Ahrazan turned his head towards his companion, hesitating at the angel's greeting and at a loss for words. He was startled to find Melekeshar complying with the angel's request, cradling his horned helm in his arm. A cursory glance from the entity gave him the impression there was no magic to fear, and Ahrazan reluctantly followed suit. Clearly, as the one with mankind's whole existence in his memory, Melekeshar was the rightful one to do the talking.

"I am called Melekeshar, and my companion is Ahrazan," he spoke, matter-of-factly. There was no harm in revealing their names; as an entity, Melekeshar did not even have a true name upon his creation. Nothing would belie his real nature, save for attempted physical or magical contact. Ahrazan hardly needed a false identity, not when the angelkin had abandoned the happenings of the world below and became apathetic towards those on it.

Eyeing the lead angel, Ahrazan perceived a glimmer of expectancy in her eyes. It was unsurprising, seeing how appearances of angels surged men to their knees, and were met with exultant praise. He wondered how they'd react to the less-than enthusiastic demeanor of Melekeshar and himself.

"We would ask your name in return, incandescent ones." There was a straight-edged, to-the-point manner in which Melekeshar's words came out of his mouth. "It stirs my curiosity why the heavens should reveal themselves to the earth, after having withdrawn from its... "filth" for so long," he added, brutally honest.

Valmortis gave a frown and said. "I'm not going to steal from you. If I had planned on doing that I would have very likely have done that already." Valmortis also made not that krasus had viewed his question wrong and clarified. "What I was asking was how long you have been alive. Not how long you've been at the acid lakes." Valmortis was getting fairly tired of this simple demon, he didn't appear to be that smart so a simple distraction would probably allow Valmortis to leave. He didn't want to entirely appear rude though, so he did his best to come up with something that was at least moderately true. Once he had his distraction figured out Valmortis waited for Krasus to answer the question posed earlier.

"Ohh... Is that what big demon ask Krasus." Krasus's focus came back to the present. He looked at the other demon once more and he's demeanor went back to his usual playful, mischievous and to an extent, innocent self. From the dark mold that is suppose to be his face came a rip in the black. A white line suddenly appeared and stretched from one end his head to another. Then the line grew open and revealed a number of sharp, jagged teeth.

"To tell big demon the truth, Krasus does not know how many years Krasus has been alive. Krasus has lost count." Krasus held out his digits and then began to fold close and open them up. "Krasus does not even know how old Krasus is. That is why Krasus takes form of child."

"How about big demon, how old is big demon now? Rude it is not to answer questions when being asked."

Aristo said
Ahrazan turned his head towards his companion, hesitating at the angel's greeting and at a loss for words. He was startled to find Melekeshar complying with the angel's request, cradling his horned helm in his arm. A cursory glance from the entity gave him the impression there was no magic to fear, and Ahrazan reluctantly followed suit. Clearly, as the one with mankind's whole existence in his memory, Melekeshar was the rightful one to do the talking. he spoke, matter-of-factly. There was no harm in revealing their names; as an entity, Melekeshar did not even have a true name upon his creation. Nothing would belie his real nature, save for attempted physical or magical contact. Ahrazan hardly needed a false identity, not when the angelkin had abandoned the happenings of the world below and became apathetic towards those on it. Eyeing the lead angel, Ahrazan perceived a glimmer of expectancy in her eyes. It was unsurprising, seeing how appearances of angels surged men to their knees, and were met with exultant praise. He wondered how they'd react to the less-than enthusiastic demeanor of Melekeshar and himself. There was a straight-edged, to-the-point manner in which Melekeshar's words came out of his mouth. he added, brutally honest.

“"It stirs my curiosity why the Heavens should reveal themselves to the earth, after having withdrawn from its... "filth" for so long,"”

A quick glare from Gabe at the other Archangel, revealed that he was not too happy about the fact that the natives had not fallen on their knees and prayed. They were asking questions as if considering themselves equals, and their gaze did not stray.
Only slightly surprised she turned back and looked up at the 2 knights in armor. “I can see why that might be confusing,” she answered in a soft and slightly arrogant voice. “But the Heavens are not here to reveal anything, nor has its divine inhabitants ever withdrawn from anything, mortal. We…” With a fluid movement she pointed herself and her comrades out. “… Are simply here to look over an quick era – a blink of an eye, you might know as Goddess' Calm.”
With as much patience she could muster she forced a smile and introduced herself and her companion: “My name is Gabriella the Brave-hearted and that is Tyran the Last. And we were… hoping… you would be so good as to tell us what kingdoms stand now, and where we might find them…”
Her unusual politeness did serve a purpose, though it did not seem clear to Tyran or his Angels, what it was. Being a lot less cynical that her kin, she didn’t mind much.

“So…” she continued. “If you could point them out, we would be on our way. The Heavens themselves has business with each and ever kingdom. A… reminder.”

Traces of indignation could be seen in the angels' faces, all too vexed with Melekeshar's demeanor towards their supposed holiness. Ahrazan fought the urge to grin, taking a malign amusement to the idea of angels being put in their place. And should they not be? After all, they took no interest in the plights of the earth, save for this Goddess's Calm - playing a role possibly fabricated to grant them all the more might in the eyes of men. Ahrazan's attention was brought from his musing back to the conversation as Melekeshar opened his mouth again.

"A blink of an eye," he echoed, "one year in a span of millennia. An insignificant mere moment in the lifetime of angels, no? If they should not care to guard over the earth on a regular basis, why would one year be of any concern? Or is the Goddess's Calm a convenient phenomenon, to be taken advantage of in order to maintain the facade of being truly divine?" Despite the harshness of his accusations, Melekeshar's tone itself bore no malice, matching the evenness in the lead angel's words. "Ahrazan, what say you?"

The crimson-clad warrior could not hide his own mirth. "Hark!" he exclaimed, waving a hand to the air. "Those that would hide from reality have returned, only to oversee a peace between peoples they cannot even name! if the heavens cared for the good of the earth, they would not be so ignorant of its happenings."

Melekeshar nodded in agreement with his companion's analysis. Sensing this standoff ending in the crossing of blades, unless the matter was redirected, he slid on his helmet as a sign to Ahrazan to do the same. "But worry not - we are not without integrity. As guests of the earth below, we would guide you to the nearest court, if Your Beneficence wills it."

Collab Between Tuujaimaa and Pyro V

East of Tiaquin, Physt; Late Morning; Present

Tal'Vara sat in the back of a caravan cart, the horse pulling it along a slow, old beast driven by an equally old man. If it had been up to her, she'd have killed him, the horse, and about half of the rest of the crew and used the money from their corpses to buy a new horse to ride to Tiaquin. But, this way was free, and the old man in charge was a good friend of the Guild back in Gestalt - if he turned up missing, they'd all blame her, and rightly so. However, the rest of the caravan did not know what exactly this trip entailed, and were likely just fodder to make the caravan look legitimate. A good front, but ultimately it could - and likely would, if they ran into trouble - be seen through. A ridiculously large hat rested on her head, on of the few that could sit comfortably and hide her horns at the same time.

Heading back down into Physt, it brought back memories. Fifty years ago, it had been the place where she had learned the art of necromancy, and had been the place of her biggest spree of crypt delving and tomb raiding. Twenty years ago, it was the first time she had been sent out of Gestalt's immediate area by the Guild to do business. And, it had also been the first time she had met the Sage of Stone. The memory still seemed fresh, and the attraction that had been left by the gorgon was still present in the back of Tal'Vara's mind. However, her biggest reason for remembering her were the lines of crystalline statues that decorated her lair. Ah, it brought back all kinds of memories...

---

Tiaquin, Physt; Mid-Day; Two Decades Prior

In a back alley of Tiaquin, a sewer grate rustling and clanged about loudly. After a few seconds, the bars came loose and the rectangular piece of metal popped loose and was shoved aside. Out crawled a cloaked demon, smelling of filth and unpleasant things from crawling around in the underdepths of the city. She tentatively sniffed herself, and wrinkled her nose in response to the foul stench that rolled off in waves. It was a damn good thing that the Guild had provided her with the funds to get cleaned up for her meeting with the alchemist.

Tal'Vara sprinted down the alley, her path erratic and winding. She was in a hurry, had a deadline to meet. Her rush was so great that she had even passed up a number of drunkards who were still passed out in the alleys, ripe for pocket picking. Alas, she had not the time; besides, the smell would probably wake them up anyways, and she'd just end up leaving a trail of smelly corpses. No, it wasn't worth the few extra pieces of copper to her.

Nearly an hour later, she exited the bathhouse and ran back into the streets, disappearing into the shadows, leaving a far more pleasant smell behind her.

---

Rather easily finding the cave that the Sage of Stone called home, she went in without a word. Her feet gently padded on the floor, the bandages wrapped around her feet keeping her quiet. The magic coming off of her cloak all but hid her in the gloom. A dull light shown ahead, and she picked up the pace. She was already late, and she didn't need to hear another lecture from the boss about her being "an arrogant little shit" because she had kept his dealer waiting.

Dormeria's Lair; Twenty Years Ago

The day had been largely uneventful for the Sage of Stone - her business had been slower than usual lately. There were always multiple factors, a few of which she couldn't predict, but this time it had been something monumental - one of her few remaining competitors had inadvertently killed every member of one of the high-class parties that occurred in the glittering spires with a batch of Black Crystal that had gone wrong. She'd seen it coming for a while now with the decline in quality of available merchandise - perhaps one of the couriers had stolen from a dragon that had cursed its hoard in the event of theft. Still, if her opponents undercut her and the partygoers chose to pick their revelry-enhancing substances from less trusted sources for less gold, that was entirely up to them. She'd even warned them through use of the Fae network she had accrued over the centuries she'd spent in Tiaquin - but the problem with customers that purchased narcotics from you was that they were rarely in a position to listen to sound advice. Still, the news bade well for her - she would be the only trusted source for a month or two, and she could easily use that time to create new narcotics to keep the market in her favour.

That said, she had various appointments lined up for the evening, and though she already knew precisely what was going to transpire for the first two, the third was significantly more interesting - it had complexities that could not be accounted for with simple foresight alone. That was good - Dormeria loved a challenge every now and again. Still, it was Thieves' Guild business, and it was business. She would have to ensure she got the best possible deal, and without the foresight that she'd learned to rely on for simple transactions there was a chance (however small) that it wouldn't go exactly as she planned for it to - such chances were things that she did not like.

Later that night

"Tal'Vara, Emissary of the Thieves' Guild. Please, step in. To use the old phrase, I've been expecting you." came the noise to greet Tal'Vara the very second she stepped into the darkened lair. The acoustics of the lair provided maximum vocal coverage from any given point to every other point - it was a fairly useful phenomenon, given that her magic was partly acoustic in nature, as well as making it nigh impossible to ambush her should her foresight fail. Still, it was yet to fail, but she had not survived for so long by failing to have sufficient contingency.

"Please, take a seat." came the voice of the gorgon once more, more sultry than the last time, as she stepped out of the shadows in order to allow Tal'Vara to gaze upon her, if she so chose. Most tended to avoid looking directly at a Gorgon, but most Gorgons were truly monstrous creatures that sought to kill all they saw - Dormeria was one of the few exceptions. People could not typically let go of the evolutionary habits that were bred into them, and so few could bear to immediately bring themselves to gaze upon a Gorgon, but there were always exceptions - Dormeria herself was certainly proof of that.

The demon kept her arms folded behind her back, the cloak on her shoulders hiding her thin frame. She did as ordered, calmly strolling into the room. Her gaze never rose to meet the gorgon's - she'd been warned about what she could do with a mere look, and from the amount of statues in the room, she would wager that it wasn't uncommon for her to use that legendary power of hers. She cast her gaze about the room, admiring the amount of wealth prominently displayed for all to see. The only thing that she didn't like about the place was the amount of Fae flitting about the cave.

Less than elegantly, she took off her cloak and sat on a seat in front of Dormeria. Immediately, the dark form lightened as the cloak came off. Her blighted arm rested on a leather clad leg, careful not to touch the seat beneath, for fear of destroying anything. A smile worked its way onto her face as her eyes settled on Dormeria's midsection, rather than her face. "Well, it is good to finally make your acquaintance, Sage of Stone," Tal said, her tone sounding rather reverent. Whether or not this was sincere wasn't obvious.

"Forgive me if I am blunt, ma'am, but I would like to get down to business. The old man doesn't quite trust anyone else to do business with, especially with this kind of stuff. Big order, plenty of variety in it. If you're up to the job, of course."

"Ah, little one... Impatience is a quality that I am regrettably unable to comprehend. I've been around for well over a thousand years now, days like these are mere blinks in my life. Forgive my desire to slow things down and think carefully about my investments." Dormeria replied, lacing her voice with a hint of her potent seductive magic - she wanted to test the waters with this one, first. She had seen many things, past and future, about Tal - she was an interesting specimen. She was not quite the epitome of neutral evil, there was a little flame inside her that obviously loved the death that she caused, but she was close enough for Dormeria's tastes. Those who fervently followed the law were often too blinded by the intensity of the light they preached to see the potential in all things; Tal felt the same way about those who followed the path of righteousness, but she had not had enough time to let that anger change into pity. Perhaps it was Dormeria's vast age that had given her a new perspective, or perhaps it was simply her scheming nature.

"But yes, please... Speak your intentions. I am eager to see what I can do for the Thieves' Guild." She added, again lacing her voice with more of that potent magic. Whether or not Tal had ever been the recipient of such magic in the past was a notable point, and while Dormeria had not turned her most attentive gaze to what she'd been subjected to in her past, she had not seen any use of it that seemed obtuse. The reverence she spoke with seemed to indicate a respect that could be turned into admiration - assuming it was real - and it was at this point, early on into the conversation, that Dormeria decided she had already come out ahead. She could afford to speak more of pleasure than business, but that would be something Tal would have to engage in of her own accord. Seductive magic was not helped by prompts, Dormeria had found; it was easier to let the subject explore their new emotions and thoughts and arrive at the conclusion of their own accord.

The voice was very enticing, alluring. It almost made her want to turn her gaze up to look at Dormeria's face. Almost. The smile fell from her face, and she shut her eyes for a moment, raising her corrupted hand to rub her left temple. Something seemed a bit off about the voice, but she couldn't quite tell what it was. Her eyes opened, the yellow irises raising only slightly up Dormeria's form, though she managed to keep them away from her face.

She tilted her head to the side, causing the bones in her neck to snap and pop. "The old man wants a lot of things," she stated once more. "Mostly, he wants something that will make people be more compliant, more willing to suggestions." Her hand rose up to rub the back of her neck, the previous cracking leaving it sore. "Potions that can leave on paralyzed, but not permanently. Some standard narcotics for our own distribution. And a little something to help the old man 'get it up', if you catch my meaning." A chuckle escaped her. It wasn't something she was supposed to get, but she figured it would be worth the look on the boss's face when she handed him the bottle.

"Of course, there are other things that we would like to have, but since we have time, as you've said."

The magic was working. Good.

"Hmm... I am going to assume that the delivery must be subtle. I can alter the qualities of the red sand enough to fit your purposes... But it will be a potent mixture, and I am not sure I would trust your fellows with it if I were you." Dormeria began, her voice simultaneously pensive and heady - her magic was strong, and Tal was not attempting to resist, so it seemed only fair to give her superiors what they wanted. Still, perhaps other methods of payment could be discussed - gold had little value in small quantities to a Gorgon able to turn flesh into the most brilliant of gemstones. She let out a little laugh, a chuckle, whimisical and musical, as she turned to her cauldron and begun to move her delicate hands across the shelves carved into the rock, plucking choice ingredients from them and storing them next to the cauldron.

"Paralysis is almost effortless, I'm half-tempted not to charge you for it..." She laughed, before briskly turning to bore her eyes down onto Tal - not for any magical purposes - but to be direct.

"There is also the question of payment, is there not? I am very wealthy, and I do not always accept mere gold as tribute for my crafts. There are... Other, more agreeable methods of purchasing my wares, if such things are of interest to you?" Dormeria smirked, slipping once more into that seductive, sultry tone that Tal would no doubt have already begun to associate with her. She offered a scaly, clawed hand to the demon, beckoning her up towards a font of murky water next to the cauldron that she had placed the earlier ingredients above. Tal's reaction would be a good measure of how far she had allowed herself to be drawn into the intricate web of the Gorgon.

"As for the old man's... Ointment, shall we say, I'll give you that for free. I already enjoyed the look on his face."

"The means of transport is already taken care of, we just need to get it to the gates and all will be taken care of. Bribes paid, palms greased, and carts already waiting to be loaded," Tal responded, her gaze lingering on the gorgon's form as the woman moved over to the cauldron and began moving things around. Her remained plastered with that little half smile, her eyes half lidded as they followed the woman around. That laugh penetrated her skull, seeping into her mind and driving out that last bit of resistance that had been forming in her head. She knew that some sort of magic was being used, and the old man had warned her about it. She'd have to deal with it later, it seemed.

Rising up from the seat before the hand was even offered, she was met with that gaze boring into her own. For just a moment, fear gripped her, and the emotion flicked over her features for a mere second before her face turned into one more of passiveness. She took the few steps forward towards Dormeria and stood up next to her, turning her gaze down to the cauldron rather than keep it on the Sage for any longer. "I thank you for the offers of free items, ma'am," she responded, her voice still light and unfazed. "As for a different means of payment, well.. The old man warned me about that tendency of yours, though I am unsure of what to pay you with. I have gathered a small fortune over the years from my... 'expeditions', but I do not think that you want more money. So, go on, name your price. Old man told me to give you anything you wanted, short of the Guild or its entire fortune."

"The pool shows me what has been, what is, and what could be. With the help of ancient magics, I have unlocked enough potential to grant you a boon - the location of some ancient magic that appeals not to me, but must be taken before it falls into hands that would squander it. I will show you what you need to to obtain it, and all I ask in return for these services - your goods included - is an oath of your allegiance, and your devotion. Storms brew in the winds of fate," Dormeria began, lowering the tone of her voice just enough that it became ominous and powerful, seductive in another way, before lightly waving her hand above the pool. The surface shimmered before giving way to visions of war, of strife and torment, and the desolation of all things. The pool showed, simply put, the extinction of all life and all things, even Dormeria, and it was at that point that she hoped Tal would begin to understand the machinations that she was part of. It was impossible to understate one's importance when fate had chosen them for things beyond the ordinary, beyond robbing tombs for a living for the rest of their days.

"Do you accept the gift I have to offer?" came the voice, cutting through the pleasant murk of the light reflecting off of the pool. This was something far more serious than the demon would likely have banked on happening with the Sage - though something about Dormeria's demeanour gave off the impression that she had at least an inkling of the events that were going to transpire. Whether or not Tal picked up on this was a question that she would receive an answer to soon enough. Patience was always a virtue that Dormeria had excelled in.

"Keep the gold that you were going to use to pay me with. Spend it on yourself, perhaps enjoy yourself in Tiaquin for a few days... Your masters have long known that I can be unpredictable, and I would not be surprised if they'd already dug your grave."

Tal'Vara's gaze remained glued on the images swirling forth in front of her. Scenes of death and destruction, of doom and decay. It was all she could do to suppress a smile when she saw Gestalt among those images. However, it was a foreboding thing, as dread quickly began to fill her the longer they went on. It wouldn't be just Gestalt, it would be everything, if what she was seeing was true. Even if what she had planned for Gestalt was able to get off of the ground, it wouldn't result in destruction on this level. Her eyes slowly slid away from the cauldron, and she gave Dormeria a blank gaze, that arrogant smile finally wiped from her face, replaced with a dead serious frown.

"You offer much, but request much in return," she muttered, keeping her gaze locked on the Sage's face. She took a step back, then slowly got down onto one knee, bowing her head low. "But it is not an offer I can refuse, now is it? My word means little, but I vow to pledge myself, mind and body, to you... My Lady," she added with a little bit of hesitation, then remained down on her knee, as if waiting for an order. She didn't know what had compelled her to accept the offer, but she knew it had nothing to do with any loyalty to the Guild.. As far as she was concerned, there was no honor among thieves, just a bunch of daggers held behind pleasant smiles. Something about Dormeria simply made her want to. It didn't matter. She was binding her with words, something that meant little to one such as her.

---

As the memories faded, a wide smile broke over Tal'Vara's face. It has been two decades since they'd last seen each other, and she thought it was high time that there business continued at long last. She poked her head out of the back of the caravan and looked at one of the men assigned to guard the caravan. "Tell that fuck driving this cart to hurry it up," she growled, glaring through the thin strips of straw at the man. "I want to hit Tiaquin before he drops dead." The man merely chuckled, and sped up is horse to relay the message.

Tal sat back in the caravan, leaning up against the boxes. As th cart sped up, she fell into a comfortable sleep. Perhaps they could get the before the week was out after all.

Aristo said
Traces of indignation could be seen in the angels' faces, all too vexed with Melekeshar's demeanor towards their supposed holiness. Ahrazan fought the urge to grin, taking a malign amusement to the idea of angels being put in their place. And should they not be? After all, they took no interest in the plights of the earth, save for this Goddess's Calm - playing a role possibly fabricated to grant them all the more might in the eyes of men. Ahrazan's attention was brought from his musing back to the conversation as Melekeshar opened his mouth again. he echoed, Despite the harshness of his accusations, Melekeshar's tone itself bore no malice, matching the evenness in the lead angel's words. The crimson-clad warrior could not hide his own mirth. "Hark!" he exclaimed, waving a hand to the air. "Those that would hide from reality have returned, only to oversee a peace between peoples they cannot even name! if the heavens cared for the good of the earth, they would not be so ignorant of its happenings." Melekeshar nodded in agreement with his companion's analysis. Sensing this standoff ending in the crossing of blades, unless the matter was redirected, he slid on his helmet as a sign to Ahrazan to do the same.

“Heresy!”
The words were spoken by Tyran, and they had been spit out like poison. As he started cursing in a language, not spoken in Tailteann for centuries, Gabe stopped him. She too sensed blades were about to cross. Her subtle gestures and guidance were still enough to calm the Angels, who all felt they had been wronged.

Gentle movements once again won over pride and madness.

Only when she turned back could her own displeasure be seen. Suddenly her hair flew less graceful in the wind, and the beautiful features on her clean face turned in a slightly annoyed look.
“If the heavens cared for the good of the earth, they would not be so ignorant of its happenings," she suddenly repeated. With a raised eyebrow she chewed on the words. When she spoke again her gaze shifted back and forth from both men’s eyes, but did not stray for a second. “Earth, Tailteann, is more than temporary kingdoms and childish wars. And it will be there, when your existence is long forgotten. The Dirt’s happenings goes so much beyond you, mortals.”
Her finger redirected the attention to the landscape.
“Can you see the horizon? It’s not there for you. The trees, the wind, the birds… they are only on loan. One day Angels will descend from Heaven and take it all back. And one more thing…”
Even when doing something as ordinary as walking a few steps backwards through a field Gabe looked graceful.
“Mortals, the Heavens asked for directions, we never said we wished for you to follow us, for when Angels travel there is only one pace…”
It was then that her wide wingspan spread out once again, as quickly as a snake could strike. Grain flew out to both sides by the violent wind blows they created. For a few meters it was carried by the force before finally falling.
“… Our pace,” she finished and with a powerful wave of her wings, she was instantly shot up in the air, and so was her comrades. Manners and polite goodbyes were not tradition amongst the citizens of Heaven and Crystal City, even when broad warriors, towering over Angels, spoke.
There were other mortals left in the world - still time.
With angelic speed the creatures of myth flew over the landscape and where soon lost in the clouds. Their divine movements were a reminder to some, why they had been worshiped... And their behavior was a reminder of their equally divine arrogance.

The shady tavern was filled with the same sights and smells that most of its ilk were - a smoky sort of musk that only barely held back the smell of stale piss, vomit, and sawdust - and the typical sorts of miscreants that one would find in a tavern suited for those not among the uppermost rungs of the metaphorical societal ladder. Phanyx definitely fit the description of the latter, and as his satyric form entered into the inn it drew forth the attention of most of the inhabitants, before the shock faded and they returned to whatever shady business it was that they were planning. Phanyx had long ago gotten accustomed to people shying away from his heathenistic appearance - he looked like what most people envisioned gods of the darker arts looked like, and that was something he was fine with. He was, after all, likely the closest they would ever get to a true deity.

"Word reached mine ears that thine establishment requires an undertaker of sorts..." the sooty, raspy voice of the ancient satyr came forth, not loud enough to pierce the conversational veil that the inhabitants provided, but enough to pique the interest of the bartender and potentially of those relatively near the bar. From that point on, the finer details were discussed more quietly to avoid more prying, though if one were to lean closely in it might have been possible to gleam new insights into the direction the macabre conversation was heading in. Whether or not the satyr minded was a different matter entirely, but his appearance was one that made it seem wiser to avoid his ire.

Elijah finished his ale as he noticed a creature walk in that he had never seen in person, a satyr. He'd only heard tales about them or crude drawings. It was talking to Davlomin about something, he couldn't hear over the ruckus in the tavern. Now Eli wasn't one to eavesdrop but seeing as he was in need of a new pint, he might as well let his attuned ears listen to the words of a creature of myth. He made his way up to the bar, not before a large man stood in his way but then moved aside, not wanting a piece of Elijah right now. "Nother pint if you would Dav." he said simply, not looking at the satyr directly.

"It is done, then. Bring thine bodies to the pyre and we shall perform the last rites - if thou wish for more of mine services, ask for Phanyx at the altar and we shall oblige you as best as we are able." was all that Eli would have been able to gleam from the time he reached the bar. Still, that one sentence was filled with troves of barely visible information, of connotations and allusions and macabre implications as to the satyr's purpose in Port Samhain. As one of the men known for his combat prowess, should Eli have thought about it, it might have seemed obvious that there tended to be a few too many bodies to simply up and bury - shallow graves would not keep the corpses away from the prying eyes of the law, and hiring people to dig deeper graves was going to cut into the profit that the avarice-stricken masters of the games so desperately craved. Whatever Phanyx could offer seemed to be something that was valuable enough to be less expensive than digging graves - it left plenty to the imagination, but only if one could think of prices that were deeper than gold.

"May the Ashen God's flame burn within thine soul until you too join him in death." Phanyx added, briefly nodding to the barkeep, before taking a swig from a small flask kept by his side - an action his fellow mimicked by taking a drink of his own, though it was likely whatever the satyr was drinking was far more dubious. In a tavern like the one they were in, that was a dire thought indeed. As the barkeep shifted his attention away from the satyr, he simply sat in silence, eyes closed, and his brow furrowed slightly with the thoughts that ran through his mind. There were several rituals to prepare for the cremation of a considerable number of corpses, and there was also the payment to be discussed - if anyone in the tavern was well read enough to have heard of the Cult of the Ashen God (they almost definitely were not) they would know that it was rare for them to accept something as petty as gold. In the world of the arcane, there were things far more valuable to one so evidently and deeply practiced in the esoteric arts that were called magic.

Eli listened to this creature's words, picking up on what he assumed was it's name. Phanyx. An odd name, but fitting for a creature of it's nature. It appeared Phanyx was that of a male nature, given the depth of his voice but then again, having never met a satyr before, he could be mistaken. He noted the reason Phanyx was here, someone performing the many services of a body burner. It was true that as of late, the corpses were stacking rather high in the streets and there just weren't enough resources to bury them properly. Eli wasn't in need of the services Phanyx was providing but perhaps he could offer him answers or even opportunities of another nature. Even if that wasn't possible, knowing a mythic creature could still be of value to him.

Davlomin handed over a fresh pint to Eli just in time for him to turn to face the creature before him, he was strange in appearance but also familiar to him, unknown as to why though. He leaned against the bar and took a good sip of his ale before setting it down but resting his hand on the handle of the mug. "So what brings a satyr to the deepest, darkest, hole in the wall in all of Port Samhain. Surely you'd find better ventures with the upper class of citizen." he said, making conversation. Knowing the answer was likely among the common factor with shady places like this, shady but desirable pay.

"Thine mouth speaks of questions thine brain has already seen fit to answer, young one." came the reply, soft and warm, yet with slight crackles of varying depth. Everything about the Satyr screamed "Fire!", from the torch ritually forged with his head and the smoky tones of his voice, and though Eli could not appreciate the significance of such seemingly minor things yet, destiny had a strange way of unfurling itself in strange ways - something the younger inhabitants of Tailteann rarely understoof.

"Perhaps nobles sitting complacent on their silk cushions would offer more coin, young one, but there are commodities and crafts more valuable to one of mine own nature than one of thine could perhaps appreciate. Coin does not buy favour with the Ashen God - rituals and prayers do. This is a service mine self is providing for all parties' mutual benefit." he added, still keeping his eyes closed and his hand conspicuously at his side, idly grasping the blackened hilt of Perdition's Flame. It was not uncommon for thieves to attempt to steal the beautiful weapon - it was even less uncommon for them to leave with burned-in scars in the shape of the hilt. Still, the motion was not inherently threatening, and looked almost subconscious, as if it were something that Phanyx had gotten so used to doing in careful, co-ordinated movements that his body remembered and practiced them without taxing his consciousness.

It was then that he opened his eyes and turned to the owner of the gruff voice, looking up and down him before settling his eyes briefly on the bracers that he wore.

"Thine flesh is young, but perhaps thine blood is not, hmm? In mine homeland, the Runecarved Deadlands, before the collapse of the old satyric society smiths oft created pieces of armour that could change their shape. Mine sense tingle in thine presence, young one, that thine body has given way to the ancient beasts' blood... Useful, that thine bracers do not fragment under the weight of thine transformation." he added, turning back to his original stance of eyes closed and facing forwards.

Elijah took what was said in fragments, it's broken english made it difficult to understand at moments but he pieced it together. Phanyx was not only aware of the bracer's mystic properties, but that he was a werewolf, or so it seemed. He tightened his grip around the mug's handle, not so much in an angry way. It wasn't a secret to anyone here what he was but for a stranger to deduce that from just a glance terrified him. Someone with this kind of mysticism and intuition could be very dangerous, though depending on how he played his cards, a very powerful ally. "I think we should talk somewhere a little more private, if you don't mind." he said, motioning with his hand for the satyr to look over his shoulder at the many faces looking at them. Eli had enough on his plate as a top ranked fighter, he didn't need to supply them with any more reason to come after him.