Reunion

[Slayer of the Rot]

((Closed))
Sometimes, it was truly difficult to see what beauty people found in fire. The dancing of the flames was indeed hypnotizing, and the way that it took that which man wrought to ashes was mesmerizing, but in truth, it was beast. Leashed, it was as much a tool as a shovel or a house auger; the smith could use it to temper and form blades, the chef to cook his master peice of a dish. But when the beast broke free of it's bonds and grew, it lead only to an unsettling, painful end. Here, in Radasanth, someone had aided it in shattering it's chains, and set it upon a modest apartment building. In little more than fifteen minutes, the fire drank deep of the crude oil splattered across the floors and walls by hasty, nervous hands, and viciously began to chew upon the wood of the place, charring away the flowered wall paper. It rushed from room to room, swallowing whole most everything it set itself upon. Black smoke choked the building, and the mages outside cringed as steady streams of high pressure water spewed from the palms of their hands, pleading cries going thus unanswered ringing out from the broken glass windows, nearly drowned out by the beast's roar.

In one way, Esther Cylus almost saw this fire as a blessing; it rid her of the painful memories that her apartment held. Her husband had gone off a year ago into the arms of the Corone Armed Forces, and a few months returned in a pine box. The chair he often sat upon, staying up late into the early hours, pondering how to keep his new family afloat, fell to ashes within minutes. His favorite coat, a frumpy, threadbare old brown thing, collecting dust in the closet became just another piece of fuel to the fire's hunger. She had heard the shouts and threats outside of her door a while ago, but hadn't truly thought anything about it. But now, she sat with her back to her husband's favorite arm chair, dizzy from the smoke, clutching her squalling two month old daughter to her chest, fleetingly thinking of screaming for help. The beams above cracked and creaked, and the blaze crept closer with every few second, but she'd sucked in so many fumes in a panic that her mind was all a jumble of half thought thoughts. She struggled to focus, her daughter's sobs the edge she needed, Groaning, she struggled to get to her feet, but fell back again as a shower of sparks rained down upon her, and a heavy beam of wood came crashing down through the ceiling directly above her. Her mind suddenly reverting back to that storm of panic and confusion, she cried out in hopeless desperation.

Dann Laghratham effortlessly kicked aside the falling peice of timber as he burst through the door, a gray cloth wrapped tightly around his mouth and nose to prevent both asphyxiation as best as he could, and identification. The beam crashed to the floor some few feet away, and Esther stared up at him with a half lidded gaze, her mouth slightly agape. "You...are...are you...angel?" Dann snatched up a folded sheet from laundry Esther had just finished with an hour ago, and quickly fashioned a sling. She weakly gave him her daughter, with apprehension, and he carefully cradled her in the twisted sheet. Then, as though she were nothing at all, he lifted the woman up , carefully slinging her over his shoulder as he dashed for the door, squinting against the smoke which stung ferociously at his eyes.

'An angel? Farthest thing from it...'
_____

The beast was sated.

The humble little apartment building lay in soldering ashes, splinetrs of charred, glowing wood poking up from the wreckage. The blackened land was peppered with half burnt scraps of paper, worthless chunks of ckoth that had once been clothing, and dashed dreams. Half a mile away, in a trash strewn alley in the downtown of Radasanth, a neurotic little hunched man stood, rapidly rubbing his hands together. He was waiting for his contact with the Radasanth Crime Syndicate to appear at the mouth of the alley, but he was already a half hour late, according to the sun's place in the sky. He cursed in idle frustration -- and cursed louder when a hand clamped down on the back of his neck, lifting him up as though he were a child. Shrieking loudly, he ganshed his teeth and struggled to claw at the hand, but his protestations were brought to a dazed mumbling as a heavy handed blow landed across the back of his head.

"You smell too much of oil and smoke for this to be a mistake." The hand drew back, and then launched him at the closest wall. He slammed itno it, and slumped to the ground, attempting to stutter out something before his atttacker planted a boot on his chest. "Not to mention, the description the residents gave me was pretty dead on; squirrely, nervous, with straggly blonde hair and shifty eyes." Three soldiers appeared behind Dann, who stared down at the gasping little man with a scowl. "We've arrested him before," one of them said, picking up the criminal and fitting him with a pair of iron shackles. "He has a long rap sheet, and most of it's arson. We suspected he had a hand in the burning. Thanks for your help, mister...?"

"Ren," the slayer said with a sigh. "And I need a drink." Grumbling quietly, he trudged off, shoving his hands into his pockets, tossing the cloth aside carelessly as he dove into the melting pot of a crowd that often populated Radasanth's streets, his feet guiding him to whatever bar seemed fitting.

[Rheawien]

“This is ridiculous, jumping from roof to roof like a rouge caught red-handed.”

And yet she did leap from one building to the other, her light knee-high boots barely touching the terracotta tiling, defeating the inclinations, accelerating on the downslope, ultimately launching her soundlessly above the sea of heads below. For most, the half-elf was a mere hint of a shadow passing somewhere in the corner of their eyesight, but more perceptive amidst the crowd of the rush hour (which was pretty much any hour this close to the center of Radasanth) would be able to notice an outline of a scantly attired woman doing some pretty impressive acrobatics. Not that any of them cared a whole lot. There was always somebody running in the capitol, and to most it ceased to matter whether it was a thief, a wrongly accused felon or a curvaceous, white-haired woman armed to the teeth.

Unlike Rheawien, who was naught but a whisper and a blurry streak of pale flesh, her escort was significantly less subtle. The trio was as tactful as oxen, charging down her trail as if they were part of a stampede. The roof covering crackled and broke beneath their weight, a small wonder given the fact that each was additionally encumbered with a halberd and nearly a full set of armor that distorted the sun’s reflection like a curved mirror. It was like trying to march elephants down a crummy rope bridge. Two out of the six that started the pursuit several minutes earlier already fell through the roof and into someone’s living room (Bedroom? Pantry? Privy?), another mistiming his jump, coming up short and landing in a cart of rotten cabbage. But the remaining three were persistent, like mutts that didn’t know when to let go of the damn stick and back off, and Rhea was getting tired of this game of policemen and robbers.

Not that they fit the profile actually. The three were no more of an official task force then she was a thief. No, they were mercenaries, some of the best according to their own introductions, and they intended to collect on the debt that’s been a weight around Rheawien’s neck for months now. “Two thousand gold pieces and an additional five hundred for the interests or your life,” the leader of the group told her, a weathered bald man with a scarred face and a cocky grin. Rheawien didn’t have the first and wasn’t ready to part with the second regardless of how meaningless it was, so she went for the third option. She ran... and she was running still.

They probably would’ve caught her if the enflamed building wasn’t on her path. Smoke as thick as a stage curtain and as bitter as the first hooch from the still billowed out of every orifice of the burning edifice, even bursting through the devoured chunks of the flat roof. It was a risky move; the whole thing was at the verge of collapsing. But Rhea leapt at it all the same, traversing another gap with a parabolic trajectory and landing on the roof. One of her legs fell through, probably knocking down a supporting beam, but the other found firm footing, stabilizing the half-elf for the moment. The heat struck her like acid, biting into her pale complexion, setting an unnatural rosy blush on her cheeks. The smoke was tightening the iron grasp around her windpipe, choking her like an ill-tempered mistress. But there was too much determination, too much defiance in Rheawien to just quit. She pushed herself up to her feet tentatively, maneuvering down the slanted roof and disappearing in the smoke.

It took a threat and a slap to snatch a grimy gray cloak from a street urchin that seemed fascinated with the fire that was tearing the building down, but once she acquired the nondescript item, the white-haired woman was able to blend into the passing mass. “God, I need a drink after that.” More importantly, she needed a place to lay low until all of this blew over and they lost her trail again. Luckily, taverns that were shady and unremarkable came a dime a dozen in Radasanth, so Rheawien made her way to the closest one. One of the drunkards, a mean, huge specimen that was probably a regular barfly, was about to enter, but she slid in front of him, offering two words and one smirk from within the hood of her recently acquired cloak.

“Ladies first.”

[Slavegirl]

Varjax was thirty minutes late, as usual, and Natalya was on her third glass of wine. Vodka would have been preferable, but she wanted a clear head - he obviously had some sort of business to talk of if he'd paid her passage back from Fallien and left The Phoenix Rising in the hands of locals. The waitresses glared at her - partly because her rather muddy boots were propped on the splintered wood of the table, and moreso because she had escaped this hellhole and made a name for herself in Fallien. Was it only a year ago that she'd left this pub to setup her hotel in the Outlander's Quarter? Bright blue eyes surveyed the dimly lit interior of her former place of employment, smirking at the poorly patched hole in the wall from a fight that had occured her first night working here.

A small boy scampered shyly up to Natalya's table, and as she was about to shoo the little beggard off, he dropped an envelope in her hands and darted away, glancing sidewise at her with haunting dark eyes. She watched him as he slipped through a back door behind the bar and disappeared into the kitchens. Once she was certain that no one was watching - one never knew what kinds of messages might be sent here in Radasanth - she slid the note out of the envelope and stared at its ashen edges.

It was barely legible, but she could see Varjax's signature and seal at the bottom, although the seal was melted and had dripped as though exposed to flame. A frown lined her forehead as she tried to make out the words, but the only thing that was clear was that this note, and Varjax, had been through an inferno. She wondered if he was even still alive.

Probably so, she thought as she glanced up to see a woman shove past a drunkard and into the pub. Varjax had been through too many other near-death experiences, thanks to the Radasanth Crime Syndicate, to let a little fire stop him. Since he obviously wasn't going to show up, it seemed prudent to go ahead and indulge in that vodka she'd been wanting all morning - so what if it wasn't even noon yet?

[Storm Veritas]

It looked like the rumors were true.

He would tell the passerby that the only thing that would bring him back to Radasanth would have to be borderline apocalyptic, but perhaps this wasn’t too much of a stretch. The people that had reportedly come in were a terrible lot, all folks he had dealt with before, all the unmerciful type that kicked ass first and answered questions when and if they damned well pleased.

Not that he was any better. The truth was, he loved this sort of thing, and found himself all but drawn to it like a moth to the flame. It was in his blood, really, and whatever it was that pulled him in to the action would never let him go, no matter how deep in the thick stuff he had gotten himself. It had stopped being his choice a long time ago, really.

His story began, like so many before him, in a random dusty tavern. It never failed to amaze him how frequently it happened in these places, but then his own horrendous existence perhaps justified some piece of the drinking. Whiskey made the deeds go down much smoother, and the smell of tobacco in the air was a welcome reprieve from self important cloisters and other assorted pompous halls of the self-appointed elite.

Natalya… Rhea… a regular orgy of awfuls. Why are the hot ones always so f*cking crazy?

He had spotted Natalya at the corner of the bar, and suspected she saw him too. Chances were good she wanted nothing to do with him, not right now, not yet. He simply sat back and watched her. It wasn’t time to approach until Rheawyn came in and turned coincidence into the unmistakable. She certainly hadn’t come here to get picked up by some half-cocked moron.

The rumors are true.

One more long, smooth pull on his pipe was enough. This tasted even better than cigarettes; it was bolder and stronger and filled his lungs with a more satisfying buzz. Evened his temper a little more, too. His feet came down, the thick boots propped on the oaken table, and he rocked himself forward, standing and walking towards them with that unmistakable shit-eating grin. He didn’t know who coined the phrase, but he liked it.

It was time for the reunion of awfuls.

[Lavinian Pride]

"Sarah, why are we walking in daylight?" The small girl asked. Sarah as covered in a heavy cloak meant to keep the light out as the hood was up. Her face was indistinguishable, and the cloak seldom moved. Her face was more saddened than normal, her thoughts drifting to the events of the Arena and the defiant last stand of a Demon. Still the small girl beside her was curious, as her brown hair seemed to swish as she looked up at her vampiric caretaker.

"I needed to throw off the hunters, besides the cloak does the job well. I can at least function indoors or the like until its time to rest completely," She replied. She wanted to reach out for kid, but it would have drawn attention as they walked off the main road into a street. The sun still shone above them as she wandered through the city. People with hoods up where everywhere keeping her inconspicuous and that was how she preferred it as she traveled off the beaten path.

"They haven't caught up to us, not after the stint in Raiaera. There is another reason isn't there Sarah?" Her childlike voice chimed as Sarah made her way slowly through the crowds making sure her childlike companion could keep up. It was humorous to see the girl try to make sense of the Dahlios vampire, but she kept her opinion to herself as she ran her tongue over her front teeth, lingering on the fangs.

It was that damn curse that always brought the worst out of her. As she moved through the streets she finally found a tavern far from the main roads, a good place to sip form a barfly and be done wiht it. She needed blood, and as she slipped into the bar she moved silently trying to reach to bar, before she moved a bit more hurriedly. Kid picked up on the odd behavior as she moved up to Sarah and tugged on the cloak causing the hood to pull back slightly and reveal soft brown locks before she irritably pulled it back up. Kid whispered softly "Sarah what's wrong?"

She could see three people she never thought she'd see again, and one of them was Rheawien, still doggedly wearing the collar Sarah had brutally given her as a reminder that her pride was as much a weakness as anything. The heated passions between the two of them had been entertaining for her, who had used the seductive games to teas and torment the girl, before she finally wandered off. It made her feel a little sick now that she considered it, for Rheawien had often tried to get in contact with Sarah before she disappeared from Sanctuary all together.

The next girl was someone she definitely didn't want to see, not after what she had recently endured. Natalya, fellow member of the Shadow and as much family as Kid was. Ghuantyr'stra's disappearance and the rumors between her and Seth made it a tangled web about her, one that threatened to drag her in the wake of her other half's escapades, despite the cutting of ties with him. As she tried to keep her face forward she spied Storm, the last one between them. He was an enigma to the girl, only really having talked to him during the cell, one of her last moments before she became a free woman. She wasn't sure where she stood with the man, but she surely hoped it wasn't on the wrong side.

"Sarah, answer me!" Kid whined as she once again tugged on Sarah's cloak.

She sighed as she placed a slender finger to Kid's mouth and said, "Be nice, I'll explain later, for now lets get some provisions..." She only hoped they would write off the name drop and ignore her as she turned to the Tender, a rather large man and spoke, "We need fresh water skins and some dried meat, we have a long journey before us..."

"Wait here while I do this, anything else?" The tender asked. Despite his large build his voice seemed wearied, as if the constant turmoil of Radasanth was draining upon him. Sarah noted the timber and pitched and filed it away. She then placed a few gold down before she raised a finger, causing the man to look expectantly at her.

"I'll need a room for the day, and will relinquish it potentially at night. If I do not I will pay for two days since I do not wish to change my sleeping habits..." She said softly.

A key was slapped down before the tender said, "Have yer fill, I'll be back with yer damn skins."

[Slayer of the Rot]

The stink of smoke still clung heavily to his clothes, as did the suspicions of the fire that had permeated him with it, though the denizens of the pub crinkled their noses at the former, and passed off the look of the former at a
glance of his eyes. A painful electric throb was coercing through his mind, mostly thanks to all the smoke he had inhaled trying to usher as many people out of the building as possible. As such, his temper was on the rise, and certainly wasn't helped when some brash little ragamuffin, swaddled in a dirty, gray cloak, pushed past him, sparing him two brief mocking words. Though he'd spent the better part of the day saving lives, at the moment, he wasn't against crippling woman, and he drew his fist up past his scowl -- and hesitated. A faint scent, a familiar one, thhat took him back many years ago to happier times. It was a smell that reminded him of a point in his life that he had family beyond Tshael Nito, the dranak owner of the Silver Pub, and had a reason not to leap of a rafter with a rope tied snugly round his neck.

Grumbling irritably, he dropped his hand as the gray cloaked woman slipped farther inside, trying to squint through the gloom and cloud of thin white smoke, but found it to no avail. Sucking in a deep breath -- and coughing sharply the next, he stepped in a lit farther, shutting the door behind him. With the absence of the falling evening sun, his eyes quickly adjusted to the light, and he almost instantly regretted it. The bar was clogged with the shifty and shady types, whose eyes caught your own and slid away greasily a split second later. The floor was littered with discarded cigarettes, burnt enthusiastically right down to the filters, broken peanut shells, and crushed stale pretzel shards, the lowest teir of bar food, if you could count those white coffin nails as food. Some people certainly did, and couldn't get started without a mug of coffee and their daily cigarettes. From the look of a nearby slack jawed, wrinkled man who looked far older than he should, he belonged to that clique. If there were overhead lights, they were lost in that previously mentioned fog of smoke.

"What'll you have, son?" Dann scowled at the question. As much as he'd enjoyed those plastered-out-of-your-mind moments, he'd given up drinking a long time ago. Still, there was time for those little indulgences here and there. "Just beer." As he took the brown bottle for the tender and popped off it's cap with a flick of his thumb, he hesitated before bringing it to his mouth. The smell again, invaded his nostrils in a much stronger draft than before. Spinning aroound rapidly, almost knocking over the neighboring loser, doubled over his own bottle, he refused to lose what was giving off the smell -- and froze. After a moment, movement returned in the form of his face twisting into an expression of abject hatred and anger for the brunette he could see only a little ways down the bar. It took all the will in his soul to stop his arm from drawing and gunning her down at that exact instant. The Lavinian Succubus was juist as she was the last time he'd seen her, his memory taking him back a second before he'd torn her in two with the Rotslayer. Looking back on it, it was indeed one of the most satisfying moments of his life.

An odd feeling crept up his back, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He turned his eyes to the rest of the bar, and fist saw the tattered gray cloak, though now it was pooled at the woman's shoulders. Indeed, his sense of smell hadn't been playing simple tricks on him for there sat Rheawien Mal'Ganis Lightbringer, the young silver haired warrior of questionable sexuality but not of questionable skill. As his gaze continued, he spied nexty Storm Veritas, who in his eyes was just as greasy as whatever he'd used to slick back his hair. Still, his apparent evolution from what he'd been those days ago was impressive. Finally, Natalya Tichenyanchova. She was a beauty, no doubt, as much as the other two women, but like the others, there was something loose and rattling in her head, and only foolish men with their brains in their groins couldn't hear it from a mile away. "Hey buddy, you okay?" Pulled back to reality, he realized how badly his right arm was shuddering, the muscles flexing and struggling against his mind's arrest. There were four of them, and six bullets in his gun.

Bang, bang, bang, bang.

He could even afford two bullets to pump into the death trap Sarah Dahlios passed off as her crotch, but he seized his rampant fury and wrestled it to the ground. He lifted his shaking hand to the scar around his neck, rubbing it as he counted backwards from ten through gritted teeth as a psychiatrist had once instructed him to do, and the murderous thoughts receded -- for the moment. Gathering his resolve as best as he could, he walked down the length of the bar, and tapped Sarah on the shoulder, forcing himself to smile. "Long time no see...I need to talk to you about something," he said, pointing at the table where the other three had already began to gather, perhaps to catch up. "I'll buy the drinks, eh?" Without waiting long for her answer, he walked over to the rest of them, squeezing past a few toodling, weeving drunks, and swept his hand around when the waitress approached. "Drinks are on me, whatever they want." Then, with a sigh, he set his beer down on the table, and cleared his throat. "I've been thinking of bringing back the Brotherhood."

[Rheawien]

“Oh, this is just too much to be a coincidence.”

It was the only plausible conclusion. When a person walked into a random tavern by pure game of chance only to find a quad of faces she was already familiar with, there was enough material to doubt the influence of some divine providence. Well, either that or some pretty weird divine sense of humor. Not only were the people present more then nameless faces, but once upon a time they played an important role in Rheawien’s life. Some had minor roles, some made such an impact that they changed her life forever, but combined they were the remnants of what was once known as the most powerful non-government organization in Corone.

The Brotherhood.

Two of the faces present she knew rather vaguely, their names circling around the Sanctuary while it still stood and while there were more then crows and vagabonds inhabiting it. Storm Veritas was a man better known throughout Corone then amidst the Brotherhood ranks, though it was infamy that carried his name far and wide. If there was a job that needed to be done with a dagger in the dull hours of the night, Storm was the specter that stood in the shadows with death in his eyes. Compared to him, even Dan - or Dann, or whatever the hell he called himself nowadays - was a do-gooder. Not that Dan really was a do-gooder. Far more famous were his escapades where he was as tipsy as a cork, swinging that oversized sword with a silly name and wreaking havoc on friend and foe alike. A regular swashbuckler, and one that liked to compensate the lack of one thing by oversizing the other she reckoned. Not that she knew that for a fact.

The third person was another she knew about as much as the previous two, except for the fact that she nearly made Rheawien’s jaw slacken. Natalya was a venomous woman, a luscious vixen men would – and probably did – die for, but far more attractive was her demeanor. Sitting on her chair with her soiled boots carelessly set against the table surface, the black-haired beauty was a dominance embodied. Needless to say, even looking at her elicited a handful of obscene thoughts in Rhea’s mind, most involving a lot of moaning and screaming and nakedness. She had to restrain those thoughts though; the woman was a proficient mind reader and there was a lot of filth in Rheawien’s mind to see.

Most of that filth started with the fourth and final member of the former Brotherhood. Sarah Dahlios was quite possibly the love of Rhea’s life, the first love of such kind, and as all first loves, it had a rather bitter ending. Sarah opened the half-elf’s mind to a brand new world, where queer, forbidden things became the ultimate high. And then, when Rheawien thought she found that one piece of a puzzle that she was missing all her life, Sarah vanished, leaving her alone, broken and searching for a new Mistress. Touching the scarlet collar fastened around her neck, Rhea sighed, doing her best to expel the memories of times past. Regardless of how much she loved the Lavinian, the rogue woman wanted her no more.

Rheawien would’ve probably left this Brotherhood commemoration had she not heard the words that Dann spoke to Sarah. “Bringing back the Brotherhood?” Now, there was an interesting thought. Brotherhood was the closest to a family she every had; a family a rapscallions and drunkards and unwanted, but a family nonetheless. But as much as she wanted those days back, the fact of the matter was that the Brotherhood was gone. The Sanctuary, who they all swore to defend and uphold, was nothing but a heap of ransacked ruins.

“Bring back the Brotherhood?” Rheawien said as she approached, her hood pulled back to reveal the silvery hair and the frowned face it encompassed. “Where did it go in the first place? Oh, I believe I remember. It went to ruin when people abandoned the Sanctuary like rats would a sinking ship. You probably discovered some considerable necromancy skills if you plan to rise the things from death.” Instead of taking a seat the table, the white-haired woman propped her back against one of the columns and looked over the other members of the congregation, waiting for their reaction. Natalya’s and Sarah’s eyes she evaded the most, for fear of what they might read the truth in her own, the uncertainty that raged beneath the frigid exterior.

[Storm Veritas]

The word of the newly re-arisen Brotherhood, or plans for its revival came as news to Storm. He smiled a bit; it was impossible to totally conceal his happiness as the group was possibly being reinstituted. There was certainly a potential need. What was needed was attempted already by the so-called legend Yari Rafanas. Yari had attempted to take the torch again, and seemed competent enough. He was smart, strong, and skilled, with the charisma to lead. Sadly, it didn’t work, and the Brotherhood had fallen again.

Now today, it was the commander of the Rotslayer. Dann Lagh’ratham, whom Storm knew well enough to remember the last name of. He was strong and wise, experienced, and super tough. He was a player, someone who held a commanding presence.

But Storm also knew Damon Kaosi, and Dann was no Damon Kaosi.

As opposed to who… You?

Perhaps his logic wasn’t sound. Damon had been a brilliant leader. He was active and powerful enough to oversee and command the post of the largest myriad of asskickers ever assembled upon Althanas. Storm had wished once to be a part of it, and watched the downfall as Damon left. Saddling up next to the burly new self-appointed leader, Storm happily pressed the bottom of a short glass of whiskey high, feeling the familiar burn at his throat. It never got easy. Some things never changed.

But some do… He left, just like they all do. Just like you have, and will. This isn’t the world you entered years ago. Times change, people change.

He stared with glazed eyes ahead at an unnamed bar as he thought. There wasn’t a better option, and this really wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t happy about taking orders from the moody warrior, but then there weren’t many he’d gladly take orders from. Besides, the group assembled was f*cking impressive. Sarah Dahlios, Natalya, and Rheawyn. He knew Sarah and Rheawyn from the Cell, and had much more detailed affairs with Natalya behind him. The trio was composed of kindred spirits, sexy warrior chicks that packed a punch behind pouty lips and killer bodies.

Well shit, I’d be a part of this just for a few slices of ass. Not like I’ve got better shit to do, those women aren’t knocking down MY door anymore.

It had been a tough go getting back into Radasanth. He owned this town, but was far too well known. He could only travel in the shadows here. This bar was exceptional, because the patrons knew better. A code of silence was a beautiful thing.

“Well, Daniel…” he spoke with a jocular tone. “…if I had known you’d surround me with quality ass like this, I’d have bought the drinks.”

His smile disappeared fast, and his hand disappeared to his hip and back in what was barely more than a flash. In his hand he held a blade. The titanium based kriss dagger turned wove a sharp yet serpentine path down its length. The mark of the Brotherhood was clear as crystal upon its hilt. He flipped it quickly in his hand, the blade clasped gently as he handed the handle to Lagh’ratham.

“Should you wish to lead, I think you’d probably want some party favors.” He handed the blade to a slightly confused leader. “I’m in either way, so long as we can leave this horrible town, and I get pick of a bedroom at old Castle Grayskull. Just show me where you want the f*cking holes.”

Although his joke was in jest, it brought forth memories of Sanctuary. How long it had been since he’d thought of it. Here in the dimly lit swarthy pub, the halcyon days of a once proud tribe resonated with him. Yes, it was best to raise the flag once more.

[Lavinian Pride]

As Sarah waited she froze when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. The voice that accompanied it was soft, and seemed mixed in emotion, understandable considering their last time together was in the Citadel in a fight that stained both of them. However as she turned to reply with a courtesy no thanks she saw Dan had moved on. Kid looked up at her caretaker as she said softly, "Who was that?"

Sarah herself didn't know anymore, there had been an arm of pure metal last time, but that had disappeared, and with it Sarah had too many questions. Sighing she pulled the hood more forward as she moved forward towards the table. Kid repeated her question to Sarah as she followed the elder woman forward. Sarah quickly pulled out a chair as she sat down. Deciding on what she should do she sighed as she reached up, and pulled down the hood of her cloak.

Her skin was paler, a side effect of staying out of the sunlight. The vestiges of undeath beginning to show upon her skin as she kept her mouth closed for the moment. The thirst was gripping her, but she held onto what vestiges of humanity she clung to as she heard Dan's words. Kid frowned as she climbed into Sarah's lap and looked around the table. Storm began his speech about his usual diatribe of wanton sex and lust. Long ago she might have taken offense to such words, instead she merely snorted at them before she spoke her voice tired, from life and fatigue itself, “I suppose it would have to be us. Though I don't know why you'd want me around, I seem to remember my presence caused more turmoil than good. Besides, the way I see it, people of my kind aren't welcomed amongst the living..."

Kid looked at Sarah confused before she smiled at the small child. Before Kid could open her mouth to ask Sarah pressed a finger to the girl's mouth before she said softly, "Be still and listen, while questions gather information, you'll have to learn when to ask, and when to listen if you're going to be around me."

Kid frowned before she huffed and said, "Fine, but you better make sure to answer my questions later."

"I promise Kid, for now lets see what plans Dan has, if the Brotherhood is to revive, we'll need more than a flashy name and club handshake," Sarah said as she looked expectantly at Dan, waiting for his voice to join the others and explain the nebulous comment.

[Slavegirl]

The former slave and erstwhile hotel manager smiled ironically with an upraised brow as she watched the four circle each other like wild dogs from different packs. It was, to say the least, amusing, and Natalya made eye contact with each in turn, her smirk curving her lips and twinkling in her eyes knowingly.

Of course, she had the distinct advantage of knowing each one's mind if she so chose to read it. What perplexed her was that everyone seemed to think that this whole turn of events that had somehow led them all back together was planned. But no one's mind seemed to reveal that they had been the one to plan it. Even Dan, whom everyone seemed to be deferring to, although Natalya refused to do that at all.

She glanced at Sarah, eyeing the sister of the man who had been her lover all too briefly. Strange how different they were, Natalya thought to herself before speaking.

"He doesn't have a plan," her voice was low, barely audible so that anyone who wanted to hear what she had to say would be forced to draw nearer, "Neither do I, or any of you. This was what you might call a happy accident. Don't ask how I know that, if you don't know how already - you won't be happy with the answer."

With practiced ease, and an almost unconscious grace, Natalya lifted her boots from the table and set her feet on the floor with a loud thump. Straightening her back and pulling her crossbow from beneath the table and setting it on the wooden surface, she smiled.

"I'm sure we all have very random reasons for being here - although, somehow I'm guessing every one of them is somehow related, which I find intriguing," she paused, pale blue eyes moving from face to face, "But I do like the idea of reuniting the Brotherhood. I refuse to serve under any one leader though - I'm sick of being abandoned."