Devil Don't Care[story], Chapter 1

Gathering of Heroes!

The cold street seemed long dead. Cracks had long since become crevasses, and loaned themselves to plants of various origins as homes. The specks of green and spitting of vibrant color stood harsh against the old rubble, and glass of the sleeping city. Old carts of metal, glass, and plastic lay in piles at the corners of the intersections under twisted posts.

Streets were not as dead as they seemed at first glance. The bite of the harsh breeze ate at the exposed metals in time so stretched no man would take notice during their time spent there. These streets were once abandoned, but in the past few years they remembered life that was not hunting new slaves or blood. Demons may have ruled the world, but these streets listened tot he whispers. This city felt the warmth of hope.

Several men and women stood atop what was once called a bus. This stage was not on it's wheels, but lay on it's side. Those that stood upon it were waiting. Waiting for the in coming waves of men and women the old order had been waiting for. These monks. These elders. They stood with almost no sense of fear in the air around them. They stood with pride and purpose. They had been preparing for these coming days.

---

The streets were not flooded with new life, but the city finally remembered what it was like to have more than rodents scurrying about it's innards. In the last few days humans were filtering back into the city. Not just the hopeful order of prophetic monks, but men and women that were left full of hope and hate, and dripping in power and weapons.

Some of the new life knew the extent of the coming events, but many seemed just as confused about the situation as the histories of old. Some set up tents and began the gathering with rest. Some settled in old buildings, and began reading. Some began to search for a place to restock, or eat or drink as they reached the innards of the city. Some sought the comfort of conversation with other travelers. The few fully aware of the situation went in search of the monks, those that had prepared this city for their arrival.

It seemed that most of these people held a letter, one that was brought to each of the clans. One that spoke of the old prophesies that many of the clans still told their children. One that asked the world of men to send their' best or worst. Their most or least trusted. The one they wish to have represent them in the final selection. These streets, and buildings were not called the contest grounds for no reason. Those who held these notes and letters knew. They would be preparing to fight more than demons in the trials that would push them to forge a group worth the salt of humanity.

---

A small pack of Dihy were not stalking their prey. They were not taking their time to track him down. They happened across him, and were simply rushing after him like they always did. These demons looked as they always did. Like a discolored child, with a pot belly, and skin drawn tight over muscles ready to tare. Claws digging into the dust and grass as they run full tilt forward, with no reservation for silence. Poison and drool drip ping form their fang-like row of teeth, they finally seemed to catch another man. He seemed tall, and broad, but to their eyes, that would just make him easier as a target.

They were rushing in too recklessly, and making too much noise. Flint was all too aware they were there, and coming at him. He spun on the spot, and dropped his rucksack. He pulled his large shield as round as they sun seemed to be, and choked up on a long handled hammer. the sight that he was ready for them, didn't change their strategy of charging him and clawing him to pieces. He counted them as they came in close, and grinned.

He dropped his shoulder, and slammed the first Dihy over him with the shield. His hammer swung under, and bone cracked as it's head crushed the right ribs of the next incoming demon. He spun again, and swung his shielded arm across the neck of the Dihy he had winded with his hammer. Black blood spilled on the ground as the demon's neck split open on the bladed edge of the shield. Another of the pack lept over his hammer, but found the point of his boot driven into it's mouth instead of soft flesh.

Two dead, one thrown to the other side, and several more still lagging behind the first wave. His smile dropped to an almost emotionless mask. The twenty pounds of weight swung around again, to fall on the foot of the closest of the next incoming demon. The foot crushed under the swing, and the Dihy crumpled from the pain, as Flint dropped the two spikes of the back of his boot into the back of it's head, and his shield bounced two more little demons off for another attack. The first demon recovered, and dove at Flint, but found flint's speed surprisingly better than it's own. His hammer sped over head, and from foot to shoulder, it crushed the demon against the ground.

He held his shield over his head, and kicked the fallen demon in the face hard, as he turned to face the last two Dihy still trying to rip him apart. He took a low stance, and rush forward at them, seemingly leaving himself open. However they found his shield was not meant to protect his head, but to cut them down mid air. He struck them both, one across the chest, and the other across the legs. As the shield cut deep, he punched them downward into the ground. The deep cut turned into severed legs, and organs spilling out of the large wound.

Flint pulled away, and cleaned his weapons. He took note of the claw marks left on him that he had not noticed during the fight. With a sigh, he pulled his things together, and left the demons lay bleeding and decaying. He marched on towards his destination, determined to not have another blood pumping distraction like that today.

---

Flint stood on the decayed remains of the old bridge. He looked over the ropes that made a new bridge inside the skeleton of the one that still lay there. And old green sign was mostly decayed or rusted away, but Detr still was viable to decryption. It seemed the ages of demon rule had taken the hammer to this city, but those of the ages gone by would have known only half of this damage was the fault of time or demons.

He groaned at the thought of trusting ropes and planks to keep him over the water of the river below him. He breathed in the harsh stench that still flowed in the air. It reminded him of the forges. It reminded him of the mines. It reminded him of the out houses. He breathed out slowly, and moaned in discontent. After a few hundred step, he had crossed the rickety bridge, and not fallen into the rust colored river.

Flint fished in his pockets and pulled out the rolled note. He read it over again, as he had so many times on his lonely journey here. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and pulled his hood over his head. His dark silhouette walked through the crowds. Some seemed as tall as him, but most seemed almost like children to him. His eyes glazed as he passed the other travelers. He meant to look as vagrant as he could with the large shield hanging from his back that covered his rucksack.

The growing number of people in the city impressed him. He didn't think there were still so many free people alive in the world. He had grown overhearing of how soon the last of the free clans would be exterminated, or enslaved. He didn't let his racing mind betray him. He spotted the ones he was looking for. They stood atop an odd platform of an old creation of man. He made his way through the crowd, and reached a hand up to show he knew why he was here.

"I wish to speak with your recorder! Sign my name, because I'm gonna rest before things get started!"

Grigori walked slowly into the dead city, within the shadows of his hood he could only smile and look from side to side for either demons or corpses. Behind him a zombie crumpled to the ground causing him to sigh. That was the fourth over the last few minutes, with a motion of his hand he called over the last which handed him the scroll in the same manner as the day he summoned it. The scroll delivered again to it's master the remaining zombie crumbled to the ground as a decaying pile of bones and flesh. Grigori stood alone in the street and with barely a thought looked around, he could see a number of humans moving in the back streets near him, far more living than he had seen in several years.

Moving forward he slowly walked up a small ramp and onto a large road. Large hunks of metal lay spread around this expanse of stone moving through the city. Keeping his ears open for any sounds Grigori moved forward with the scroll and a purpose. After walking for some time he smiled darkly noticing to his right a large building shaped like a bowl. He walked down a similar ramp as before and onto a much smaller road heading a short distance to the strange building. Walking under the spaced sign which read "Co ica Park" even after all these years and into the expansive field within. Grigori walked through the stands and finally jumped over the wall and onto the field within.

Muttering to himself under his breath, he began to recite, a dark wind carried his voice to where it was needed. Grigori finished the first verse and immediately flowed into a second than a third, and so on. As he finished the third verse a decaying form wandered into the stadium with a groan. When he finished the fifth the first four had already arrived inside the stadium. The moment the last of those verses finished the Reaper smiled and began to recite a different verse in a louder voice so the human watchers could hear him better. As he finished the fifth zombie gathered with it's companions and all around him black "dust" gathered on a wind which seemed to whisper his own voice. The dust took the form of twelve skeletons who's feet seemed to barely even touch the ground and each gave off a dark feeling that they did not truly exist.

Thus replenished in his guard, Grigori stepped out of the building and headed toward the noise of humans nearby. As he approached the giant crowd he pulled his hood tighter over his head and handed his fifth zombie the scroll. The crowd parted quickly as the dead procession around him advanced, some in the crowd fainted from fright as they saw the gleam of magic from the eyes of the reaper in the center of the dead. Others glared with furrowed brows at the grim performance. When Grigori stepped to the stage he motioned for the Zombie with the scroll to move forward, it then presented the scroll to the elders. "A gift from the dead to me and now I present it to you. These demons have lived for a long time and I would have their bodies and their secrets. If this means helping your quest than so be it."

Any way you looked at it, the lone woman wandering amongst the rusted skeletons and piled stone was strange. First of all, she was wearing a white jacket with wide sleeves, along with a pair of baggy red pants that looked like they had once been a pleated ankle-length skirt in a previous life. She also wore sandals for some reason. In this part of the world, most people would wear boots, if they could afford them, or nothing at all, if they didn't. A wide straw hat covered her head, and a wide cloth screen draped down from the brim, half-concealing her face from view, although if one looked closesly, one could see through the screen and view her face...

"If possible, sir, could you please stop doing that? Your narration is somewhat distracting, and I find it very rude!" The robed woman frowned, and pointed her naginata, which looked like someone had mated a spear handle to a short, curved sword, right at the old man hovering in the air just above her and to her right. "But if you wish to converse civilly, I would not adverse to your company."

...said the strange woman as she looked up at the spirit with a frown on her exotic face. She shifted her weatherworn pack and the quiver of arrows rattled in their quiver...

Sakura sighed and walked on, ignoring the pitiful soul who was still muttering to himself and scribbling in his book, until she could no longer hear him. It was maddening, sometimes, how spirits could become so focused on one thing they forgot all else. It was hard to help them when they became like that. He'd eventually fade away and become nothing to but a voice that could only be heard by a shaman like herself, and soon he wouldn't even be that.

"Ashes to ashes..." she muttered as she walked on, taking care not to step on any bones she came across. It was best to be respectful of the dead, especially when you could hear them complain.

Suddenly a dog came flying through a fallen building and stopped at her feet, it's tail wagging and it's tongue hanging out as if it were trying to cool down after a long run. It was probably out of habit, since it hadn't had a corporeal body in years, perhaps decades; the spirit didn't know, or care. Sakura smiled fondly, then reached down to rub the animal behind the ears. She wasn't actually able to touch him, but the dog took comfort from her attempt and woofed happily as she reached out with an effort of will and touched the dog spirit with her thoughts. A vision flooded her mind, and she suddenly knew that there was a strange metal artifact with a crowd of people standing on it less than an hour's march away, and she even knew which direction it was in and which paths to take in order to avoid the Dihy.

"Thank you dear. Come, you've earned your rest." She clasped her free hand to the small cloth bag around her neck, the one that contained her fetish. The dog leaped forward and seemed to shrink as it entered the fetish. There it would rest until she had need of it again.

And need it she would, if what the scroll that had been delivered to her clan spoke truly.

“What do you mean I am too old?!” Cried Markus, his robes flowing around him, almost mirroring the indignity he was exuding from his every movement. His steel walking rod, carrying a book strapped to a plate of metal, was swaying back and forth quickly, his grip never wavering despite a few wary glances. A combination of his bluster, loud voice, and rather outlandish dress was bringing more than a few eyes toward his location.

“Listen old man,” the guard said again, the amusement on his face from the newest applicant quickly disappearing. The replacement expression was none to friendly. “I told ya once. Don make me teach you what ‘no’ means.” The motion toward the man’s fabricated sword was meant to inspire fear and intimidate Markus into letting the conversation drop.

But the surprise that crossed the man’s face when Markus threw his head back and laughed a deep, rolling laugh made it very clear that he was not expecting that reaction. But surprise turned to humiliation, and humiliation to anger. The guard did not appreciate the laughter at all, and decided to show the old man exactly what he was talking about. Upon drawing his sword, there was a collective gasp as Markus just kept laughing. Very quickly a circle of people developed as they both wanted to watch the senile old man get what was coming to him, and to keep a safe distance from the sword the man yielded.
Markus saw the sword, but his smile never disappeared. “A wise man once said that violence is the last bastion of the incompetent.” The guard got even more rattled at the use of words he didn’t understand. “Do ya tink ya are better den me, old man? I’ll show’s you!”

The man charged quickly up to Markus, raising his sword for a downward cleave, making it very obvious that he planned on killing Markus. But the smile never left his face as he just sidestepped at the last second, sticking his staff out at to catch his opponent’s ankles. The man was either not experienced in fighting or way too cocky about his chances, because suddenly he was airborne, sword leaving his hands as he fell to the ground in a heap.

He scrambled back up, only to see a very serious Markus staring down the point of his staff at him. The end of the staff was sharpened to a very wicked looking point and the eyes behind it looked like they were stones. There was silence around the circle was nearly complete, only breathing and the shuffle of crowds heard.
“Stand down!” A man broke the circle and walked in; a bald, very muscled man with no nonsense nearly tattooed to his forehead. Markus saw him and lowered his staff, presenting his old man exterior again. The bald man walked right up to him, noses nearly touching as he said “What gives you the right to assault one of my men? I could have you killed right here.” Markus’s eyes darted up in surprise as he looked over at the now smirking man behind him.

“You mean him? The man who insulted me, demeaned me, saw my scroll and refused to let me pass anyway, and then charged me with sword ready to kill me? Because if we are talking about the same man, we have two radically differing stories.” With each mention, the crowd agreed with Markus, rousing with each point with “Yeah’s” and “He’s right” The bald man looked around the circle and back to the guard, who’s smirk disappeared with his superior’s gaze.

“Rock, is this true?” The response could not even be heard over the crowd. The bald man motioned for silence and looked back at Markus. Bowing deeply, the came back up and motioned to the stage on which a few men and women had placed themselves. “Your destination is there, wise one. Please forgive my man for forgetting his place.” The last words were so sharp, Rock flinched at their touch.

“No need for apologizes, it’s already forgotten!” Markus said cheerfully. He motioned to the book strapped to his staff. “Forgive and forget, the book says. So we move on. Take care now!” Markus toned out the yelling that broke out when he left the circle, the bald man clearly giving Rock a piece of his mind. Markus was only thankful they didn’t ask where he’d gotten the scroll.

“Dead men tell no tales... ” He chuckled under his breath as he walked toward the podium serving as the center of the meeting. It’s hard to come to a meeting when demons slaughter your whole party.

Samael Aller sipped a drink as he eyed a particularly cute bar patron. He had been in town for only a day, just long enough to get his name recorded by those odd little monks, but he was already impressed by the number of people that had shown up at the location detailed in that letter he had found on a less fortunate soul. He found himself relaxing in one of several bars that had sprung up, even if said bar was merely a large tent with a handful of tables and chairs.

Having finished his drink he decided to approach the subject of his interests, cute young lass even trussed up in the leather and cloth like so many wanderers. “So,” Samael started as he took a seat next to the girl. “What’s a fine young lady like yourself doing alone?”

“Oh bad luck I suppose.” She laughed. “Perhaps you want to fix my bad luck?”

Samael motioned for two drinks from the bartender before doing a mock bow. “I live to help ma’am.” This eliciting another laugh from the young lady, but Samael’s next remark was cut off as a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around. Samael found himself with the largest man he had ever seen, and he seemed rather angry.

“What’cha doing with my girlfriend?” The man growled, spittle flying into Samael’s face. [i]always with the cute ones..[/] He thought as he put a hand on the arm the held him in place.
“She said she was single. So if your bad enough that she had to lie that she was single you can take you’re your ape man gone wrong self elsewhere.”

Samael was thus only mildly surprised when he found himself being hurled into the nearest table, which crumpled under his combined weight and momentum. “Why do they lie about this sort of thing?” Samael grumbled, before he breathed out and let his mind tug at that wellspring of power, it feeling was familiar yet so very alien, perhaps that was the way magic was. “Egressus terribilis potential.” He muttered under his breath as he tried to pull himself out of the ruins of the tables.

“What the hell are you muttering?” The man said as he lumbered toward Samael.

“Oh nothing… just a good luck charm.” Samael replied as he brushed off pieces of wood from his duster. “Kinda like this- Incaendo!” He continued while miming a throw, which sent ball of flame hurling at the thug exploding in a shower of singed clothe, ash and sparks- it also set him on fire. This did nothing to help his vision, which was why he never saw Samael’s cane heading for his head until it hit.

“Sorry about that” the mage apologized to the bartender as he stamped out the fire on the thug’s chest with his boot. “This should cover the table.” He said as he tossed a pouch at the bar tender. “I’m going to leave before he wakes up.”

This post has been edited by DB_Explorer on May 18 2012, 08:21 PM

Flint had filtered about the ruined bones of the city, looking over everything that was going on. He had watched more people coming into the city with a baffled look on their face, while there were two full clans that seemed to come in force to show solidarity. Flint just smiled inwardly, and walked along. He had found himself one of the small establishment, and bought himself a half descent meal with some good hard shine.

He woke the next morning as the sun broke through the city, and lay it's rays across his face. He had set his tent up in one of the sheltered districts, but it seemed that he had forgotten to turn his tent to a direction the sun wouldn't wake him. However, he could have sworn he had tied the flap shut to slumber and found why the sun was bothering him so early in the morning. The flap lay open atop the tent, with a young boy standing just off to the side of the suns beems. He was staring at the man laying atop his beding.

"Why'd you open my tent kid? Get lost, or looking to steal from me?"

The boy pointed at Flint, and there were signs of fear in the air. Looking down the line the boy pointed, Flint saw he was pointing at the top portion of tattooing that ran up his neck. He rolled his eyes as the kid spilled his purpose.

"Over heard even the draconis clan sent someone. You one of those filthy proud dragon worshipers?"

Flint grit his teeth. It was only a kid. He couldn't find reason in the boy's eyes, but a dull pain instead.

"Name's Flint. I don't worship any demon, Lord or not. In time you might regret calling me proud, filthy, or dragon worshiping."

He sighed, and stretched. Flint looked at the boy, and grit his teeth realizing the kid wasn't leaving as per his request. He looked the kid in the eyes, and searched for the words he wanted. As he opened his mouth to speak and reached across for his hatchet to scratch his back, the boy scammpered off. He had exposed the full extent of his tattoo, and the brand in the middle of it. It took him moments to figure out that he had exposed his personal shame. He hung his head, and pulled his shirt back on. It was going to be a long day.
---
It had been almost a week since the first of the men and women started showing up wishing to champion the human race's cause. The monks seemed to be doing nothing to keep the demons out of the city, but the sheer numbers of compitent people seemed to keep the numbers down. The monks had however been feeding, and giving shelter from the elements. With full clans coming in they had yet to turn anyone away, but they seemed to have no room left in their shelters.

The bones of old of the ancient city were all a bustle in the day, and gleemed with flames, glass and metal at night. Six days had passed since the first possible champion arrived, and the time was drawing close. Though the monks didn't speak much of when the arrangements would start, or what they were, the masses seemed to feel the immenent approach of them. Before lunch, many expected there would be the announcement would be made that they were closing the registery, and preparing the contest grounds for what was to come.

The dry bite of thick wind seemed to die down a few minutes before noon, and the monks young and old took their time walking to the center of the city. The bus still lay there on it's side, but upon it stood only one elderly woman dressed as the monks facing outward. The monks encircled the buss, ring after ring, showing their numbers and bowing to the visitors happily. She shook as if there was a chill in the air, though the sun had heated the ground and those standing on it well enough. Her voice at first seemed mute as she whispered some sort of prayer under her breath. Her hands shook as she prayed, but they stopped as she finished her ten minutes of praying. She stood up straight, instead of her hunched over appearance, and smiled with lines of age many would never see.

A soft voice boomed from the long dead speakers of the bus, and nearby buildings. Her voice wounded as old as the tomes some of the listeners clutched to, as strong as the metal many wore, and raspier than any of them had ever heard.

"You have all been called here for a reason. Some may not understand the note they brought, some may not fathom the meaning of what lies ahead, and fewer probably know what lies between this speech and the cause we all are here for. I speak proudly of our greatest wish, as a people. I speak of the overthrow of the demons, and their lords. The freedom of mankind. The prize of what is to come is your chance to make a prophosy so old, none alive have heard it from the sorce. A number of champions of humanity will be forged on this very ground. You stand on the contest grounds, and those who stand upon the ground vicotrious by the end of tomorrow, shall claim artifacts collected and saved from demonic hands. These shall help the chosen along the way to your destiny, and the push of humanity into a free world!"

A cheer broke the echo of her words, and grew for a few minutes. At last it died down, and the monks surrounding the bus began to hum. A strange calm overcame the crowd, as the old song pulled at their hearts, and the elder on the bus prayed again. The humming stopped just moments before she spoke again.

"You will be challenged on these grounds to prove you are what humanity needs to reclaim the birthrite of our ancestors. You will face five challengers. You will pass only if you defeat your opponent. Each challenge will be in different locations around these ruins. The Monks around me shall hand you each a slip of paper witht he name of another, a place to be, and the time to be there. You will arrive, or you will forfiet. Demons will not wait for us to organize, and we can not afford to wait either. You may watch other's matches, but may only participate in your own. Should you interfer, the match will be counted as a draw, and both participants will be asigned a new challenger, while you are escorted from our holy grounds. Remeber this. And remember that demons are not being kept from here either. Be on watch, be on guard, and be what we need for the future. I wish you all luck, and hope to see you tomorrow at dusk. Win or lose, you will all have a place in the prophosy."

She began to shake again as the speakers died down, and the crowd cheered again. It seemed that they masses were ready for this. Weather they knew what was coming or not. Flint stood amung them wondering a few things, but as pumped for the idea of winning a place in the group of champions the old tales spoke of. He found only after the cheering had started to dull down, a monk stood in front of him with a folded piece of paper. His name on the outside, the note was passed to Flint, and the monk made himself scarce.

"My thanks, boy," said the priestess as she smiled and handed the waif a cake of waybread in return for his services as her guide. The boy took the cake, blushing as he bowed, then skipped away with his payment in hand.

Sakura pulled the piece of paper that a monk had given her out and read it again.

"The Amazing Lavender, Roc Stadium"

Judging by the crowd that had gathered in the stonelike seating on one side of the arena, and the trio of monks standing to one side of the field, this was the location of her first fight. Sakura marched over the muddy, pitted rectangular field that lay in between two facing stone structures. As she got closer, she could see that a woman in light purple robes was facing towards the crowd and waving at them. The crowd, half of whom seemed to be wearing a strip of cloth the same color of the woman's robes as a headband, sash or armband, was cheering back in response. She envied the woman, for a moment. Very few amongst her own clan would cheer for her, even if they had made the trip all the way to this land.

As she got closer she could hear the woman chanting in some language she didn't recognize, and a light breeze blew through the stadium. Suddenly, the gloomy sky split open, and bright sunlight filled the area.

"A mage..."

The Amazing Lavender turned around, smirking. What kind of opponent wouldn't be overawed by such an amazing display of magical power? Sakura's first arrow caught her in the arm. The bent over, gasping in pain as hot blood poured from the wound. She looked up at the strangely-dressed woman in shock.

Sakura had taken off her broad-brimmed hat and replaced it with a sort of combined headband and bandanna that covered her head, the same red color as her hakama pants. Her hair was bound with white ribbon in a single braid that went down her back. Sakura's yumi, a bow almost as tall as she was, was drawn, and she was aiming an arrow directly at the mage. Her dark eyes were cold and stern.

"If the next words your speak are anything other than 'I Surrender', you will greatly dislike the consequences."

The mage shivered, and gasped as the arrow wound kept dripping hot blood over her hand. "I-I-I...Azarath Metrion-AHGGHH!!!" The second arrow struck her in the thigh, and she collapsed into the mud, screaming.

"Foolish girl..." Sakura muttered. She hadn't liked shooting an unarmed woman, but that mage could have easily killed her if she'd gotten time to cast.

Sakura put down her bow as the trio of monks ran over to the downed mage and examined her. Two of them attempted to treat her wounds while the third stood up, pointed to Sakura and yelled in a loud voice "THE WINNER!"

The priestess sighed, put away her bow, then picked up her naginata as the crowd cheered and booed the result of the fight. Most of the booing came from the defeated mages' clan, natually. There were also cries about foul play, to which the monk who had spoken shook his head in a negative and addressed the crowd.

"There is no starting signal, nor is there any rule that says that a contestant cannot attack another contestant without warning. Surely, the demons will not do these things either!"

Five Matches of Fate!

Flint fumbled the crumpled paper in his hand as he walked down an old road. He was not turning as the signs ever block or so barely remembered the name of the street. Franklin counted down on it's cross streets, as Flint looked to match the archaic symbols to the best of his ability. It would help if he could read, and hel more if he could read the old language these signs were written in. The years had out right eaten away some of the signs, so he hoped that he had not passed the location already. He was only a few minutes from his match, and wanted a lay of the land before they started.

A moment of looking his crushed paper over, and examining the signs at each corner, he found himself at the correct cross roads. He looked quizically at the open lot in question. there were metallic relics from hundreds of years ago. Rusted to the frame, rubber melted and flat, glass descended to thin att he top and thick at the bottom, plastic warped from heat. holes inthe ground under the old machines from the chemicals that had long ago eaten their way out of the engines, and into the ground. These relcis dotted the lot, leaving some open spaces, and some cover should he need it.

A monk sat idly on a bench smiling at the lot. He seemed to pay no attention to Flint, or the young woman sitting cross legged on one of the cars at the far end of the lot. She wore a vest filled in every inch with bolts lined vertically, and a crossbow slung across her lap. He could only guess what she was good at. Her tight clothing under the vest gave away her curves, and how lithe she really was. Her deep tan, and dark hair spoke of long days under the thirsty sun, while her placid eyes seemed hidden by long bangs, as the rest of her hair was pulled back into a pony tail. She wore gloves with fingers missing from them. Flint smirked. This was going to be interesting.

"Birkin, I take it?"

He bellowed across the lot, before peeking at the placement of the sun. It was just about time. She nodded, and stayed cross legged. A wry smile crossed her thin lips, as she put her hand on the cross bow, and swept her bangs out of her eyes to see him more clearly. Without a word, her crossbow leveled at Flint and let loose the bolt. The cry of wind jumping out of the way grew as it sped at him. He brought his shield to bare, and the bolt bounced off harmlessly. He frowned at her.

"Cold and efficient, huh? Could have at least said we were starting."

She shook her head, and with impressive speed loaded another bolt and fired again. He had time on his side. The distance kept him from hurting her and she had a large suplly of ammunition, but it also gave him time to examine the situation. His eyes slitted, as he tucked behind his shield, and pulled his hammer tot he ready. Just as he took his attention from the wide open, to focus on her, his eyes widened in amazment. He jumped for cover, and rolled over his shield as he clambered to think out the battle in his head. He had just ducked being shot by seven bolts, with little more than the sound of one twang of the crossbow.

He couldn't beleive the speed that woman could fire that weapon. He was hoping she would be surprised as well, when he showed her what speed meant up close. He looked through a gap in the metal, and spied that she had not moved yet. She also hadn't fired again since he went into hiding. He raced across tot he next car, and moved down a row of them as she aimed warily in his direction. He cracked his neck, and took a quick peek at his path. there was a stright line for her to fire at him, while he covered more open ground. He curled himself as small as he could, so that he could hide behind his shield the entire way.

A moment later, bolts were bouncing off his shield like rain off his back, while he rushed for the next cover. Flint glanced back at the monk on the bench, who was now calmly writing on a small pieice of paper. Flint rolled his eyes, and shifted behind his cover. He pulled himself tight against he cover, and breathed. He was within range for a good charge, and she was going to be in range for some better placed shots. It was a gamble, but he was not going to let this fight last if he had anything to say about it.

He roared as loud as he could as he rounded, and gave her as little a target as he could. Rushing forward at his top speed, he had his shield dead center, and his hammer lagging behind. Bolts bounced harmlessly of the edges of his shield, one after another. One lodge deep in his thigh, and another nicked his cheek, as he closed on her. His hammer flew up over head, and came crashing down. She had barely gotten clear, as she rolled backward, but her crossbow was crushed. She stood on the other side fo the car, and to his surprise, she was holding a small hammer and sickle. He had not expected her to have weapons ready in case of a charge like that. He dislodged his hammer from the roof of the car, and clammered around the front of it to stand square with the young woman.

In the time he had come around the car, she had shed her vest, and glared at him with harsh emerald eyes. She rushed at him, and swung low, hoping to cut his leg. Her second hand follwed and banged purposely off the shield. He laughed inside his own head. She was testing if his gear was quality or would fall apart with a solid impact. Smart, but heedless this time. He bucked forward as she clashed against his shield, and drove her from her feet. He loosened his grip on the hammer, and swung hooking into the sickle. He let go, and let the weight of his wepaon carry hers from her hand. She swung again witht he hammer while scrambling for her feet.

He spun, and bashed her witht he round front of his shield, not allowing her to gain footing. Her wind knocked from her, he put a foot on her hand holding the hammer. He angled the shiled threateningly, showing the sharp edge.

"Yield, or greet your grandparents in the after life."

"YIELD! YIELD! I YIELD!"

He took his foot off her arm, and offered her a hand up. Her hateful gaze softened as she stood with his aid. The fight was over, and she had come to terms rather quickly that she had lost. The monk had arrived as they both collected their weapons. Flint stumbled, and pulled the bolt from his leg. The blood wasn't running. He looked at Birkin.

"Heavy numbing agents can clot wounds quicker. You are too fast. The would have taken effect a few minutes after I hit you, and you should be feeling sluggish now."

"How long will it take to ware off?"

"Two or three hours. Shouldn't be a problem for a bull like you. I hear the Draconis clan deal with poisons all the time."

"You hear wrong. Be happy. If I were half like the rumors of that damned clan, you would be dead instead of winded."

The monk stood waiting for Flint, and silently handed him a piece of paper. The one he had been writting on.

"Later. Gotta head to my next match."

"I'll go with you. Got nothing better to do."

"Fine. No hard feelings then."

He unfurled the paper, and looked it over displeased. "

Read this for me?"

"Can't read, huh? Alright. Carrigan Bristleberry. North-East corner of the city there is long paved field with metal birds littering it. South side of the main building, at the main gate. Six in the afternoon. Hope that poison wares off by then, or you have a hell of a fight on your hands."

"Thanks."

He started walking north with a small limp from his numbing leg. She followed him smirking, and snickering that he couldn't read. He shrugged it off, and shook his head. He wouldn't have to put up with her much longer.

Turning her head into the soft evening breeze, she closed her eyes. She knew that she really should keep her guard up. Danger was every where. But she could not bring herself to abandon the peace of the evening sounds. Besides, the others would alert her if there was trouble. Picking her way gently through the sparse brush, she continued perusing the area unaware of the eyes tracking her movement. Between one step and the next, her eyes widened in surprise briefly before her body fell like two others. The rest fled as quickly as the life fled from her body, but the three predators ignored them. They had what they had come for.

"I have to say, that went far easier than I thought." He could feel the rolled eyes from his place beside the silent Hunter. "Well excuse me for doubting a mere trainee could actaually bring something down."

"The smallest berry can bring down the largest animal. Just because you are learning doesn't mean you are not able to accomplish anything. You did well being silent and patient this time," strolling forward, Darkmoon's knife slipped the sheath. "But you need to work on your aim." the downward glint was answered by the slight upward spray from the deer's neck. "You also need to make sure to keep the death as clean as possible to not alerUt any others."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Yes, oh wise one."

Keeping her sigh to herself, Darkmoon picked up her own deer and started towards the camp forcing her companions to play catchup. It was a different experience on the return than what she was used to. Here most warily watched the Hunters return without so much as a smile. She missed the smiles and laughing children of the Clans. Shaking her head, those thoughts were expelled. It was in the past, she kept telling herself.

It did not take long to clean and disperse the meat between the people and still there was not a smile given to the 'savage' for the gift she brought them. But then again that was the agreement, she was to help provide the food and they would grant her the added protection on her journey. True, she have probably made better time on her own, but knew not where she was supposed to be heading. So this was a necessary evil. Taking her own portion, she headed to the far side of camp and began the process to dry the meat. It would have been far better to merely eat I now, but not knowing the area, she deemed it prudent to save what she had.

Halfway through, her trainee interrupted her thoughts. "Hey, Bossman said to tell you time's up. Tomorrow we'll be near the meeting place. " His tone was neutral but the frown told it all.

"Don't worry about it. I knew this time was coming. All you need to do is keep practicing your shot placement and you'll be fine."

"Bu-"

Raising an eyebrow, she could only smile. "you act like this was unexpected. I have a duty to my clan. Just as you do. Learn your skills well and your own clan may one day send you on such a journey. "

*sigh* "But why does it have to Bradyn that gets to go?" his whine grated on her ears.

"Well, let's see. He's older and better than you in his chosen field. So yeah, he earned this chance. Get over it, Cashyn." Ignoring his pout, she continued her preparations. "Now, I need to get this finished. I'll see you in the morning."

Cashyn turned. There was soo much he wanted to learn from this person, yet he only managed to scratch the surface. Tempted to disobey, he started to turn back, but it was her remembered praise that stoppe him. Maybe he could learn on his own and someday meet her again to bring that ever rare smile to her again. Yes. That was the best plan.

Listening to his fading footsteps, Darkmoon sighed. This was going to be a long morning if she had to deal with Cashyn and Bradyn's antics. But that was to be expected. Finishing her tasks, Darkmoon gazed upon the creeping dawn. She didn't know how she truly felt about it. Then again she didn't know how to feel about anything lately.

***********

...."Win or lose you will all have a place in the prophecy."

Darkmoon listened to the speech in wonder. She didn't know what the Elder spoke of prophecy, but they had asked the Fox Clan for help and here she was. Taking the paper from the monk, she headed farther into her future.

This post has been edited by Kinkou on Jun 8 2012, 10:43 AM

As the old lady finished her speech Grigori began to laugh loudly, the sound cracking with a sort of madness at some joke only he understood. He had arrived four days earlier and as with the first day he had steadily increased the number of his followers. Around him stood twenty zombies and thirty six spectral skeletons. After he recieved the note from the monk, who was taken aback by the Reaper's laughing, he looked at the location and time only ignoring the names completely. He immediately walked off with his entourage laughing as he went.

First battle

Soon after he headed out, Grigori arrived at the site of his first battle. A dour monk stared at Grigori for a second before quickly looking away, Grigori stood still in the center of his horde as he watched down the road from the meeting place until finally a figure appeared in robes similar to those of the monk but of a darker hue. As the shaman approached the ruined parking lot they would use as their battlefield Grigori began to yawn, this fit of supposed boredom seemed to increase as the shaman began to talk, "even though you choose to defile the dead in such a way let us ha-" Before he could even finish Grigori finally snapped to attention, his eyes showing his full contempt for the man before him. "Defile? I am making these bodies a part of my legend as I defeat the demon called Death! Something an insignificant worm like you could never understand." As he had begun to speak Grigori's hood flew off and as his scarred visage came into view the Shaman saw a black specter of an old man chained to his back grinning even more madly than the Reaper himself.

In the utter shock of the appearance of the specter the Shaman lost all notice as Grigori quickly moved forward, whipped the scythe from his back and through the exposed gut of his opponent. The shaman jumped back and quickly tried to summon one of his healing spirits. In that moment Grigori took another step forward bringing the scythe a full circle with its own momentum to meet the unprepared man's neck, lopping off his entire head. The dour monk looked on gravely and, with some contempt, he announced Grigori as the winner to the utter lack of people watching such an unpopular figure. Taking his next match's instructions he memorized the location before he used the paper to clean the blood from his scythe and walked off with his forces.

Second battle

It took him a while longer but eventually Grigori walked into a small overgrown park. He could hear a nearby fight still taking place and sighed as he waited for the sounds from it to vanish first. Shortly after a slight roar came up from the area he moved from his shaded area and to the battleground. An injured man was being led away at which Grigori sneered and looked at the monk for this new area. A middle aged woman he noticed her wearily looking at him from the corner of her eyes as she pretended to watch the plants in front of her. He smirked directly at her watching her to see her squirm a bit before he got bored and began to examine one of his zombies from the first day for signs of decay. An hour passed in this tense manner for the monk before she audibly released a sigh of relief as the other opponent appeared at last.

She was a tall, old mage who's features together seemed to hold the feeling of a queen's. Grigori looked to the sky and noted that it would shortly be time and with only a though his forces moved around him in a screen of bodies. As the sun reached the designated point the monk watched expectantly and the mage quickly raised her hand firing off a spout of water directly where Grigori had been. The force was enough to knock down two zombies that had been there and shatter the arm from one of the spectral skeletons but in the opening was an utter lack of Grigori. Looking in shock the old woman moved back and readied herself to release her next spell. The forces slowly began to move forward at a creep every one of the dead began to creak or moan loudly.

Behind two zombies the mage caught a quicker moment and released a second water burst but as it knocked them down she suddenly realized that what was there were three zombies. As she looked at the zombies there rising and the rest suddenly moving faster she realized that behind the creaking was a chant. Grigori stood behind a tree to one side as he finished the incantation and dark dust gathered together into twelve skeletal forms suddenly around the old mage. She could only scream as they descended upon her rapidly. The second battle over Grigori smiled and walked to the injured skeleton examining it's arm carefully he clicked his tongue and noted in his head the injury. With another cruel smirk he took the note from the monk finally who seemed uneasy being near him. Afterwards he continued onward to the next battle with twenty zombies and fourty eight skeletons in tow.