40 Miles from Cochem, Germany
1189
11:23PM
Conrat trudged in the red stained snow, dragging his giant weapon behind him as if to draw a trail straight to him. His breathing was heavy, and his armour was just as bloodied as the snow. Whether it was mostly his blood he couldn't say. He fell to his knees, exhausted mentally and physically. Men he'd fought alongside had fallen by his blade. Men is pushing it. Demons he'd fought alongside had fallen by his blade.
A rustle in the bushes brought him to one knee, gripping the handle of his blade as he readied for another fight.
But the fight didn't come. All that came was waiting. Endless waiting for years upon years, watching the birds flutter by and the lost families discovering the mysterious stone man in the forest.
Present Day
Conrat stood, overlooking the warehouse from a vantage point. His armour, freshly polished, gleamed in the moonlight as he raised his scarf to cover his mouth. Truth be told, he wasn't as angry at The Presence as much as the rest of the group. Of course, he was wary, for all he knew this was a trap. But in his eyes this could go one of two ways. They'd been brought together to actually work together, and Conrat had gone without companionship for too long to pass that up, or it would end up in battle, not as good, but not bad either. His sword felt heavy on his back for the first time in centuries. Not because it had become burdensome, but for the first time in ages, Conrat actually felt anxious. Not the type of anxiety he usually got before a battle, a type he'd never felt before. Like a child on his first day of school.
He watched as the warehouse doors slid open, and began making his way down towards the warehouse. By the time he'd caught up, many of the members were already seated. Noticing the lack of anonymity among much of the group, par a few here or there, he brought his scarf down, revealing his scarred, but grinning face.
The grin was not one of sly knowing, nor was it one of evil scheming. It was merely one of foolish naivety.
"Sorry I'm late!" He said, hardly taking a chance to look at the group before continuing. "I'm Conrat!" He said, not bothering with the alias. He took a seat, taking his extraordinarily large sword and sheath from his back and resting on the floor at his side. "Have they told us why we're here yet?" He inquired, finally taking a look at the group.
They were a motley crew for sure. Opposite him sat what looked to be a normal teenager, Andrew Talbot. Of course, Andrew was far from a normal teenager, normal teenagers might have some hair growth problems, but none had the ability to talk to wolves. Conrat gave a grin to, Mako, he always did like jesters whenever he got to see one back in the day. Of course, the true extent of his power was not something to be joked about, no matter how ridiculous his outfit was. Jackal also sat at the table, another morpher unbeknownst to, Conrat. The pale white of, Jackal's hair combined with his age reminded, Conrat of his first few days after waking up from his forced sleep. The amount of colours within people's hair was astounding, he'd need to ask one of the members of the group what made people's hair such strange colours in the 21st century.
Loud Love was, well Loud Love was naked. Conrat had never seen someone act so normally while in the nude. It took balls, if you'll pardon the pun. Thule, now there was something interesting. He had seen his little scuffle outside, and could tell just from the way he moved that he could handle a sword. Which kind, he couldn't tell, but he guessed something light, like a saber or a fencing sword. Phone Freak and Maverick shared a hidden face. Phone Freak, however, went the extra mile and covered their voice and the whole of their head. Conrat felt uneasy hearing the voice, it reminded him of...well let's not talk about that. Maverick, however seemed like the most level headed member of the team so far. Metallia, and to a lesser extent, Loud Love were things that concerned, Conrat. He too had gotten into the business of evil from a young age, even if he was forced into it and he bore the scars to prove it.
Next up was, Dianna Lear, magician extraordinaire. Of course, all Conrat saw was a rather formally dressed young girl with a cat. If he had been witty, he'd have been sure to make a joke about Andrew when the cat was around, but that was for another time. Her outfit was a stark contrast from, Queenie and to a lesser extent, Harpy. As soon as, Conrat saw the two, who he had been trying to avoid gazing at for the entirety of his time there, he turned almost bright red.
For Christs sake, back in his day you'd be lucky to see a girls ankle, let alone all Queenie was showing. If Harpy's shorts of all things were too much for him to handle without blushing, then he'd definitely be trying to avoid, Queenie. He put his hands up to cover his face, he was embarrassed to blush, but he'd be damned if he'd show it.
