The Dead God's Priest (Open)

[Ulric]

39th of Winter, 511 AV

For years, caught by a chimera, a tangle of vines that covered rock and mortar in a dreary mask, the chapel bided. They burned some days, a molten scatter of cinders, or else writhed in red and purple hues, as a nest of serpents. For many, it had been a place to worship Skerr, though the practice was widely neglected, and then, when her disciples began to erode, Laat, Sivah, and others, until at last it was empty, desolate of prayers. The rafters were gray and warped, the shingles broken. Every crack a scar. Near the far end, an altar kept up a dusty vigil, beleaguered by splinters, ever fearing the clutch of scroungers. The high, narrow pane of glass was already in fragments, no more than a slit, for the stones didn’t yield, just crept ponderously through the murky chamber. Echoes of past splendor hung leaden on the musty air. The whispers of forlorn prayers, shackled by neglect. They were wraiths, bleakly eclipsed by the cackle of crows, dark, beady eyes casting over the plague of rats.

And everywhere, the dance of shadows, a rustle of sand coursing over skeins of fired clay, a desert of the flesh, ever crushing.

The rusty braziers were absent, taken for scrap. The door sagged, hung over by a beard of moss. Every tempest, there was a inky seep through the broken slats, each bead heavier than the hearts that once poured out under those eaves, suffusing the altar with an empty despondence.

And then he came.

The changes were subtle, vanishing in the plumes of dead, brown leaves scraping over the cobbles, caught up by errant gusts, whirling in so many cyclones. What are they doing?, frowned the smith, the cripple, the chandler, slaking thirst with sour wine as they bent curious eyes to the laborers. Shovel and Boil Face, laying pale shingles over the faded, bare toes splaying around rickety rungs, skidding over an oily coating of crimson lichen. They scythed at the vines, trundled out barrows of refuse and debris, replaced the rusty hinges. They brushed away the cobwebs.

Neglect began to slough away.

Presently, the Temple of Xhyvas crept as a gargoyle of hunched rocks, squat under the roofs of Alvadas.

Yet defiant.

Empty, quiet, bereft.

As ever, the dead god’s priest was alone. He stood by the dais, staring down the three rows of pews, broken by a slender rivulet of bare stone, and dreamed of an impenetrable curtain of snow, descending from a pewter sky. He was clad in armor, heavy plate over scale and leather, a fur cloak fastened at his neck. The silver inlay of its clasp glinted in the low flames of the brazier.

The coals were gray.

Ulric was a large man, the top half of his left ear cut off, nose riding crookedly on a visage broken by scars, covered by a patchy beard. And yet, his eyes were fever bright, smoldering with a dark, brutal intensity.

Xhyvas was dead.

But he wasn’t forgotten.

[Eridanus]

OOCI'm not sure if it's day or night so I left Eri's appearance ambiguous. If it's day he's a vantha, if it's night he's an ethaefal.

The mysteries that plagued Alvadas, that summoned the ethaefal back to the city of illusions were over, and that meant that he could finally pursue his main reason for reaching here. It was as if there was some sort of predestination, of fate placing everything together, for every clue he followed, every sign he read lead him to this place. Alvadas was not a city that was fresh to him, and yet it managed to maintain its facade of mystery every time he attempted to resolve its strangeness. The signs he followed on his personal quest, his search for Priskil, and finally agents of Ionu seeking him out back in Sunberth as one of the Chosen in some sort of prophecy, they all led back to this place. One mystery was resolved, but that only meant that he could finally embark on the next.

Eridanus was wondering the streets, not searching for anything in particular. This was one thing in Alvadas that first captured his heart and never let go. A city that would always remain foreign even to the most familiar due to its ever-changing nature, its transient take on anything material. He was in no hurry to do anything, and his leisurely pace and hyperactive thoughts signalling to the city to throw at him whatever challenges it could think of. If he survived one of the biggest challenges that the city faced earlier he could do it now.

He passed a corner, and when he turned around the yellow and red bricks of a nearby building, he felt a sudden chill as if the surroundings and atmosphere had changed. Was it djed? Was it magic? Were spirits here? His passive sensitivity to such paranormal activities could generally pinpoint the nature of his subtle discomfort, but this time it was something he somehow could not place his finger on.

Despite his familiarity with the city having came here quite a few times already, he found himself surprised again, though it was not surprisingly really for Alvadas never failed to deliver on intrigue. He found himself facing an arrangement of stones, broken ruins not unlike that of the ghost town of Nial where the beginning of his dark journey began a century ago. It seemed to beckon to him, to explore its center, to discover the secrets it held within. The lively chatter of the normal crowds had already faded away, and the red and yellow bricked building that he passed by just moments ago was not in sight.

He was in an entirely new place that he had not seen before nor heard rumours about, and it seemed that the city was quite intent on placing himself somewhere completely foreign. If he did not know that the illusions only applied within Alvadas' walls he could have sworn that he might not even be in the city already.

Entering the tumbling blocks of dilapidation, Eridanus strode forward, his senses alert and his body ready to tumble away and react should anything happen to threaten his existence. The city might have wanted him to discover this place, but he could not tell if it was in a benign or malevolent mood and so anything could happen. Fortunately, no incident befell the ethaefal and he found himself looking at an old worn-down altar. What he noticed more prominently though, was the huge barbaric-looking man before the altar, clad in heavy plate armour and cloaked in fur, cutting a powerful figure that reeked of danger and intrigue.

The leth-born was merely wearing his normal cloth though he remained equipped with his characteristic double long swords that was strapped to his back via a multi-purpose weapon harness. Danger and healthy paranoia was drummed into his mindset when he spent a season in the chaotic anarchy that was Sunberth, and though Alvadas had a government, its laws and enforcement the ethaefal still had most of that sensitivity remaining in him. Coughing slightly while maintaining a healthy distance between the stranger so as not to force any sudden movements on the man's part, he would tilt his head slightly in respect and acknowledgement to remain on the safe side, for he had no way of knowing if the man was a mere explorer like him or if the crumbling ruins somehow belonged to him.

[Laute]

It was not quite a pastry he bit into. The outside was flaky, the thin pieces of dough falling as his rough fingers held the delicate snack. A light layer of sugar decorated the top, a slice of fruit adding colour to the tan-white material. Despite this appearance, though, the inside was tougher, exploding with tarty berries and spicy meat.

How strange. He paused mid-bite to roll the mixture in his mouth, classifying the flavours as he went through them. The blackberries weren't fully ripe yet--if they were, it would be a smoother, richer taste instead. Instead, these were young blackberries, almost at their prime. Completely sour, they should have eclipsed any other flavour as they burst in his mouth.

Instead, the dough was designed to absorb their juices, letting the worst of it melt into the chewy shell. The meat, diced into tiny cubes, wafted in between this war, crunchy and almost burnt.

Only in Alvadas did Laute find such contrasting ingredients together. Another bite and he could taste the sharp tang of pineapple, the sweet tones of peach. It would be hard to replicate this, as it was with nearly any meal he had here. Discerning the real ingredients from the one the city put in was task in itself.

Only when the market's din disappeared did Laute focus entirely on his location. Beneath his feet ran a rutted path, small clumps of yellowish-green grass growing among the mud. A pile of rocks stood to his right, bright flowers crowning the broken rock.

This was not the city he had come to know. There were few places within Alvadas that featured such greenery and none of them looked like this. Turning around, he couldn't see the stalls in the market, the groups of milling people. Just towering trees and a dark omen.

If not for the silence, Laute would think he had left the city. No place was ever this silent, devoid of chattering rodents and chirping birds.

As he walked, he could see a small building ahead. For a moment, he saw it as it was, a desolate ruin reclaimed by nature. Shattered and alone, defiant till the end, it stood until the last pebble eroded.

A blink and it was restored, the creeping vines and encroaching weeds swept away by the dusts of time. Though there were still signs of decay (an empty frame, a tilted door), it was not the destruction he saw before. An illusion perhaps. Nothing was ever certain in this city.

Listening, he could hear two moving within. Strangers, he didn't recognize their voices at all and warily he approached the structure. Whether for good or for not, his curiosity drove him onward and into the the dimly lit interior.

It resembled other temples he had visited, the small pews that ran from end to end. Time had run its course here, delicate inlays now worn off the walls. Out of place were the two men who stood before him--no, one man and the other something else. The human was all muscle and steel, his presence overwhelming by the forsaken altar. It was almost easy to forget the other tense figure within when faced with this armed threat.

Almost, but the gleaming swords on his back kept him in Laute's sight. Guarded and nervous, the second one moved carefully inside, deeper into the scent of danger that heavily lay in the heart of the building. A trap, a trap, it all seemed like a trap.

The precipice one wavers between life and death, fight and flight. His wings could pull him away from this scene, this tapestry of power and danger.

It was too late now, he had passed the threshold of the door. Laute was a player. And until the game ended, he could not escape.

[Dhalvasha]

Eridanus and Dhalvasha held the curious connection of a Doctor and Patient. Likewise they had worked as associates, travelers, and loosely as friends. The travel from Sunberth to Alvadas was the work of complicated languages and unclear signals unrequited by the both. Admittedly as Dhalvasha's presence had been largely forced, there was little time to ruminate on the decision to leave the cutthroat city and travel into the wild blue yonder of errant possibility. No, errant enslavement, imprisonment, torture, and quiet but well meaning neutrality. Dhalvasha had never expected Eridanus to give a shyke about the Symenestra. No, after all the Widow had only dragged his stupid, unconscious body to a safe haven and treated it, free of charge....well...relatively free of charge.

Still, a fairer deal than any other fool bleeding and poisoned in a Sunberth street might have received. But certainly then, and only then, Dhalvasha was only a Symenestra doctor. Their relationship had been all the tact of professional back and forth. A little revelation here, a little revelation there...but certainly the surface dwellers had odd customs for their expectation of friendship.

Dhalvasha's extended to dangerous missions involving the infiltration of slaver parties for some heroic but ultimately pointless pat on the back for some mewling Kelvic.

A Kelvic, he might add, that played the nuzzling child of his primary antagonists.

No, certainly he couldn't have expected Eridanus to free him for that bondage.

Now the doctor followed him, not for the sake of revenge (although the thought had crossed his mind), but merely to see what the sometimes-Vantha was up to. Eridanus had that delightful disability (or perhaps flaw of logic) that put him at odds with fatalistic forces. If the sometimes-Vantha's body was any indication, the patchwork scars seemed to suggest he had the penchant to seek out trouble...then, failing to quell it immediately, succomb to it.

He wouldn't allow himself to say he was worried for the man, more to the fact he excused his reaction as looking out for Ihnar. The curious little abomination had all but grown on the Symenestra during the journey. His complacent innocence was refreshing and perhaps unconciously, Dhalvasha had taken an almost fatherly complex to the Pycon. Certainly Eridanus went out of his way to provide the most dangerous opportunities to the animated follower, so was it not Dhalvasha's prerogative to insure the fool did not bring such dangerous forces down upon his witless companion?

It seemed logical, but the crosshairs of emotion stung at the logic behind Dhalvasha's ears.

No. This was based in careful consideration. He had to be sure of that.

Stronger creatures had lost their lives for emotional attachment, the inane assumption that ones own safety should be put beneath another. Foolish notion.

But even so, here he was, watching the Vantha step into what looked to be another of his fabled 'bad' decisions...a fact further compounded when the Zith landed close by.

Dhalvasha held back, his claws flexing by the moonlight. He remained just behind the creature as it stepped inside, affording him a glance at the men beyond.

Certainly it seemed like a trap.

But who knew?

He wryly considered the scene, the fine finger of panic caressing his veins with sudden urgency.

It may just be a well armed priest.

[Ulric]

OOCDesank, the Gasvik, can’t be seen/heard, so just ignore him for now. Also, note that your characters have never heard of Xhyvas.

Somberly, he surveyed the paltry mendicants, just as he might a tawdry peacock, or goat for the slaughter, the pink end of a tongue probing cracked lips as he thought of those raw, savory chunks for the dented pot. They were weren’t even a puny handful. They were just vagaries, perhaps fearing a slough of fiery rain, a plague of locusts. They surely couldn’t want to be here, caught up in the char, the scars of the altar.

Grunting, he swept his eye over the first, scouring away the set of that jaw, the changing eyes and the sprightly, jutting chunks of blades beyond a taper of sturdy shoulders, flaying away the skin with his gaze, so that he could peek at the naked, starkly thrusting cage of ribs, adjudicating. And then, the devilry of wings, fangs furled by pale flakes, swiftly vanishing. Laute, who’d evoked a gasp of agony, the finality of a redolent acuity, from an actual monster. Adjudicated. They were imperfect, reeking of jealousy, of sordid longings. They were ripe for the redeemer.

Again, he vaguely regarded the pot, stewing over. The tiny pearls, gurgling over a myriad of flavor. They swept from the sooty basin, dancing around his ears, scantly mocking his audacity. “Jafn den adubdf web afd to, woer qeur nafudbf oqwbr dsdfe.” Jadedly hunched by the altar, his body vaguely squat and angular, the Gasvik cast a pair of tusks, curving ivory against a tracery of ever-shifting, starkly cerulean skin, eyes lurid with a sordid ecstasy. Enough japery.

Ulric bent over the brazier, gloved fingers splayed over the swirl of tiny cinders, and scowled. “Don’t kneel right away,” he gave a snort, a tug at the edge of his cracked lips. “Though if you’ve come for my head, you should probably just go back the way you came. For a long instant, he scoured over the tongues of flame, the fiery coals, and wondered if he wasn’t being too rash. He wasn’t a real priest. By the vagaries of cruel fate, he’d just been thrust to the edge of an abyss, endowed with a power, an augury that he couldn’t help but embrace.

Sourly, he reached over the altar, fingers curling around the clay jug, and took a gulp of wine. “You’ve probably taken a wrong turn,” he growled. “You don’t want to bide here, in this dingy, forlorn shrine. You should get out, find the solace of a wet cunt, a pitcher of ale. You don’t want to pray, you don’t want to jerk off in a dank, tawdry corner, or hear me play an elegy to a dead god.”

“He can’t even hear you.”

“You want fancy words, go and petch yourself. You want to offer up a candle, you’ll get my foot up your arse. Here, we don’t care for your sorrows, we don’t give a desultory, flying shyke for your dreams of power.”

Sneering, he leaned forward, teasing them nearer with a finger, his dark, enigmatic eyes glowing hotly. “Before you go, I’d beg a paltry answer.”

“Why are you here?”

[Eridanus]

oocSorry for the short post. Couldn't think of anything else to do >.<

The barbaric figure began to talk in a round-about manner, a style that reeked of either artistic sophistication, of self-declared nobility, of worn-down archaism or possibly some strange combination of the three. Either way it was a form of speaking that was foreign to the ethaefal, and it simply made things stranger. Whatever the man said, he had no intention of any of that, though the words "dead god" perked his interest.

Was this man a follower of Aquiras then? After having been saved by Priskil many years ago he had delved into in-depth research regarding his saviour and he found a treasure trove of information regarding the entire saga that happened during the Valterrian. An epic that reeked of murder, betrayal and conspiracy.

"I have no illusions of desiring your head, stranger, nor to play an elegy to your dead god. The city brought me here, and it only seemed fitting that I follow its desires. Ionu's home sometimes have very strong opinions on what its denizens should do," He said, keeping his distance. He did not notice the various people following him, for they were not close enough to warrant his attention yet.

"I have lived here for years, yet I do not recall having stumbled upon such a shrine," Eridanus added, and he frowned as he thought about the crumbling ruins. Did Ionu and Aquiras have some sort of alliance or affiliation? Whatever the city led him to, it was evident that it wanted him to investigate this matter further.

And investigate it he will.

[Ayah]

[center]Winter 39 511AV The snow had packed itself around his den when the snow fall finally let up. Ayah poked his head through the opening of the tent and brushed aside the nearly foot of snow that had accumulated. He went back into the tent and chucked what remained of the rabbit out into the snow. He never really needed to eat much to be filled, the rabbit would probably sustain him till the next day. He made sure his belongings were still hidden under the twigs and brush he had collected to create the nest before he ventured out into the snow. He stood in the fresh powder and stretched his arms out. He felt the slight breeze freeze his arms and took that time to jump and flap his arms. The air around him, began to curve and distort, much like the heat from a flame. The sounds of feathers, as they cut and pushed through the air soon followed. Ayah’s human body had seemed to vanish and what was left was a miniature falcon, slightly bigger then a common sparrow. Ayah flapped his wings and kept himself at a constant height and spot, before as quick as he appeared he darted through the air, higher and off to the right. Ayah watched as his den seemed to fall behind him. It was always an amazing sight to watch the ground leave beneath him as his body went flying into the air. Ayah, spread his wings when he felt a cool airstream. He began to glide and use the flow of air to cruise through against the clouds. His eye looked down at the ground as he watched the flat plane of land he called his hunting grounds vanish suddenly. He felt a sharp turbulence as the flat land gave way to the sight of a steep cliff sidet. His camp was only reachable if you dared to climb the mountain side, or hiked around the cliff and took the narrow path up to the top. It was a treacherous journey to haul what he had up to the top. But once that journey had been done, he planned to call the area his home for a long while. The dot against the bright white clouds seemed to be stationary to those who would take the time to look up from the ground. Ayah could see the city as it began to grow larger and larger by the second. The rectangular layout was wide and stout and never seemed to be the same orientation. Confused, Ayah stopped and used his wings to slow down in the airstream until he was at a hoover. He spied the city and in a flash he directed his beak down toward Alvadas. He tightened his wings and began to dive toward the city. The city grew larger and larger until it couldn't’t fit in Ayah’s eye sight anymore. His wings spread and caught the wind as he banked hard and around the outer parts of the city. The buildings flew by at, break neck speeds, as Ayah made his round. His eye studied the layout, mind busily sorted through the many visual clues. His circle ended just as quick as it started, as he began to soar back around and reached the familiar image of the mountain range he lived in. His feathers slowed his flight as he spied the familiar building that could be home to some juicy insects. Meat of birds and small game was nice, but he preferred insects. He landed on the roof of the old, neglected building and found a hole to slip his body through, the cracks in the old roof a perfect spot for birds to enter. The rafters were greyed and fragile as he stepped out onto them. He flapped his wings as he flew to another rafter and was able to look down below. The old windows, which most likely held glass when it was at its prime, were empty and void and allowed the cool air entrance. His eye wandered over the pews as he sat and began to scan for a quick meal. He focused in with his blind eye and instantly could focus on a large aurora. A man, thick and screamed of pride, the color gave Ayah a strange feeling. It was otherworldly, with a hint of strange, furry, an emotion unknown to Ayah. Curiously he ticked his head around, when he heard another down below. He could barely understand the conversation as the aurora faded from one person to the next. It wasn’t often that this building garnered any visitors, a favorite spot to hunt, and Ayah found it curious. He sat in the rafters and studied the people below, curious to see why man was there. Internally he spoke to himself, each word sounded like a quiet chirp or chitter, “Cxi tiu estas agrabla surprizo. Neniu, neniuj, gxi ne estas, ili povus esti sklavosxipoj. They could be slavers, but they could also just be common folk, don’t be so antsy.” Ayah struggled as the bird instincts within began fight with his more human side.

[Laute]

Behind him, he could hear footsteps, soft and silent as the snow. A slight tilt of his head and he could see the newcomer clearly.

Another of those...he could not recall their name. Just the poison that ran through their blood, the sheathed claws and fangs that were coated in venom. A dangerous creature was behind him, barring the door, and Laute had no choice but to remain inside.

A glance up told him that the roof was completely covered in pale, ceramic tiles. Messy as it would be, he could break them. Reassured, he faced the other two once more, watching as the human moved about. Never ever completely turning his back to them, the man reached down to the brazier, his fingers shifting the grey ashes. His hands were dark against the bright embers, the fire harmless in its weakened state.

An elegy? Ignoring the rest of the man's words, he examined his figure once more. There were weapons, sharp and strong and well-used. Weapons and armor and a feeling that warned Laute not to touch. Weapons, but no instrument strung up his back, peeking out of his pockets. Nothing lay against a wall, waiting for its next use.

What would the man play with, then? His voice? The image of this man singing was hard to picture, his face contorted as he awkwardly phrased his wishes. This was not a man who would sing. It was a realm far beyond the one he dwelled in, the world of blood and slaughter.

Yet, it seemed religion had a strange effect on people. Perhaps the man would sing for this god he so admired, dead as he was.

Bemused, he answered the question in like. "No reason." Without hesitation, he added his thoughts. "Now, though, I'm here to hear you sing."

Laute didn't even consider the consequences of his words.

[Ulric]

Ulric clove away from the ember worms, a stray gauntlet waving through the lazily flying cinders. He was entranced by fire, ever since the days of putrefying horror on the plague ship, when he’d bided uneasily by the side of a zealot of a priest, who he’d later sought to betray. He’d never been one of them. He was an arbiter, and to that holy end, he’d keep a crazed god in chains forever. He rested an elbow on the dark, graven timbers, heavy metal prying at a tapering crevice as he heard them speak, his face barely jerking. Then, an empty, jadedly somber hush rose up, with only the vague shudder of warped beams, the sulky hiss of red coals, and a flap of wings.

Desultory. That’s why he drank.

Now, he tugged his cloak tighter, forcing a swell of heavy, soft sable around his broad shoulders, fastened at the throat by a carved clasp, fading whalebone with silver inlay. His dark eyes roved over the guests, ending with the man with the swords. “That's a fair reason,” he grated. “The city whisks me about, chasing cats and specters until surrender. That is chimera for you. The whorls of power are great, but the higher purpose in never yours. Not entirely, not ever.”

Ulric’s face grew harder. “But I do not kneel.” He gave a grunt, cast a wary glance at the rafters. “Xhyvas and Ionu, perhaps they were comrades, once. Possibility begets Illusion. Illusion begets Possibility. Ionu surely knows the truth of Xhyvas’ murder, but refuses to whisper in my ear.”

“They abhor harmony, you know,” he grated, leaning on the altar as it creaked in protest. “The gods. They’ll have to perish, mostly. They were to share power with us, but they won’t. They can’t stand it. They fear ascendants, and a change to the order.” And how do you slay a god? he brooded, inexorably scouring through the gloom, the dust.

He’d find a way.

Even so, he couldn’t keep the harsh, raspy chuckle from surging up in his chest, eyes skewering the winged beast, though not irately. “I s’pose your answer is as good as any, but I doubt you’d want me to sing for you. I sing only with my steel, and I’m wary of profaning my temple with carnage.”

“For today, at least.”

[Bob Barton]

Alvadas. It was this pretty little city on the coast across from Syliras where nothing was as it seems because the city only showed what it wanted to see. People like Bob who was not familiar to its nature could only see the beauty it wanted and that was dangerous because it hid dangers within it but what Bob discovered today was not one of its dangers. It was a danger of its own that he was familiar with in a sense at a rather dull and dreary place that was better concealed by the city like an unwanted lovechild. Bob himself would have preferred that too since he liked to look at the artists and their works. Jinsen would be the same because "this place is ruined, dusty and cold" The both of them would be better off going to the tavern which was nice, warm and delicious like normal people instead of the armored man at the front who fortunately did not notice them yet.

And then after that Bob trying really hard to keep his dog quiet held on to it tightly around the neck and pressed it close with some treats to its mouth forcibly. Whispering that "you can enjoy this as a treat or as a last meal." It was Jinsen who first noticed the newcomers alerting Bob with its whimpering but only getting held on to harder to "shut up!" Whether it was because it could sense the atmosphere of the place or because it really wanted to greet one of those from the party it had a chance to get acquainted with during the journey was not important to Bob. What was important to him was that with his dog's relentless efforts he found out that he had to move away from the doorway, and his dog could use a lot more training to learn how to obey as its master.

He could not go in because it would put him right in view of the man at the front so "come, we are going to run" with his dog carrying it away with him. It was easy to tell which direction he wanted to get away from since in that ruined place there was not much noise around him. Bob ducked around the corner with Jinsen and peeked from the side watching the figure walk inside having some very familiar features which he could not tell because of the conditions of the location. After a few moments Bob moved back towards the entrance to have a look at what was going on right until Jinsen started to move and whimper again. One more time he found himself crawling to the corner keeping still and silent as he watched yet another person moving in. A zith this time if the wings were not what passed for real here in Alvadas. Bob did not like those at all since there was no telling when one would take him as a little snack.

With how badly Jinsen was behaving, getting too excited despite how much Bob tried to calm it down he decided to go back but he was afraid that once he hand got off its mouth it will start barking and exposing to everyone that he is here. So Bob waited. Taking the time to softly tell his dog that "keep quiet, it is alright and we are not going to get found out" until the harsh reality of it all that is "unless you really are the stupid and useless dog I got in Sunberth and I should get rid of you soon." While Bob sightly loosened his grip over the dogs mouth telling it that "now I am going to let you go and you better not make a sound..." he started accumulating some djed to his eyes. By the time he removed his hand, he was staring right into Jinsen's eyes but it was not the dog he was seeing. What he saw was an image he recalled during the misty adventure in Sunberth. An image of a shaggy dog much like his own being gutted by Darik which would flash into Jinsen's mind which hopefully it would "understand?"

Now it was time for Bob to leave until he saw another person going towards the building. While Jinsen was now all so ready to leave, walking ahead until the limits of its leash Bob was getting curious with just why there is a gathering of people going into an old, derelict temple. "Could be another sign of that madness..." he asked himself going ahead while tugging on Jinsen's leash since "we have to take a look." At least now if he could be better informed, he could make a run for it earlier and before anything happens. Unfortunately the hypnotism worked too well for the dog which fought Bob with all its strength right until he reached the doorway holding on to it tightly again to reassure it and keep it silent as he peeked through. The leader of the group seemed to be talking to his followers while indulging in a drink. "Probably to discuss his evil plans..." he explained to Jinsen as it was the same sign of confidence he has seen on tables with other gamblers in their method of playing.

And the men continued to talk more. It was when the light from the fires flashed on the man's gauntlet and face that Bob recognized "the vagik!" the way he loved to refer to the man by. The very same man who started all the chaos and carnage on the streets by pissing on a statue. Bob never thought much of that since everyone would actually want to find some way of defiling the slanderer. He himself wanted to do something like that if Jinsen was around but maybe he missed it all and it could have been a signal. It could be very true that Bob had stumbled upon some evil organization on Alvadas. Seeing could only tell him so much. Bob using whatever advantage that he had with him pulled Jinsen with him and crawled towards the back of one of the pews moving closer only as long as he could not hear the words.