad to have steered clear. Mostly, it was men who stomped in and went to demand drinks -- rum seemed to be the drink of choice for the evening. Meanwhile, she feigned a sort of annoyance as she glanced over her shoulder and swept the room with a chilled gaze. Was it the noise that was bothering her? Was it the notable lack of a teacup before her on the table?

Who knew?

Who cared…

This whole charade was for the benefit of no one other than herself.

No one was following her.

No one was coming.

Her shoulders dropped a little -- she visibly relaxed.

The young girl seemed to have been called forth by Gabriela’s physical manifestation of calm. She appeared, seemingly out of thin air, with a worn, wooden tray. Silently, but with a suspicious side-ways glance, the waitress set down a white saucer with a simple-looking tea cup atop it. It was steaming and a dense, and earthy fragrance floated up in the haze. Next came a folded napkin with a spoon, and next to it a small container of milk, and a dainty sugar bowl. Lastly, she set down a plate with a pretty arrangement of lemon slices.

“We don’t have honey,” she said, by way of explanation.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Gabriela replied.

“Can I get you anything else?” The girl was obviously itching to get going -- to get away.

“No, thank you.”

She was gone no sooner had Gabriela thanked her. And of course, Gabriela took the opportunity to turn her head again, and look after her -- but really she was looking at her fellow patrons. The tavern was getting crowded. She was growing uncomfortable again. And there came the smell of blood again, circulating round and round through the plethora of stenches that were starting to become rather overbearing. The one who had called for help and his wounded companion were coming down the stairs, but she had only a moment to think of them before the door opened and closed.

The taste of power lingered on her tongue like the thick coating of rendered fat -- oily, and unpleasant. Whoever -- or whatever -- the creature that had just entered was, there was no doubt in her mind that he was monstrous in nature. And she would have continued to observe the creature, had it not been for the nearly observed occurrence that took place next.

A woman entered the tavern. A high-ranking military person judging by her attire. Gabriela turned back to her tea just as the woman marched over to a table that was set down right smack in the middle of the tavern. The performance that ensured was more than just a little agitating since it drowned out much of everything else that was going on in the tavern. A scuffle began. A chair fell over, and then the tell-tale sound of metal coins hitting and dancing on the wooden floor as a table was rudely shoved and pushed aside.

Gabriela frowned deeply within the shadows of her hood. She plucked the small spoon up and poured and stirred a serving of the granulated stuff into her tea cup. It changed the smell of the tea, but she doubted anyone would notice -- anyone but her. And then, just as she was about to pretend to take a sip -- her peace and quiet were assaulted.

“She needs a seat,” said a man -- an apologetic but very matter-of-fact smile on his face.

Aghast, Gabriela sat there with her teacup floating halfway up her body, held with such perfect motionlessness that most would find it uncanny -- she had not noticed their approach. Shocked, and grateful that her face was still mostly concerned under her hood, she remained silent as the hurt woman was deposited into a chair across from her own.

“Keep an eye on her and everything is on the house for you tonight.”

Surprise quickly turned into barely contained rage. And the rounded handle by which she supported the tea cup suddenly cracked -- just a hairline crack, just a delicate break that did not immediately throw into peril the structural integrity of the small vessel.

“Excuse me?” Gabriela forced herself to ask, her voice still that soft sound, still that sultry accent -- but sharp.

“Here you go,” said the man to his companion, and then he was leaving.

“Excuse me!” Gabriela insisted, but the man did not look back. He went to the bar and began to tend to the patrons.

With no one left to turn her anger towards, molten-golden eyes turned upon Alex. The teacup was finally set down and abandoned completely. Gabriela made to stand up, but then again, she was interrupted as they were approached by a cheerful-looking young man.

“I don’t know if this will help, but it’s all I have to offer. If not is there anything I can do for you?”

He set on the table -- on her table -- a jar of fucking fairies. And then, for good measure, his emptied cup of rum -- there, right next to her teacup.

“This is my table,” she said suddenly, and at long last, she reached up and drew back the hood of her cloak. A pale and lovely face was revealed, framed in wild wisps of dark hair, chocolate in color with undertones of gold cutting through like marble. In appearance she was young -- painfully young for a place like this, yearly twenties perhaps. And her elegantly shaped brows were pinched into a severe frown as she glanced from Link to Alex. “Kindly, leave me be.”

But then it struck her…

It was a putrid smell and it was so intimately intertwined with the smell of the woman’s blood and that of corrosive metal -- so subtle that she knew it was the very beginning stages of infection. She swallowed hard, choking back this knowledge. The smell was foul and the knowledge of it made her look away, down to the gloves in her lap.

She did not want to get involved, but she knew a jar full of fairies was not about to resolve the issue of putrefied flesh and blood fevers that were soon to come.

“I can’t help you,” she said quietly, refusing to meet the woman’s gaze.

Commissar Raine - Main Tavern Floor
@Dark Cloud

Finding her way to the bar (and kindly keeping clear of the other patrons for now), Raine waited until Krin was unoccupied before - shaking her head - she fished into a trouser pocket.

"I must apologise for my ... performance, earlier," the Commissar explained in crisp High Gothic, her head bobbing briefly to one side where the table still laid keeled-over and smashed. "I'll ensure that the Guardsmen responsible for their poor discipline are severely punished."

She placed a number of Aquilas - one of the thousands of variants of Imperial world currency out there - onto the counter with an onyx-coloured glove. "For the damages and any outstanding bills my men had not paid." She thought momentarily before, placing her cap on the table - the winged skull leering above the brim - she placed another coin across to the bar. "And for the stiffest stuff you have that won't put me on the floor in one go."

Hurried steps delivered with weight and an impatience that burned hotter than the overhead sun.

Normally a person "walking" with this aggressive body language and haughty shifting of weight ever forward would be assumed to be fresh in or out of a fight and spoiling for more, yet attached to the moving red figure was a sharp tipped toothy smile with a low rumbling "hahaha!!" of excitement humming along their enamel. Surroundings blurred, only the vague road, the illusive structure was really ahead and my how it shone! Well, no, it didn't really shine at all, it was something of a debased multi-floor structure with smoke plumes gushing out of the chimney but the point was, it had hot food and cold drink surely! Even garbage towns in abject squalor had that!

This was it! The Firebrand Tavern was just up ahead. Unless the area held more than one tavern but last [Omi Barsait] remembered, this town wasn't big enough for that. Though he supposed it had been a few years since he came trotting by come to think of it. Still, it had been days of eating rations and bathing in the wild, drinking from lukewarm water skin; civilization, comfort, it was all here! Yes, at the "Firebrand Tavern," as his darkened metal gauntlet touched the wooden exterior of the front gate and gave it a strong push open.

🐍
<< Lobby Entrance - Main Tavern Floor >>



"I won't need this for now, I'm gonna hire a wench and get bathed!" The thought alone was magnificent, anticipation! Thus twirled the lively man as he thrust his vibrant red jacket and garb onto a series of hooks near the front entrance, revealing fine black cloth with short sleeves hugging his upper torso. Coming back to his boots and standing straight, his expression flashed from joyous glee to wide eyed but otherwise deadpan dismay.

"This isn't the Firebrand at all. Where the hell.." At last no thought but out loud voice, though many could claim to be foreign to a place beyond the rift -- still Omi's voice held a rich and almost cultured form with a distinct musical tone to it. And it was no well kept secret what it implied: the wild haired man's dismay. For starters, if the stairs were any indication, the interior was larger than what the exterior suggested. That didn't seem right, did it? Well no, he hadn't eaten right in days so perhaps his peripheral vision was off when storming the entrance. That must've been it.

Tension melting from his hunched shoulders as they relaxed, the man's amber brown eyes - though one partially obscured by lens in a rather eccentric facial mask taking up a quarter of his face - skimmed about with a look of one going through an appraisal. There were people around, there were probably staff around; hell if he could tell which were what though. And he wasn't waiting either. That wasn't what this was about. Taverns were about rendering services. He had gold to burn through after that last gig, a growling stomach, mild dehydration, and a brain absolutely burning with anticipation for entertainment. There wasn't time to wait for whoever to come out in a butler outfit and waste his time with pleasantries. That's not how this works!

"HEY. I DESIRE A MENU." Deep bellowing roar transformed the voice from earlier, now with the tune of rocks clashing together and about as much tact, left hand raising high in the air and attempting a snap although with his gauntlets this only created a rather obnoxious metal 'tinkrrk' along the finger rivets that would likely prove uncomfortable to anyone not suffering auditory disorders nearby. And already, he was lost in his own world now that he had convinced himself this whole happening was no folly of his but divine reward.

A nobles district! Perhaps ol' Latent now had a nobles district, in effect anyway what with their relative poverty, and he had just meandered into it by accident. Certainly smelled nicer than the Firebrand. Neat, the town was finally looking on the up and up. Who'd thought it with the Grave Revolt five years back? Well he could square away what all transpired later, after a hot bath and a large series of desserts, maybe something savory beforehand with a honey glaze. Mmm, honey. Now he hadn't had that in months. The beauty of honey lies in its versatility; there are so many ways to enjoy the natural sweetness and complex flavors found within this golden nectar. Really adds depth when combined with spices such as cinnamon or nutmeg. Oh say they have cinnamon! Maybe they have maids here. Nobles tend to really get gaudy with that kinda thing, maybe a cinnamon maid.

---

Another customer came through the door, calm and quietly, with the warm shadow of a smile upon her serene face, and casually wielding a golden glaive with a gentle grace. She stepped forward, seeking a seat at one of the tables.

She was a strange sight - though not quite as strange as others here - adorned in a very rich red attire that would be appropriate for ostentatious parties amongst the aristocracy of her homeland, perhaps. Lots of frills and embroidery. She evidently did not dress to travel far. Her ruby-red hair was held back by a black ribbon, hanging behind her head like a long fiery limb, softly swaying. Her sole eye, scarlet and shimmering, reflected the interior of the establishment and its inhabitants. Her second eye was somehow replaced with a white rose, which exuded an ethereal aura suggestive of its otherworldly essence.

With curiosity in her gaze, she simply watched what others were doing, seemingly content to observe. She barely belonged here based upon her appearance - certainly the brazen daughter of an aristocrat - but still she stayed, and she didn't intend to interrupt anyone in their pursuit of peace or profanity. Not yet.

Her name was Anath Homura, and she was here to just relax... despite the difficulty of such a task for one such as herself.

@MrCellophane

Krin was mid-sip when the Commissar threw some coin on the bar counter and apologized for the scuffle.

All the old man did was stare at her blankly, bringing his drink from his lips onto the counter "Lady, I ain't no bartender. Keep your bloody coin." Krin said in an exasperated voice, all he wanted to do was drink in peace damn it. Was that too much to ask?

---

Anath Homura continued to observe much of the commotion occurring within the common room of this tavern, carefully discerning through the diversity of the denizens that had come from a myriad of differing realms of reality. Her watchful gaze glittered like a gemstone washed in light, sharing a subtle ruby-radiance, and such almost illuminated those that she could see - a beauty in the eye of the beholder.

The most immediately prominent individual - based upon his towering stature - was a man accompanied by a small girl, so perhaps the pair were a father and daughter. Though the two of them did not appear to be related. She did not wish to disturb them, having harmed too many families as of late.

There was another younger man with pointed ears, like an elf, standing beside two seated women - one of which was seemingly irked - and the three of them appeared even less related than the prior pair. They were strangers that were struggling to connect to each other. A desire to help hidden deep within hunger and blood. The young man also reminded Anath Homura of one of her daughters, always brave and compassionate.

There were those seated elsewhere; a vibrant man with a violent demeanor, an older man exuding frustration as a strict and stern woman had mistaken him for a bartender. All three of them were clearly warriors, she could recognize their familiarity with combat.

Then there was the man with fire in his eyes... a beauty in the eye of the beholder.

Lastly, she turned her attention to the man that actually tended to the drinks, pouring various cups for those that sought to satiate their thirst. She did not wish to impose upon him either, lest he ask for her presence first, and so she silently accepted the solace that his establishment offered freely.

Coming down the stairs and striding towards the young woman's table, Alex tuned out the chatter and commotion seemingly coming from all directions. Too much noise. The place was full of people, conversations, and fighting. It seems that this young woman was lost in her own thoughts. As Alex and her companion approached her, the surprise in her demeanor was apparent. Alex noticed the teacup she was holding. Understandably, as most establishments don't carry vampyre friendly refreshments, she was sipping on tea, or rather holding it for show. Still confused, Alex sat where she was placed and watched as this ridiculous exchange between the young woman and what Alex determined to be some sort of proprietor of the tavern, took place.

The woman remained seated for the exchange, but the temperature change in the air surrounding them was apparent. She was less than pleased. The teacup was discarded to its saucer in an exasperated manner.

As the young woman made a move to stand up, a young blonde boy appeared next to the table, with a jar of... fairies? Who is this guy? He stood there holding the jar, and Alex couldn't help but stifle a giggle. "I don’t know if this will help, but it’s all I have to offer. If not is there anything I can do for you?"

Just then, the young woman seemed to explode with barely restrained rage. "This is my table." She stood up from her chair and tore her hood off to reveal a small, almost perfect face, delicately framed by golden and chocolate brown hair. "Kindly, leave me be." She stood an almost threatening way, looking between Alex and the blonde boy fervently.

She was obviously out of her element. On one hand, Alex felt for the poor dear. Her personal space was invaded. Understandable. But something about her reeked arrogance and anger, at the thought of people bothering her at all. Why is she even here? Pretending to drink tea of all things.

Almost unnoticeable, if Alex wasn't looking directly at her furrowed brow, a perturbed look crossed her face. The slight scrunch of her nose and smoothing of her forehead lasted for all of a second before she stated, "I can't help you."

Alex pulled her eyebrows tight and narrowed her eyes. She knew any vampyre worth their salt could smell the infection starting in the wound. That's what the face was for, she did smell it. Alex placed her palms on the table and stood up on unsteady legs. Leaning slightly across the table, just far enough to let her blood-stained braid fall over her shoulder, she whispered, just loud enough for only the 2 people close to her, "No need. I wouldn't accept help from an arrogant leech such as you anyway." She turned to the blue-clad boy beside her. "You, boy. Go to the man at the bar and ask him to get you garlic, onion, a bottle or something strong and some clean cloth. Got that?"

She turned on her heels and made her way up the stairs to return to the door she came from, asumming it was her room. Turning back, she called to the Hylian, "And boy, bring a knife. And a strong stomach."

@MasterLink
@Pasion Pasiva

@Chris488

After a while Samael finally emptied his drink and, deciding that the fellow sitting next to him was an altogether unfruitful effort at the moment, he rose from his seat and ventured back to the tavern's main sitting area. He'd felt the gazes of several beings during his reprieve, and sensed their true natures even clearer than that. There were a few interesting entities, though the one that drew the angel's attention the most at the moment was a lithe woman standing on the far side of the room, watching everyone else like a hawk. Observant, quiet, and withdrawn. That was good. These kinds of people were always the most promising prey due to their burning desire to do more, and their inherent inability to actually achieve that desire without some form of outside help.

Help from entities like him.

Putting on his friendliest face, he sauntered his way over to spark up a conversation.

"Hello!" he said, extending his hand for her to shake. "I hope I'm not being too forward, but I thought I'd come over and introduce myself."

He gave a measured pause to allow his target time to adjust - thereby avoiding a large amount of discomfort - before passing his name.

"My name's Samuel, but most people call me Sam."

In the corner of the tavern, behind all the commotion and raucous activity sat a thin and almost demure man in dark woolen robes with a main of dark raven locks that fell over his colorless eyes as they scanned the tome held tightly in his hands.

An imp floated a few feet from him idly, a glassy look upon its ugly face as it awaited his command. Alwen had nearly forgotten he had yet to order something to drink, he had been so lost in his studies he'd forgotten to get something to wet his thirst.

"A sherry if you will." he said waving the imp away, eyes still glued to the pages of the grimoire. Studies of negative energy and the effect it had on the living fascinated a necromancer such as himself oh so very much.

@Zyx

---

For a moment, Anath Homura merely measured the man that approached her as she matched his gaze with an enigmatic expression. Swiftly, she switched to a much more friendly façade, adopting an amicable aura for him as he came closer: A demure downward tilt of her head. A slight smile, and a shimmer in her sole eye.

She performed exceedingly well, waiting a precise amount of time as he completed his introduction in a state of serenity - she was seated quite comfortably - then proceeded with perfection to give a prim and poignant reply to his greeting:

As one whom was always willing to adhere to proper etiquette; with eternal elegance her hand reached outwards. She spoke with a voice that was simultaneously soft and sharp, faintly lingering like fond memories of long ago, yet fading away too soon. Her words were suffuse with sacred truth and cosmic lucidity, letting even the notion of a lie ever passing her lips seem a most severe and absurd crime.

"It is an unexpected pleasure, Sam. I am Anath Homura. I would be delighted if you shall speak with me."

So close, she was decidedly divine. The way she spoke, as well as the weapon she wielded; the golden glaive that possessed a powerfully concealed and caged celestial light burning brighter than a thousand-thousand suns. There was the clarity of her complex yet simple shape, and every mesmerizing motion.

Her immortal soul singing in harmony with the wondrous song of Heaven...

Commissar Raine
Main Tavern Floor

Despite being somewhat miffed at Krin's flat dismissal of the Commissar's remark, Severina left the aquilas where they were and, in a trice, poured herself a glass of amsac. Drink in hand, she found herself a recently-vacated table close to - and facing away from - to the roaring hearth and took a seat, drawing the brim of her peaked cap low as she took a seat, crossing her jackbooted legs in the process and letting her sword rest against her thigh as she took a brief sip.

Occupied though she had been earlier, there were a few among the tavern's patrons tonight that had caught the studious Commissar's attention. There were multiple questions running through her mind over each of them, but without being able to establish who's who and what they were here for, Severina couldn't take action of her own. And as much as she hated and knew that a Commissar's black-and-white dogma would never fit for any situation she'd encountered across her career, one question remained prominant in her mind as beneath her cap's brim, her grey eyes lingering on one patron after another like a patient hawk:

'Ally of conveniance ... or foe fit only for destruction?'

Lavender pursued her lips, realising she had just spaced out and missed out on like..what? A few hours worth of drama? Perhaps more? How disappointing.

With a pang she remembered she hadn’t replied to the nice feline, but the moment she tried to speak a hole as black as the empty expanse of the night sky itself opened up below her before her mouth could.

Looking down, she gave an exasperated sigh, before allowing herself to be pulled down by gods know what and disappearing.

The only thing she left behind was her fox mask, beady eyes staring blankly upwards.

@themadhatter420

[ROLEPLAY RETREAT! CHARACTER PULLED BACK SUCCESSFULLY]

@everyone (most of this is just a back and forth between Ruka and Salvador, mostly implied to be at a whisper. Whether you can hear their commentary or not, is completely up to you, if you’d like to interact back, feel free, but it’s all optional dialogue as far as I’m concerned. This whole post is intended as light-hearted filler to showcase the personalities of the two in an honest way.

Let me know if I forgot anyone and I’ll probably add a snippet about them. Bear in mind, due to the length and nature of this post, I didn’t try to keep everything in a timely order. I bounce from person to person, depending one who I feel like jumping to next. The order really isn’t important.)

The bartender seemed much too busy to make food, for the time being. Though Salvador assumed his request had been heard, he and his daughter weren’t so hungry that they could do nothing else. Sal pointed to a table. “Let’s take a seat with our drinks. I’m sure someone will bring our food when they are able.”

Both with their juice boxes walked through, careful not to bump into anyone. Ruka, the little ballerina that she was, twirled and danced her way over to the table, excitedly. Salvador was a bit more lumbering, lagging behind. But still always within reaching distance, should anyone make any sudden moves. Salvador was always one to be cautious, protective, and quick to act.

“Dad, can we watch all the people?” Ruka whispered to her father as he sat down beside her. Her father nodded quietly. As is their past-time, Ruka points them out, and they both have a bit of a back and forth to fit how they see the person through their own eyes.

“Ooooh, look at them.” She whispered and pointed over to the apparent Shadow Royal Guardsman (that they did not recognize or know any reference to, nor did they know what his lightsaber was or how it worked). “What a shiny stick”, she said. “And a fancy smooth looking helmet.” Ruka admires the shiny things. “Pretty neat, aren’t they?” Salvador says as he stands her on his shoulders. Height giving her greater sight over the place. Ruka smiles.

She then noticed a charismatic musician playing music with some food around, and Ruka’s jaw just about dropped to the floor. “Kitty!” She yelled happily. She loved all feline creatures and people equally and did not mean it in a hurtful way. But Salvador still told her not to be rude. “Sorry dad.” She said and then Ruka put her owl mask back over her face and flapped her arms as if to wave at the falcon companion of the feline woman.

She then points to Zlick. “He looks strong. I bet he could beat you up dad. Don’t mess with him.” Salvador flexes his muscles to try to compare. “No, not like that, daddy. Like this.” She says as she flexes her nearly non-existent arm muscles next to her father’s. She stands back up and runs her hands over her short hair. “I wish my hair was as nice as his.” Salvador frowns, the snakes recede until it’s just his bald head. “At least you have hair kid!” He rubs his scalp and sulks briefly, then rustles her hair.

Ruka notices a familiar looking person in the tavern, though she can’t figure out where from. She looks at Link and raises her mask again. “He seems kind and helpful.” She says decisively. Then ponders a moment. “Also like a hero from a far away land.” Salvador motions with his hands like he’s playing on a Nintendo controller, to see if he can control Link. The reference goes over Ruka’s head as Sal laughs. “We played the one with the masks instead. It was the reason we made yours.” She gasps, but doesn’t quite see the resemblance and shakes her head. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.” He assures her.

Her gaze shifts to the Commissar Raine and at first glance Ruka is afraid. But she sees it senses something of the like that she is just and fair. Ruka stands on the table and salutes the commissar. Salvador straightens his back and follows her lead, with a bit more slack. He elbows Ruka softly. “Psst, yer makin’ me look bad here kiddo.” He let’s slip from the side of his mouth. She shushes him hurriedly. “I bet she could flip you just as easily.” Ruka responds and then goes at ease.

They both looked at Krin who sounded ornery, and Ruka did a double take to look back at her dad. “He’s you, but older?” She was confused. Salvador cupped his mouth and spoke. “No, I’m Bane…You wanna know how I got these tubes?” He says pointing to his back jokingly. Ruka was even more confused and if the Link reference went over her head, this one went miles further. “Stop it dad!” She punches him in the arm. “Ow! Okay, okay! I’ll behave.” He flinches and lowers his hands from his mouth. “You know better than to hit people, you know.” He tells her in an almost serious tone. And then pauses to consider something. “Maybe I should make Krin a drink some time soon.” Ruka nods. “An orange juice!” She giggles.

They both watched as a reserved woman instantaneously disappeared into seeming nothingness. And left nothing but a Fox mask. Perhaps as a token. While it piqued the interest of Ruka to see another animal mask in the place, she could tell it was not meant for her and simply admired it from afar.

Ruka pointed out Alwen next. Salvador raised his finger to his mouth to say they should be quiet and let the scholarly looking man get lost in his books. “I wonder what his book is about.” Ruka whispers, to which Sal just shrugs. “None of our business really.” He calmly responds back.

They scanned the room, feeling like they’ve only picked out about half the active crowd and continued.

Ruka’s eye caught the glimmer of Anath Homura’s. For what was only a glint out of the corner of her eye that she thought she saw but very well might have been a strange illusion. Still Ruka thought the woman’s eye was a strange but beautiful color that she admired. All in all she enjoyed looking at her outfit and she spoke so aloud. “Red is such a nice color.” She carried on. “Especially on her.” Then Ruka looked at her own clothes, wishing there were more of it in her own ensemble. “I’m sure it would suit you well too.” Her father told her reassuringly. “We’ll get you something nice at the next market we find, okay?”

Samael to Ruka seemed like a strange presence. One she couldn’t quite comprehend fully. Sal felt a little less so but still in the presence of something extra dimensional. More so than they all were now in this timeless expanse of a place. All they were both certain of is that they would need more time to understand this being, this god. Without thought or hesitation though, Ruka did not seem to care and just waved at him while putting on a big smile. Salvador assumes she wants to befriend them, but is hesitant to let her get too close.

A man twirled in, stripping his coat onto hooks. Salvador was quick to shield Ruka’s eyes, just in case. But when he realized there were more layers underneath, he lowered his guard some. Though the man’s odd shifts in tone surprised Ruka, he seemed like an eccentric and charming man, though in a good sort of way that they both admired. “He seems like a wildcard.” Salvador said to her. “But he’s got style, I’ll give him that.” Ruka nodded happily.

Their eyes were drawn to the Tavern owner as he sought help for a young woman as well. “Uh oh, this could get bad.” Salvador tells Ruka, who is visibly worried and wants to ask Alex if she’s alright. She shifts as if to go help, but her father keeps her seated. He wants to jump to action as well, but senses there is no safer hands she could be in at the moment. He tells her “If we’re needed, we will act, but until then, stay here.

He tries to take her mind off it, by continuing the game, but the situation seems to escalate here and there. “How about the bar tender?” Salvador sits and reminds her of Dorian. The man making drinks. “He seems…” she trails off staring back at the table. “Very tidy, and strange.” Salvador continues to ask, clearly noticing her rising worry. “Strange in what way?”

Ruka gets up from the table and dances over to the table, with a determined look on her face. She twirls up to the frustrated woman. “You’re pretty.” She tells the vampyre woman. Salvador rushes up behind her and gulps, not wanting to upset her more. Even if he does agree that she is quite a striking individual. This might not be the time…” he begins and Ruka stops mid spin.

“Wanna dance with me? Whenever I’m excited, or mad, or sad, I dance away my troubles.” Ruka says, and she suspects everyone here is dealing with similar issues. She dances like a ballerina through the room, through the tears streaming from her face. “Anyone can join in.” Ruka announces as she adds more acrobatic flaring motions to her routine. And feels she cannot stop. Her dad, feeling bad that no one else had joined yet, starts doing “the sprinkler” and moves into “the robot” and “the worm”, no matter how silly and awkward he feels. He knows he would feel worse if he weren’t to support his daughter in everything she does.