Ruined Intentions (Night 2)

[Thee Independent]

Muse

Close enough to the ocean that the waves can be heard in the near distance like the rushing of a storm, there is a place that almost none know of and even fewer return from. Sunken between two swollen hills and overrun with time, there lays a tumble of forgotten buildings that are scorched by the sun and appear blanched as old bones in the moonlight.

There is something about this place that makes the small hairs at the nape of your neck reach away from the skin to escape being near the eeriness. Something about it that makes the butterflies in your stomach turn to scorpions. Something about it that wards away the weary by appearance alone.

Jones

'We're going the wrong way. Go back and take the left instead'

"I know exactly where we're going, stop complaining already."

'I'm not complaining, I'm just pointing out your grievous error, which shall be the doom of us all!'

"Now you're just overreacting. I'm the one with the frickin' map here, and it say's we're right on course."

Through the rough LA foliage, a figure struggled forward, down in between the two hills. He was tall, with an acrobat's build and narrow features. He had deep blue hair, cut short and straight. Blue-green eyes adorned his face, squinting hard to read a map drawn on lined paper in the darkness. He wore a simple black t-shirt, and a pair of slightly worn blue jeans. Around the youth's neck was a necklace with an odd symbol that was so complex it was hard to get a good bearing on the shape. The 19-year old looked at his paper, then looked at the path ahead of him again.

Ahriman Jones nodded, now quite certain where he was going. That didn't stop the Three of Swords from complaining though. The stupid spirit just wanted to start an argument, like always. Normally, Jones would be happy to give the spirit what it wanted, but not tonight. Tonight, he had to find his best friend.

'You know I'm right, you'll be sorry!' Grumbled the Three of Swords, it's voice echoing through the back of Jones's skull.

"Goddamnit, you don't even have eyes! How could you possibly-" He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "Forget it, we don't have time for this. Where the hell are those ruins, anyway?"

He pushed onward, between the two hills, to Neil's last known location. To the ruins of a 'successful' raid. Jones grimaced. Any raid that lost his best friend was in no way successful. Shoving a bush out of his way, Ahriman Jones trudged on.

Muse

Jones has picked an unbelievably dark night to begin his foray, with a new moon overhead and heavy smog choking away the light of the stars. Sure, he had enough foresight to bring a flashlight, but with the stunted and dry trees everywhere and the snagging bushes attached at the hip, the flashlight's weak beam only provides so much illumination.

As he presses on, his conviction thus far holding at bay any fears the setting might otherwise invoke, the words of his Order dog at his heels. The near lack of information that they were able to provide him is what gets at him the most.

"Our sources of information pertaining to this chantry-site were unverifiable, yet we deemed it necessary to risk the faultiness of the claim. We arrived at high noon to find the place in ruins. Suspecting that the true dwelling lay beneath the earth, we inspected the ruins and did indeed find what appeared to be shafts into the ground, beneath the rubble. We dropped enough fire bombs to be satisfied that anything below had been exterminated and then sent explorers into the depths."

A barbed branch hits Jones in the face, pulling him out of his thoughts long enough for him to force his way out of a thicket and into the clear on the top ridge of a hill. His gaze trips down the slope of the dell and stops in fright at what must be his destination. The ominous ruins are all, but breathing and he immediately feels as though he is being watched.

"One of these three searchers was the man you are inquiring about. Not a one of them returned. We did not have the manpower to risk more lives searching for them within the belly of the land. We stayed until dusk and then were forced to leave. We could only hope that we were successful in our efforts and that the men had merely become lost and would find their way out and home. None of them ever returned."

Jones

"Jesus, it's dark..." He muttered, pushing his way into the clearing. He didn't like having this little information, not one bit. But he was used to making due with what he was given, such was the way with the Order in their current state. The Three of Swords grumbled in his head again, but Jones ignored it. The ruins had come into view, and he could feel a small seed of fear growing in the back of his mind.

Suddenly, he had the feeling of being watched. Years of training had taught him to trust his instincts, and the youth quickly scanned the area.

"Archangel Uriel, light way and push back the darkness before me..." Muttered Jones, shifting the causeways of the universe and funneling the Vis...

Muse

Ahriman's words are silenced in the night air, seeming to hold no more import than his earlier Judeo curse. At first, he sees nothing of note near him or even down by the ruins, but as he moves to one side, perhaps seeking the best route down to the buildings, he notices something on the ground nearby. It looks as though there is a succession of dark patches on the ground, and upon closer inspection, he sees that they are actually fresh footprints, and they go down into the valley.

Jones

Jones frowned when his magic failed. Fine, if that didn't work he'd use his normal senses. Looking down at the ground, Jones examined the footprints. An concerned looked passed his face.

'What is it?'

"Footprints. Fresh ones, too. Somebody's been here..." Muttered the Flambeau, standing. He started to chant quietly in Enochian to clear his mind, and sense other minds around him.

Muse

It is difficult to concentrate here, standing before this stretch of particular desolation, but Jones fares well enough. He must count himself fortunate that he is no closer to the ruins.

As his nerves settle and he is able to block out the scenery about him, he hones in upon two minds. Both of them are down in the rubble somewhere, rather near each other.

One is very clearly that of a male vampire- Jones can tell by the cold apathy that sweeps out from the man's mind. The other is some kind of thoughtless animal that feels as though death is at its door.

The tracks that he sees to his left are clearly made by men's boots.

Jones

"Uh-oh..."

'What? What is it? Stop leaving me in the dark here!'

"There's a vampire down there." Said Jones, opening his eyes. He flicked his wrist, and the Three of Swords card appeared in his hands. "Which means it's go time, Swordy."

'Ah, excellent. I was getting bored.' Said the card gleefully, as the card started to glow a deep green, until it seemed as if it was composed of solid light. It started to shift and warp, taking a sword shape. The glow died down, and Jones was left with the familiar weight of the sword fetish in his hand.

Jones brought the blade in front of him, and started moving it in arcane patterns, focusing. He drew kinetic energy from the blade, making it easier to wield, more accurate.
"You know," He whispered. "I really should of thought of putting up some battle spells before I left my sanctum."

'More reason why you're a dumbass.'

Muse

A terrible growling and houndish snarling suddenly breaks the air- the sound of a canine with rabies or in absolute peril. The sound is undeniably coming up from the valley floor, as it bounces off of the hill walls and echoes about Jones.

Jones

With a few false starts, Jones managed to finish the spell, and started to walk down the hill quietly, weapon ready, moving towards the vampire. Maybe he could get some information out of this one...

Muse

Jones can hear movement of some sort in the valley and he is pretty certain that it is coming from the two creatures that he sensed earlier. As he gets down next to the ruins, the sound is more difficult to follow and even though he knew from a bird's eye view where the vampire is, the perspective is much more different now that Ahriman is entering the tumbled monoliths.

Jones

Wishing that he could see better in the dark, Jones attempted to follow the footprints. Barring that, he attempted to follow where he thought the sound was coming from. He kept his hands on The Three of Swords, creeping quietly as possible.

Muse

Jones follows the dirty indentations all the way down to the tumbled buildings, but soon finds that the footprints chameleon in amongst the other various dusty scrapes amidst the rubble, leaving him to move by memory and hearing alone. He can still hear scuffling, and it is vaguely to his left, so in that direction he moves, dodging large chunks of masonry and staying as much in the open as he can manage.

It seems he is moving in the right direction, at least, because the same terrible and horrific animal scream that he heard earlier once more splits the air in two, but it is much, much closer this time. The sound is sickening. Unreal. The forbidding broken bones of forgotten buildings are all about him now, closing in tighter and tighter as he willingly walks amongst and under them. Fear is at the back of his throat, bitter and persuading. Does he really want to find whatever it is that is making that bloodthirsty sound?

There is a low arch before him, made of toppled building crossbeams that are supporting one another. If he slides underneath them, there seems to be an open space on the other side. Otherwise, he will have to double back and go by a different route.

Jones

Jones moves forward into the maze of rubble, carefully placing each step on his path. The screams were getting creepy, really creepy. They vibrated up his spine and ended at his brain, suggesting that moving forward would not be a good idea. The Flambeau paused in front of a pair of arches, considering.

'Gonna chicken out? Coward...' Chuckled the Three of Swords.

"I'm NOT going to chicken out!" He snapped reflexively in an angry whisper. "I can bend the forces of the universe to my will, whatever is ahead can't stand against my fury!"

The creature screamed again, and Jones jumped two feet into the air. "Well... maybe I'm a little nervous..."

'Bak-gooooooock! Cluck!'

"What?"

'I'm sorry, I'm trying to speak your language, the language of the chickens!' Cackled the sword.

Jones growled. "I'll show you!" He hissed, and ducked down to crawl under the crossbeams.

Muse

As Jones bumps the crossbeams, squeezing to even get past them, he hears stone grinding slowly as they shift. He makes it through safely, though, and they move no further, than the few centimeters that they just lost in balance.

The first thing he sees as he stands is a man, probably the one he was seeking out, crouched at the edge of a pit a few feet ahead. The vampire is pouring a thinning stream of dark ichor down into the pit. Could it be blood? Why? Ahriman can hear some kind of thrashing and huffing down below. There is another, odd metallic sound as well, but it is hard to hear above the movements.

Not having expected to come upon the scene so suddenly, Jones was unable to mask the scuffing of his passage beneath the pillars. The vampire stands and turns quickly, hissing in surprise, "Who are you?"

At least he has his sword.

Jones

Ahriman silenced his grunting as he pushed his way through the pillars. He kept his weapon in hand, just a little paranoid. With a final tug, Jones reached the end and stood, stretching his back.

The mage paused when he came upon the vampire, quickly thinking of what he should do. Attack? Talk? Flee?

'Didn't think this far ahead, didja fruit-boy?' Commented the Sword.

Taking a less aggressive stance, but keeping the sword in hand, Jones smirked. "Who am I? I'm the fucking Midnight Tolker. And I've got a few questions for you-" The huffing of the animal interrupted his speech. "... Starting with what the hell are you doing to that animal?"

Muse

"What am I doing to..." The man's incredulous look changes to one of humor and he laughs a little. "I'd be glad to show you. Take a look for yourself." He eyes Jones' sword and lifts his hands in the air, taking a step backwards, closer to the pit, and then turning around to look down into it.

Jones

Jones frowned mentally when the vampire laughed. 'Oooookay... That's a bad sign. A very bad sign indeed.'

Still, he was overwhelmingly curious. Keeping his eyes on the bloodsucker, Jones warily walked to the edge of the pit and peered down...

Muse

All Jones sees is choking dust, as the drop-off collapses beneath the weight of the two men and they both go tumbling down into the pit without warning. “Oh, FUCK!” The vampire bellows and he is on his feet seemingly before Ahriman even hits the ground in a mound of grime and dirt clots.

The reason for the other’s man distress is immediately apparent as the reeking, steamy breath of the monster in front of them soaks the Flambeau’s shirt with uncontrolled hunger. It looks as though it may have once been a canine, but its lineage no longer matters, with how warped its musculature now is. Thick, chorded muscles choke around impossibly enlarged bones, making the creature look whipcord lean and as tough as jerky dried for months under a southern Texas sun. It might have been a pit bull originally, considering its barrel chest and smaller hindquarters. Its tail looks as though it was chewed off, and it easy to picture it doing it itself.

It lunges forward, frothing pink champagne about its gigantic, bloody-gummed fangs. The one thing that prevents it from tearing them apart is not Jones’ sword. It is the thick metal chain that is lashed about its thick neck and clamped around an ancient wrought iron bathtub. Stopped short, it licks its sickening maw and then resumes its death grin. This gives Ahriman the chance to notice that the blood is not actually coming from the creature itself, because the tongue has cleaned it away and the blood does not seep back …that must have been what the vampire was up to.

Dinner.

Its shiny, blood-crusted eyes gleam in the dark light of the pit and it lunges again, this time releasing that same blood-curdling, wretched scream that had been shattering the desert quiet all evening. For the first time, Jones realizes that that sound is not caused by suffering, but by a thirst for blood. A completely different kind of pain. As he moves to stand up and get as far back from it as he can, he sets his hand into a filthy pot streaked with blood, which he had accidentally kicked on his fall down so that it is now out of range for the night terror in front of him. Unfortunately, most of its contents are covering Ahriman now.

The vampire is scratching his way up the embankment, a grimace of terror on his face. He is not getting very far very fast, but he is getting away nonetheless. He glances over his shoulder frequently at the ghouled mutt and each time, he freezes on the spot in terror, forgetting himself for a moment. Jones' observance of this is broken by a new sound.

SSSSHHHHCCHCHCHCHCHCRRRRRIIIICCCCHHH

The brute has managed to pull the tub a couple of inches, despite the odds. If Ahriman can get out of this pit before it moves any closer, he may be ok. Then again, there is no saying how long the chain is going to last, either. It could very likely snap under this pressure at any time. The monster is heedless, in its bloodlust, of the horrible welts that are being cut into its neck by the metal leash.

Jones

"I don't see any-Ohohoooo shit!" Yelped Jones as the ground gave way and he was thrown into the pit. Tumbling through the air, he landed with a hard thump, pain filling his rear end. The mage instinctively grabbed his weapon, raising it as he stumbled to his feet.

A shock of fear thrust into Jones's body as he saw the dog, mutated by vampire blood. He watched the blood drip from its maw, the unearthly hunger in its voice. The need for more...
'Uh-oh...' He thought the Mage, backing away slowly.

His foot hit the pot that had contained blood before Jones's fall. Looking down, he was now aware that most of that blood now covered his shirt.
'Uh-oh!' The words echoed through his mind, tinged with panic.

But none of that compared to seeing the length of chain starting to strain and break.
'UH-OH!'

'You've really screwed yourself this time, haven't you, Mr. I-can-bend-reality-to-my-will.' Chuckled the Sword.

That shot seemed to snap Jones out of his panic. "Shut the fuck up, Three!" He shouted. Deciding that the vampire had a good idea, Jones scrambled for the wall of the hole, driving his weapon into the earth, using it as a makeshift climbing pick. Grabbing the wall with his other hand, Jones tried to climb up it...

Muse

Time slows to a drip as Jones struggles his way up the crumbled embankment, a few steps behind the vampire. With each foot up, he has to pause to dig the sword in higher and over his own heavy breathing, he hears the bathtub scraping heavily against the ground. It's coming closer.

Meanwhile, the vampire stops several feet back from the pit, but still in the clearing, and then rummages amongst his jean pockets for something. He pulls out a lighter and a zip lock bag with something in it and then runs over towards the skeleton of a dead sagebrush bush.

Jones

'Note to self, work out more.' thought the mage as he pulled himself up the embankment. He could hear his sword jeering at his efforts, but brushed them off.
'What the hell is that bloodsucker doing?' He pondered, though not sparing any time to watch the vampire. He had other problems at the moment. With a surge of will, Jones drove his blade into the earth once more, and pulled.

Muse

Jones finds a second wind, probably encouraged by the grunting and slathering of the brute behind him, and he reaches the top of the embankment in one piece. He has bought himself a little time, at least, before that chain snaps.

By the time he is standing, the vampire has a short-lived bonfire flaring. The little dried bush is only enough kindling for half a minute's worth of flames. Jones does not see what the fire was for, before it has burned itself out, but the vampire looks relieved. He stuffs the baggie into his pocket, pauses briefly to look at both Ahriman and the ghoul, and then he jets off towards his left, circling around the pit in a direction that Jones has not explored yet.

Jones

'Looks like your gonna live to see another day. Or just die in a more pathetic way! Heh, that rhymed!' Said the Three of Swords as Jones yanked himself up on the ground and to his feet.

"Shut, up, Three!" Responded Jones pointedly. He looked on with confusion at the fire and the fleeing vampire, and pondered his next course of action.

He wasn't able to ponder very long, however, when the snarl of the Ghoul brought the Mage's attention back to the chain that was going to snap at any moment. His weapon suddenly brought up a rather disturbing thought.

'How high do you think that thing can jump?'

Deciding not to stick around and find out, Jones backs away, and tore off in the direction where the vampire was going. It probably knew this area better then he did. Besides, the bastard owed him a new shirt...

Muse

The vampire seems to vanish into the rubble, but once Jones reaches the spot where he vanished, he sees that there is a well-concealed opening between two tumbled structures. He can see the other man a few feet ahead, but Ahriman is losing ground. The big sword in his hand makes running and dodging a bit difficult

Jones

'Where is this fucktard going?' Wondered Jones as he dashed madly through the rubble. He occasionally spared a glance behind himself, to make sure that the dog didn't suddenly sneak up on him.

Muse

Jones begins to lose sight of the man he is chasing, only catching a flash of his back here and there as one of them rounds a corner. The path that the vampire is taking is much clearer than the one Jones found on his own. It almost looks as though the path was intentionally cleared.

Any sounds from the pit somewhere behind them are snuffed out by the looming structures, casting them into an eerie maze of silence. Either the monster gave up or maybe...it is hunting them.

Jones

'Huh, I never noticed this path.' Thought Jones. The vampire was getting away, slowly, but at least he was following a path. Pushing himself harder, Jones surged forward.

'I got a bad feeling about all this, Jones.' Muttered Three. The mage ignored him for now; he needed his breath to run.

Muse

After several more dragged out seconds, Jones can no longer see or hear the vampire at all. It seems that following the path is the only he thing he can do, unless he wants to go back. He will have noticed by now that he is leaving dusty footprints on the path behind him, some of them stained with a little blood.

The oppressive silence is pierced by a discordant howl.

Jones

'Jones?'

"...*gasp*...*Pant*..."

'Jo-oones?'

"...*Wheeze*...*gasp*..."

'JONES!'

"WHAT?" Snapped Jones, lungs aching from his extended running.

'You're leavin' a trail there, Jones' Pointed out the Weapon. And indeed, with a quick glance down, the mage saw the small trail of footprints and the bits of blood within them.

Slowing his pace, Jones scowled. "Fuck. Hopefully that thing is still in the pit."
There was suddenly a loud, eerie howl.
"So much for that."

Muse

Jones also notices two more little details that he would have missed if the sword hadn't interrupted his break for safety. He is leaving footprints in his wake for sure, but there are none to follow ahead of him. The vampire isn't leaving footprints. There is only one set of tracks behind Ahriman- his own.

And as he is studying the ground pensively, he notices that the small gravel near the edge of a chunk of masonry is shifting about slowly, as though magnetized. The longer he stands there, the more they move until they are jumping up and down a half a centimeter off the ground.

And not due to magnetism.

Periodic Vibrations.

[Thee Independent]

Jones

Jones stared for a moment at the vibrating stones.

"Oh, well, this sucks." He remarked, voice shaking slightly, and taking a few steps back.

'Heh, Just like Jurassic park...' Mentally grinned the Three of Swords.

"Yup, there's some serious suckage right about here."

'...with the T-Rex and the water glass. It was like, "Boom" and the water glass would shake...'

"This sucks so much, in fact, I'd bet it sucks Lucifer’s balls."

'... Of course, they had the water puddle in the second movie, that was pretty neat. Or was it the third?'

"That's it, no more Movie-Movie Tuesday Nights for you, Three!" Snapped Jones.

'Awww...' Whined the weapon.

"Be quiet! I gotta think, gotta think." The mage rubbed his temples. "What would Porthos do? Hmmm, wait, here it comes, yes! Plan!"

Jones stripped off his blood-soaked shirt, tried to mop any excess blood that landed elsewhere on his body with the dry parts of the shirt, and hung it on a tree branch, just low enough for the huge dog to grab.

'Ahh, I get it. Dog wants blood, dog smells bloody shirt, Dog attacks shirt, we leap out the moment it's distracted and stab it, right?' Said the sword.

"Now we hide." Now shirtless, the mage dove off into the bushes to do just that.

'What if he decides he wants fresh blood, and takes off after you instead?'

"Then we're screwed."

'You mean, then, YOU'RE screwed. I can take off to the umbra when you die.'

"You're a real asshole, Three."

Muse

The double-time mini-T-Rex vibrations grow larger and larger as the thing draws near, easily following Ahriman's scent and trail. Unfortunately, he did not have the added foresight to toss away his messy shoes, so the tracks lead right to him. He can only hope that the dog sees the shirt first, which is noticeably hanging from the only stunted tree amidst this section of the ruins.

Right on time, the monster comes tearing around the corner and into a spot where Jones can see it. The Mage is forced to press back into his hiding place to avoid being sighted, which in turn cuts off his vantage point of his enemy. He can hear it, though, and it has stopped running. It can smell that he is near. The blood from that spilled bowl is calling to it, leading it forward to search for its prey.

There is a moment of silence, a huge exerted huff from the brute somewhere nearby, and then the crumbling building that the bushes have grown up around and amongst, in which the Mage is crouching, shudders and groans. Did it hit the building? Is it trying to force him out of hiding? If not, then what else could it be doing?

The silence returns and now, Ahriman cannot even hear it breathing. It seems they are both listening.

Jones

'Don't Breath, don't move, don't breath, don't move...' His mantra echoed over and over in his head as he kept back in his hiding space.

Muse

THUMP

The beast lands directly four feet in front of Jones with its back turned to him and in one more bound, it is headed for the stained shirt. Evidently, it had perched on top of the ruins the Mage is hiding in and they had both been waiting and listening with only a rock overhang hiding each other from view.

It tears viciously into the shirt, actually attempting to shred it into small enough shreds to swallow. It still is not facing Ahriman.

Jones

Now was his chance. Ahriman rose silently, the Three of swords ringing lightly in his hand. Jones raised his foot, and took a step forward. Then another, and another. Closer and closer he crept to the mutated dog, slowly raising his weapon in both hands...

'It's nap time, doggy.' Sniggered Three.

Muse

Thus far, Jones has had lady luck on a choke chain nearby. Does he really think the beast won't hear his approach, though?

Jones

'That's right... gooood doggy... Just keep on eating that shirt... pay no attention to the man with the magic sword who is sneaking up behind you to deliver unto you stabbity death!' Thought the mage, tip-toeing closer...

Muse

The nasty canine continues to pulverize the shirt without noticing him, just as though it subconsciously heard and obeyed Jones' thoughts

Jones

Now only a meter away from the dog, sword high in the air, Jones took a deep breath. He placed his weight on his back foot, and then lunged forward, blade singing as it slashed down towards the dog's neck.

Muse

Jones cuts through thick muscle, reaching the spine, but not chopping through it. The ghoul screeches in pain and anger and thrashes, its partly severed neck not holding up well against the sword still lodged in it.

Jones

"Fuck!" Snapped Jones, pulling the blade out again. "Take this!"
He raised the blade to strike once more...

Muse

Though Jones definitely got the upper hand in the surprise attack, the blood-gutted monster's reflexes are better than his own. It is almost as though the attack did not damage it at all.

Unable to turn and bite at Jones because it is still fairly stunned by the capacity of its wound, even though it has not really been physically slowed, the animal instead tries to kick with its muscular back legs and knock the Mage away from it. Its half severed neck thrashes wildly with the movement.

Jones

"Prepare to- oh shit!" Jones quickly jerked backwards, away from the dog's kicking legs. Dammit, why was this thing still fighting? He had almost taken its head off!

Muse

With his initial advantage gone now, Jones may be beginning to regret attacking the thing at all. It catches him square in the chest and sends the man flying backwards before he can get out of the way.

Jones

The kick caught him square in the ribs. "Oof!" Grunted the mage as he was sent backwards.

Muse

Maybe Ms. Luck hasn't run away altogether, but is merely hiding behind a rock somewhere. Jones lands on his rear, surprised, but unhurt.

Jones

Getting back to his feet, Ahriman grinned.
"That tickled."

Muse

The brute turns towards Jones and stands still. As Ahriman watches wearily, the split tendons in its neck begin to mend themselves. It screams in hunger and lunges for the Mage before he can stand up.

Jones

'Looks like you're dog food, Jones.' Sniggered the Three of Swords as the dog healed its own wounds.
Not having time to come up with a retort, Jones drove his weapon up at the creature's belly. Hopefully, he'd be able to get it to back off at least.

Muse

The ghoul does not have time to react as Jones brings the sword up in between them.

Jones

Jones grinned as he felt the blade press up into the creature's stomach...

Muse

The beast shrieks in pain, not altogether unlike the way it has been sounding all along.

Jones

Smiling wickedly, Jones twisted the sword sharply, pushing it farther into the bloodthirsty dog. He felt the sword sigh in delight as the weapon soaked up blood...

Muse

The valley cups in the sound of their struggles, making it feel as though they have a silent, intimate audience.

Jones

Jones yanked the blade out of the dog, pushing it to the side.

Muse

It turns out that the monster's howling is more in anger than in pain, since only the tip of the blade managed to work its way in under the animal's ribs.

The ghoul shrieks again, really angry now, and uses its nearby position to its advantage, lunging for Jones' throat.

Jones

Jones managed to rise to a sitting position, before grabbing his glowing blade and swinging it at the beast as it charged.

Muse

The gruesome dog is heedless of the blade, in its wrath. It does not move out of the way of danger, but takes it like a Dog and continues its attack.

The dog is in serious trouble this time. In its hurry to taste blood, it may have given up any chance it had.

Jones

Jones' sword slowly plunged towards the dog, as if trapped in an anime-style slow-motion effect.

Muse

The Fates prepare to shear a life thread.

Jones

The Three of Swords wonders why this battle is lasting longer then the Dialogue of that damn Yu-Gi-oh! Show.

Muse

The sword lodges between two of the canine's ribs, putting it in a good deal of pain, but not stopping it. Its jaws close down on Jones’ neck.

Jones

"Ow, ow, ow ow!" Yelped Jones as the dog got a small chuck on his neck. He shoved the dog off his body, pulled himself to a crouch.

Muse

The taste of blood only increases the ghoul's fervor. It has not let go of his neck yet and fights being pushed off, obviously intending to tear out his jugular

The ghoul is simply too heavy for Jones to push away, with the position he is in. Instead, he makes the smarter move and attempts to remove its bowls. If he is not successful, he may find that the monster has a pit bull hold on him.

Jones

Pulling his weapon back, Ahriman drove it forward in one last desperate jab...

Muse

The sword glides smoothly into the cavern of the beast's belly, putrid blood flowing out of the wound and soaking Jones. If it weren't for the momentum behind it's lingering bite, the dog would be as good as dead.
Too bad that isn't enough, either.

Jones

The Three of Swords shivered in delight as it plunged into the beast's belly. The snapping jaws of the ghoul suddenly jerked shut just millimeters from Jones’ neck. Its eyes crossed and the dog gave out a weak whimper. Withdrawing the blade a few inches, Jones shoved the weapon back in, this time piercing its spine. The dog twitched again, and then slumped it's full weight on the mage, its life finally ended.

Turning his head away in disgust, Jones rolled the corpse off of his body, and got to his feet.

"That," panted Jones, rubbing the bite marks on his neck. "Was WAY too close for comfort."

'Congratulations Jones, the night has just begun and you've already been covered with blood twice!' Mentally grinned the sword.

"What?" The Flambeau looked down to see his chest and stomach covered with blood. "Ew! Goddamn it! That fucking bloodsucker is paying my dry cleaning bill! I'm regretting using my shirt as bait right now."

He slashed his sword in the air twice, to get rid of some of the excess blood on the weapon. 'So what now?' Asked Three.

"Follow the path, I guess." Shrugged Jones, looking for the path and following if successful.

Muse

The tortured dog lies dead on the ground in the spilled vitae of a life forced on it.

Shirtless and painted red-black like a Rambo-wannabe, Jones easily finds the path that leads out. The only other way goes back to the pit. With the canine dead and the vampire gone, was this evening even worth his time? What will he do now, other than trudge down a dusty trail that winds through the last boulders of a once great building?

Jones

'Wait, aren't we here to find out where your friend went off to?'

"Well, yeah. Haven't you been paying attention?" Said Jones.

'Don't you have a map?' Asked the Sword.

"Doh! I nearly forgot!" He pulled the map out. "We still have to find that hole... We may have to backtrack to the dog's pit to find out where that thing is..."

Muse

Upon studying the map, it is obvious that the entry-point is indeed back somewhere near where the dog had been kept. He had better hope that that vampire does not return.

He finds the place after about twenty minutes of backtracking. It is set back just out of view of the pit, on the side that Jones had not yet been to. It looks a lot like a mineshaft, but it can't really be that deep, can it? The entryway is partly obscured by two toppled columns.

Jones

Jones gave a long, impressed whistle as he gazed into the pit.

"That's a long way down."

'A real long way down.' Agreed his weapon.

"Well, come one, let's see if there's a rope or a ladder or something. Neil must have used something to get down here..." Said the mage, walking around the hole, looking for a way down.

Muse

There is nothing in sight that will make his fall any easier. It seems he will either have to go find something or make a leap of faith.

Jones

"Hmm..." Pondered the mage. "No way down, other then jumping. We might have to find something to help us climb down."
He reached down, grabbed a rock, and dropped it, trying to figure out the distance by the sound of the object hitting the bottom.

Muse

Surprisingly, the rock thunks against solid earth much sooner than Jones expected. He can guestimate that the bottom of the hole is somewhere between seven to fifteen feet below, just by having counted the seconds that passed between the dropping of the rock and its landing.

Jones

"Well, that was closer then I thought. Alrightly Three, let's go." Said Jones, kneeling in the ground.

'Yay, deep into the bowels of the earth, we descend!' Said the sword dramatically.

"Shut up Three."

Jones gripped the edge of the hole, and swung his legs down so that he was hanging onto the ledge. With a deep breath, the mage braced himself as he let go, and plummeted into the darkness.

Muse

Darkness smothers Jones as he drops into the cavern. What little light he had to see by before is now completely blocked out. Looking up above himself, he can only see a very vague circle of lighter nothingness where the entrance is.

Jones

'The Dorkness is all-consuming...'

"Shut up Three." Sighed the Mage, looking around. He couldn't see shit down here. The mage reached inside his pocket and pulled out his flashlight from earlier. He flicked it on, and swept the area with it.

Muse

The emptiness about Jones is oppressive, making him feel as though he has been cast into a cloaking void. As he flicks on the flashlight, he only sees dirt walls at first, but upon swinging the beam towards the left, he is surprised to see a tunnel. Long, dead roots hang down through the arched roof of the man-height hole, making it look as though a monster mole’s burrowing had been the cause of it. He can only hope the earth is well packed and stable.

Jones

"I really, REALLY should have come here in the day-time..." Muttered Jones, gripping his weapon tightly in his right hand. Gulping, Jones walked slowly into the deep hole, sweeping the area with his flashlight periodically. This was where Neil was last seen. If he couldn't find anything here, he didn't know how he'd find his friend again. Maybe he could convince one of his fellow Hermetics to do a correspondence sweep, or set a spirit on the task...

Muse

The tunnel goes on and on and Jones very soon loses track of time. He feels as though he has been lost within the very bowels of the earth for so long that it is difficult to imagine daylight at all. During this deepening journey, he finds himself receiving a taste of what it must be like to be a vampire.

How ironic.

How terrible must it have been for those Mages to be lost down here? Jones is very alone. Whatever created this tunnel either died long ago or is waiting for him somewhere within the depths. The monotony is relentless. One foot in front of the other, same hard-packed walls, same musky air. It is getting colder and harder to breathe.

He soon stops sweeping the light about, not needing to worry himself in this unchanging hike. Roots sweep past his head from time to time, sometimes catching him unexpectedly and jolting him out of his uneventful acceptance. He gets the feeling that he could completely forget about even his mission, if he was down here long enough.

But before he gets the chance to rebuke this theory, his flashlight flickers. Was that a breeze he just felt? He must be getting a little cabin fever. He thought he smelled brine. The light is fine now, though. No reason to stop. He is just being childish. But there it is again, just as he had convinced himself that nothing happened. Fresher air carrying the scent of the ocean.

An eerie foreboding sparks down his spine. He is no longer alone. Something brushes past him from behind, but there is nothing there. He is still alone. Isn't he? He hears whispers. Maybe he has traveled close to the sea. It could be its sound, from a distance and as distorted by this tunnel. Right?

Wrong.

Sudden pressure builds in his ears, painful and ear splitting. He hears screaming, but it sounds like it is in his mind. Is it his own inner voice? No, this is a woman's terrorized shrieking. His eyes tear up as the banshee continues on and on and his light mocks him, flashing off and on again. And then it goes out for good. He thought the battery was new. Odd.

As he cringes there in the darkness, waiting for the awful sound to stop and for the blood to settle back out of his sinuses, a wavering image appears before him, distorted by his watering eyes. He cannot see it clearly, but he knows that it is the cause of his pain

Jones

Jones's shoes scraped against the ground as he walked deeper into the dank tunnel. He glanced around nervously, shining his flashlight every which-way. He was very unhappy that his darksight spell hadn't worked, so he had to rely on the stupid flashlight.

"Criminy, this tunnel goes on forever!" He finally commented, maybe just to stave off the growing feeling of doom in his stomach.

'At least we haven't found any Neil-shaped skeletons.' Murmured the Sword in his mind.

"True." Agreed Jones. "That is a good sign. I just wish we'd find SOMETHING. It's not like I'm not scared out of my wits already."

'Yeah, talk about abusing the mood and shit. What is this, 'Halloween Part: Fucktard'?'

"Heh, ye-" Before Jones could respond, his hair was caught by some roots. He jumped, and charged ahead.
"Fuck! Oh, thank god, its just roots. I hate this place, I really, really hate this place!"

'For once, I agree. I'm thinking about taking off...'

"What! You can't leave me here, you prick!"

'Relax, I'm just kidding. If there's anyone who's going to be around to see your grizzly, violent death, it's me!' Cackled the Three of Swords.

"For some odd reason, I find that comforting." Sighed Jones. His flashlight was flickering, so the mage slapped it. "Say, do you smell that?"

'I'm a meter of sharp metal, and thus I have no nose. I'm still trying to figure out how I manage to see and hear.'

"Wait, what...?" All kinds of weird stuff started happening. His flashlight was going wonky. He felt somebody bushing past him, but no one was there. Jones summoned a card to his hand to glimpse into the umbra, but before he could do that...

Pain! Pain and screaming exploded into his mind. The mage gripped the side of his head, nearly dropped his weapon. He had to block it out somehow!

Jones remembered back to his training, how Master Rodgers showed him a simple spell to block people from touching his mind.

"My will be strong, my Will be strong, my will be strong..." Chanted Jones in Enochian shakily through the pain. Focus, he was stronger then this...

Muse

The screeching skips, as though it is coming from a broken record player instead of the apparition in front of him, and then it silences altogether. He is finally able to straighten cautiously and get a better look at it without tears in his eyes. It is still very hard to focus upon, almost as if it is wavering in and out of this world. After watching it long enough, though, he recognizes its intention.

The two wavering tentacles of distorted light which probably represent its arms are wavering frantically about and it remains firmly in the center of his path.

It is warning him.

Jones

Wiping the tears away from his face, Jones got a good look at the spirit. A little angry at it's screaming fit, the Mage raised his weapon and prepared to cast the Touch Spirit spell, intent on showing it a thing or two.

But there was something wrong, it wasn't reacting the way Jones expected. Instead of trying something else or fleeing, the spirit was still standing there, waving it 'arms'. Wait... Was it trying to warn him?

About what? Time to find out. Jones flicked his wrist, pulling the 1 and 10 of coins to his hand. He stuck one card in each wall of the tunnel, and took a step back. He put his hands together, feeling the Gauntlet in front of him. He touched it and folded a precise square of it, melding it so that he and the spirit on the other side could speak. He flung his hands out, palms facing each wall.

"Ok," Said Jones, a little angry. "You got something to say? How 'bout you say it without screaming in my head!"

Muse

The wispy vision thins into nothing, but Jones knows it is still nearby. As he warps the area around them in order to speak to it, the rushing chorus of several whispers wraps around him. It is obvious that they are not all coming from this one wraith, but he cannot see anything now.

One of the depthless voices is a little more insistent and loud than the others and he can pick up on its less than subtle chattering amidst the rest.

"Go...go..gogo.....DON'T....go.....it knows....COMING!...go....back...."

It's relentless litany continues on and on in the same manner, never any more clear, hardly ever managing to even use key words. As is typical for a spirit with the foresight to warn the living, it is barely lucid when confronted.

Jones

Ahriman listened to the ramblings of the wraiths, but quickly became annoyed and pissed that he wasn't getting any more information out to them. Worst of all, it didn't seem like Neil survived whatever was down here.

"Yes, yes, that's nice. Something's coming, but would you mind telling me what? A Dragon? A vampire? Another fucked-up dog? C'mon, dead people, work with me here!" He sighed. "It doesn't take a friggin effort to talk across the gauntlet, I made it that way! Christ on a stick!"

Not getting much more of a response, he turned to his weapon.

"You talk to them." He suggested.

'You're kidding, right? I'm a SPIRIT. They're GHOSTS. We hang out in totally different places.'

"But I'm no good with Ghosts either! Geeze, the one time I actually NEED a Euthanatos around and that damn Jesse bitch is nowhere to be found!" The mage shook his head, remembering the necromancer who wouldn't shut up from the chantry. "Well, it's pretty clear that we're not going to get much else out of them, we might as well move on."

Jones reached down and located his flashlight. He flicked the switch and whacked it, but got no light. Remembering who the conspirators who did this were, the youth gave the area an irritated glance. "Do you guys mind? I'd rather have my light back, please!"

Muse

The voices begin to argue over his simple request, hard to understand, but obviously in disagreement. After all, if their goal is to send him back, then why would they comply? Yet there are those that would enjoy watching what happens to him if he goes deeper into the lair.

The flashlight flickers indecisively and then comes back on once more. As this happens, several of the whispers vanquish, leaving only two or three whispering their same worries and warnings.

Jones

"Thanks dead guys, you've been a real help. After I chop off the head of whatever killed you with my magic talking sword, I'll send somebody down to deal with your whole 'can't pass on to the next world' problem. At the very least she'll expand your vocabulary beyond five words." said Jones. Next time he'd look into the astral umbra and ask an earth elemental or something. He'd probably get a better response, too.

He gave a cheery little wave, and proceeded deeper into the earth.

Muse

The threatening calm of the place returns as he moves on, but he can't quite shake the feeling that he is not alone. Have the frightened ones pursued him or is something else watching him? Regardless, there is nothing to do except forge on or go back and he is not going to give up that easily.

After another twenty feet or so, the inevitable happens; the pathway splits in two and the little light that his flashlight affords him is not enough to judge much about either path.

Jones

"Well, crap. A crossroads. Should have studied Matter." Grumbled Jones, now thoroughly pissed.

'That's what I told you, but did you listen to me? Nooo...' Said Three.

"You told me to study the sphere of 'dingus'." Shot Jones.

'Oh Jones, let's not play the blame game.'

The mage just sighed.

Muse

Jones will have to just pick a tunnel and go with it. There is absolutely nothing, as far as he can tell just from observation that distinguishes one from the other

Jones

"Fine, we'll go right." Said Jones, heading into the tunnel. "Right turns have always brought my good fortune, so let's hope this one follows the pattern."

[Thee Independent]

Muse

After just a few moments of traveling down his chosen path, the opening into the main tunnel behind him is completely obscured. He soon finds that this smaller cave is not as monotonous as the first, as it twists and bends like the inside of a rock troll's intestines.

The temperature is dropping faster than before, indicating that he is going downhill, though the drop is still subtle. Step by step, his inner time sense drips away into the glassy puddles of dark runoff that he occasionally finds by accident with his feet and he really has no clue how long he has been under the earth.

Jones comes around a rather abrupt turn and gasps as the scent and sounds of the ocean howl out of nowhere and smash into his senses. He is sucked forward through the air in a vortex of sensations and suddenly is teetering in front of the massive sea on his tiptoes as his body is still being tugged forward and he is leaning back with his head to prevent himself from tumbling into it. He feels for this frightening moment like Moses, with the wrath of the water parted straight up miles above and in front of him.

There is something in the depths just out of sight and that dark spot before him is all he can focus on because of the tunnel vision berating him in a cone of melted vision. The Mage blinks once and that is all it takes as the entire moment disappears like a crazy crack dream and he is left shivering on the floor of the tunnel on his hands and knees. The brine and cold water are gone, leaving the dank, familiar surroundings of the cavern.

Jones

Shaking, Jones stood, more pissed then ever.
"Okay!" He snapped, drawing the Magician card, holding it close to his eye. "Who's fucking with my mind? Show Me the light!"

Muse

The tunnel about him crackles with the imprecise, fiery lines of gestating energies. Though he cannot see any of them clearly without going into the umbra, he knows that these frayed and crisscrossing streaks represent dozens of wraiths, clustered about him. It could have been any one of them that caused the sensation vision.

There is very little difference between their hectic patterns, but he can feel something else that is just beyond his grasp. There may not be a wall of water in front of him this time, but the same uncontrollable shivers begin to scratch down his spine and he recognizes it as the awareness from within the ocean.

Whatever sent him that message, it is beyond him on many levels. It is no wonder that none of the mages returned from their mission.

Jones

"Fuck." cursed Ahriman. The chances of his friend's survival suddenly dropped.

'What is it?'

"Something big's down here." Stated Jones simply.

'How big?'

"Beyond-Mortal-comprehension big."

'That's big.' Whistled Three.

"Tell me about it. I can't handle anything that big." Jones responded. "Let's head back and try the other path. If that doesn't lead anywhere... Then we'll try this one again."

'Is that wise?'

"Do I have a choice?"

Muse

Doing what he thinks is the safest, Jones turns back around and trudges back the way he had come. He cannot tell by recognition alone whether he has seen these walls and turns before, since they are routinely the same as when he first made a leap of faith. It is by reasoning that he knows he must be headed in the right direction.

Still, it is easy to believe that he simply did not notice a subtle turn off at some point as the time escapes into lost pockets of stale air. Eventually, he does reach the split in the road and he takes the passage to his right. After not going far at all, the road splits again. One tunnel is smaller than the other, perhaps because it has partially caved in.

Jones

"Well crap. It just HAS to be a maze of tunnels, doesn't it?" Sighed Jones, looking at the two paths. "Could use some guidance here. Too bad my Avatar is such a prick. Left or Right?"

'Back. Face it Jones, Neil's dead. I say we leave and enjoy what life we have.' Said the Sword, trying egg his master on again.

"Shut up Three. Okay, Let's go right this time." Grumbled Jones taking the passage and descending deeper into the bowels of the earth.

Muse

Jones takes the more open passage, logic telling him that it might be unsafe to risk the other. Hopefully, he can judge these passageways by their appearance. He travels on for some time, slowly growing physically tired. He has been underground for at least two hours now and his stomach starts reminding him that he missed dinner.

The air is not quite as cold as before and he can no longer hear the strange, echoing sounds of the far away bay. Perhaps he has chosen a route that goes back up towards moonlight.

"This is pointless."

As he trudges on, the absolute relentlessness of the same surroundings from minute to minute begins to wear on the nerves.

"You don't even have the faintest idea of where you are going. He could be down here anywhere!"

And not just his, either. His spirit friend is beginning to grow annoying, making all kinds of urgings that Jones simply isn't in the mood to hear.

"If your friend was anything like you, you know he would have gone down that last forsaken tunnel."

He has his mind set on finding out what happened to his friend and he is unwilling to waver in his quest, but he is also unable to argue with his sword because, no matter how he look at the matter, it is right.

"You could be down here all night and not find a damn thing, besides ghosts."

The fact is that Three is only saying the worries that Jones won't admit out loud to himself.

"Stop wasting your time. Let's go back and find another dog to kill or something. At least that is productive."

He feels his temper slipping slowly as he once again begins to seriously reconsider why he keeps the spirit around. Unexpectedly, Three stops jabbering suddenly, but it is not because it senses Jones' annoyance. There is something up ahead, barely visible from where the Mage stands and though the spirit cannot see it, it does feel it.

Jones

As the time slipped by, Jones regretted more and more not preparing for this trip. He could have had dinner and prepared combat magics. But of course, in a burst of typical Flambeau lack of foresight, Jones just had to go charging off into the woods at any sign of his friend.

And it looked like more and more that Neil was dead. The Three of Swords reminded him constantly of this, voicing the Magi's hidden doubts. This aggravated him to no end, and Jones was seriously considering cutting up the card to pieces.

"Goddamn it, Three!" Snapped Jones finally. "If you don't shut the hell up I'll-"

Jones was cut off by two realizations. First, that Three had shut up, second, that there was something up ahead. Whatever it was, it had made the spirit close it's big fat mouth, so it couldn't be that bad. Still, siding with caution, Jones pushed up against the wall and proceeded, carefully and quietly. Feeling the sword's weight in his right hand, the Mage steeled himself for what was ahead...

Muse

Heavy silence mottles his careful footsteps with nothing else to break it, now that Three is being silent and Jones is holding his breath, whether he knows it or not.

He creeps forward, trying to hold his flashlight steady so that he can see clearly. The thing that has caught both of their attention is slumped on the floor around a bend in the corridor. His light is reflecting off of something within its mass, reflecting back copper light. Jones soon finds that he is staring at the tainted alabaster bones of a crumpled skeleton.

There is nothing else in sight, giving the Mage plenty of time to study what is left of this body. It is obviously human, or at least it was. There is nothing left now, except for the bones. No clothes, no rotting flesh, no hair. It has either been here a very, very long time or...

Whatever killed it stripped it to the bone at the time it was killed.

Jones

Jones was silent as he approached the body, looking down on it. The sight of bodies no longer reviled him; it only made the Mage somewhat sad that things often had to come to this. He murmured a verse in Enochian under his breath, making examining the bodies easier.

Muse

Perhaps it is his belief in the fact that he has entered the extensive catacombs of an old Tremere Chantry, or maybe it is simply due to how unnerving this situation is, but his magic is being rather non-responsive.

As he is leaning close to the body, his flashlight flashed off of something lying on he dusty ground just next to the corpse. He did not see it at first because it is mostly covered in dirt itself and blended in well.

Jones

Jones wasn't liking what he saw in the corpse, but it couldn't be as bad as all the things he'd fought before. Nephandi, vampires, Technocrats, hedge mages, and all sorts of unnamed monstrosities. It was all part of the Flambeau package. Anything that is a nusance to the Order and need to be taken out, just send in a few nukers and it would be finished in time for supper.

Yeah, right. As if anything was that easy for Magi.

Kneeling by the body, the mage brushed the dirt away from what had caught his attention, examining closly.

Muse

Jones has found a pendant with an obscure, ritual design worked into its unique metallurgy.

It must have fallen off of the corpse, the thin leather chord having rotted long ago. The remnants of what once held the necklace up can still be seen dangling from the exposed vertebrae of the skeleton.

Interestingly, Three still has nothing to say on the matter.

Jones

Picking up the pendant, Jones was reminded of a story that his Master told him, About a merchant trying to sell a amulet of protection he found on a dead mage, or something like that.
Resisting the urge to chuckle grimly, Jones brought the pendant to his eye, looking closesly and chanting in enochian to ease his memory along.

Muse

There is a small buzzing in the back of his brain. Jones thinks he recognizes the symbol, but he just canot be sure. He would do best to take it back to the Chantry and cross-reference the amulet, just in case he is missing some little detail. There is one thing he can be certain of, though- this necklace more than likely belonged to a Euthanatos. The arrangement of the power symbols are directly inverted, corrupting the natural use for their placement.

Maybe the Order of Hermes were not the first ones to send people down here investigating. Or maybe..they asked for help. It would not be surprising if Jones' elders neglected to mention that.

Jones

With a sigh, Jones flicked the amulet.
"Well shit, it's a 'Thanny pendant. That means I'll have to talk to that damn Jesse bitch when we get back. Chantry leader must have forgot to tell me about these guys showing up."

Jones then noticed that Three hadn't said anything for a while, when normally he'd be chattering away.

"What's your problem Three? Yeah the Euthanatos are a freaky, but not that freaky. I know you've seen plenty bodies in your time, so what gives?"

Muse

Three is stubornly or unwillingly silent. It is a little unnerving, but it is more aggravating than anything else. One of the few times Jones could actually use his input and he won't even answer.

Jones

"Fine, be an ass." Hurrumphed Jones, irritation overcoming him. "Onwards, then."

With that, he gave another glance to the body, and headed off deeper into the tunnels...

Muse

As soon as Jones is out of sight of the skeleton, Three pipes right in.

Well, you really fucked that one up, didn't you. You Mages; you think you know everything and then whena great chance comes along for me, you don't even take it!

When and if Jones presses the spirit to find out what it means, the sword is stubornly silent once more. It is only when Jones gives up that it continues on, picking up where it left off before.

We really should go back. At least that corpse was interesting. This is so boring and useless. What do you really think you will accomplish anyway?

Jones is going downslope again and the air is getting heavy.

Maybe if you find the dead body of your friend, maybe then you will give up.

Jones

"Shut up Three. Shut up Three. Shut up Three." Said Jones automaticly, Three's subborness and constant devil-advocating getting on his nerves.
"When I get back, I'm going to make a weapon that is a little less irritating. Maybe bind a war spirit or something." Grumbled Jones under his breath. DAmmit, these tunnels went on forever. When was he going to find the end...?

Muse

Jones continues on yet again, passing the time with his frustration and anger.

Jones

Jones walked deep into the darkness.

'The dorkness is all-consuming...'

"Shut up three! You've already used that one!" Snapped Jones.

Muse

As Jones is walking and trying to ignore the persistant spirit that he carries at his hip, or in his hand, he hears and odd sound.

rattle, rattle. Click, trickle, clack

He stops to listen, looking down towards the floor and bringing the beam of his light down with his gaze. What he is hearing is the skittering of small stones over the lip of a gaping hole in the floor and down to a level below. It is a good thing he was paying attention to his surroundings, or he might not have heard the couple of stones that he kicked forward.

Surveying the fall-in, he sees that it has taken the entire width of the floor with it. It is not far across, maybe only five feet, but there is no telling just how stable the flooring is around it and there is nothing left in tact to cross it.

He would have to jump.

Jones

'Oh well, big pit. Looks like we'll have to turn back. I'm sure Neil's in a better place anyway.' Grinned the spirit on his belt.

Jones was silent. He lowered his head and turned around, walking back the way he came.

'See? Not so hard. If we hurry, we'll be able to catch the A-team!'

Jones suddenly stopped.

'What are you doing?'

The youth turned around, and started running back at the cliff at top speed.

'Hey, wait!' Shouted the spirit.

Jones didn't listen, he reached the end and leaped into space...

Muse

Jones clears the gap easily, flying with the strength of his determination. He lands squarely on the other side and steps off again on his journey as Three moans. He is not giving in that easily.

For a little while, at least, his sword is quiet, baffled a little by Jones' stuborness. The Mage is able to forge ahead with renewed energy and confidence. How long would it last, though, as the minutes sludge past him and the monotony returns?

Every once in a while, Jones thinks he hears scratching sounds, but whenever he swings his light about him, there is nothing there. In time, he becomes almost accustomed to the sporadic sounds as they meld into the boring routine of left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

Jones

Jones walked and walked and walked.

'You know, if you had taken my advice and studied the "Dingus" sphere, you'd be at the end of this tunnel by now.' Said the sword.

"Shut up three. There is no such sphere as the 'Dingus' sphere." Grumbled Jones.

'What about the sphere of wang-'

Jones cut him off. "Shut up Three!"

Muse

Jones forges on, despite his frustrating companion and the uncertainty that has sunk into his stomache like an old port wine. As he walks, he notices a subtle change in the atmosphere and stops to assess what the difference is. He realizes after several solid seconds of silence that the scratching has ceased. Shrugging, he moves on, only to be fully aware of the sound returning within ten minute's time.

If Jones cared to put some effort into it, he could probably figure out at least where the sounds are coming from. As he walks, though, it is hard to tell. They persist regardless, scratching and etching away at the ground just out of sight.

Jones

Jones scowled, and brought Three up to his forehead.
"Okay, I'm getting sick of this..." He growled, and opened his mind to the conduites of the universe. He peered into the realm of sound, and examined the waves for the location and shape of the thing that was making the scratching sound.

Muse

The world warps around him and goes pitch black for an instant. Standing as still as he can, he sees nothing at all until something scratches in front of him and a kaleidoscope of color breeches the nothing and shoots out towards Jones, a fading cascade not unlike the Aurora Borealis.

At first, the sight is disorienting and he is tempted to move his feet just to make certain that he is still standing on solid ground, but after a couple of minutes and three more movements by the creature near him, he is able to focus.

Jones steps forward as quietly as he can, focusing on where the brilliant color waves are resounding from. As he draws closer, there is more scratching and each time it happens, the light spectrum illuminates the tunnel wherever the sound reaches, showing him that the movement is coming from behind the wall.

He leans in closer, studying the area in front of him and disserning the general size of this irritant. It is then that it moves quickly to the left and he washed over by three seperate signatures, roughly the size of small cats.

Jones

Frowning, Jones slowly stepped forward, watching the sound of his motions bounce off the walls. He stopped at the face of the cave wall, and suddenly gave it a sharp kick.

"Get outta here, you pricks!" He snapped at whatever was at the other end of the wall.

Muse

The creatures are gone very quickly at his yelling and Jones is left mostly in darkness, save for the small amount of light that is still reverberating up and down the hall from the impact of his kick.

Jones

Ahriman gave an indigant snort, and turned back on his path. He decided to maintain the echolocation spell, since it was certainly better in the darkness and the sound of his feet carried farter than the beam of his flashlight.

Muse

Jones carries on alone once more and the silence concretes about him. He has been walking for so long, ignoring the sounds of the critters behind the walls, that he did not realize just how much noise they had been making. It is all absent now as he follows the yellow brick road.

Those rats were following you. You don't wonder why?

You know, you do need to eat and rest sometime. It wouldn't be much fun if you died.

I mean, not like that.

With all of the comments Three is making once more, Jones would be able to see for miles if the voice were physical.

Now if you were to confront some monster of a demon that has made its lair down here, that would be worth our time. Well, my time anyway. I guess it would kind of suck for you.

Why are you so quiet? Am I annoying you? I hope so.

If I keep on, is there any chance that you might turn back?

I mean, really.

Come on.

The Mage tunes him out, trying his best to set his worries behind him and to just focus on the hope that he is itching to find here in the guts of the shoreline. At least, that is where he thinks he is. He can't really say how close he is to the ocean anymore.

Step
Resonate
Step
Color
Step
Shine
Step
Bounce
Rattle
Bounce
Step
Scratch
Criss
Step
Cross
Movement
Signatures blurring

Jones begins to notice colors resounding from all about him, a few in all directions. The creatures are back, and they are not all hiding behind walls anymore.

Jones

"Sure. I figure they're hunting me, or more likely, somebody sent them. Maybe that Vampire, maybe somebody at the Chantry wants to keep their eye on me somehow. They're doing a crappy job from it." Said Jones, watching the cornucopia of color.

"I find your vote of confidence inspiring." Said Jones dryly, scratching the back of his head. Yeah, he was kind of hungry, and it sure was irritating seeing nothing but black cafe wall for hours on end, but he had to find Neil, no matter the cost.

"Shut up Three." Grumbled Jones, folding his arms, feeling a slight chill.

A splash of color informed the mage of the arrival of the rats. With an irritated sigh, he turned and glared at the little creatures.

"What the hell are you still doing here? I said screw off." Jones grabbed a rock and flung it in the creature's general direction. "Go on, get! And if you work for anybody, tell them to fuck off too!"

Muse

The lifeforms that he throws the rock at scatter and quickly recollect. This time, they do not run away at his yelling. Even though he is circled by them, they do not prevent his passage forward, either. They simply move along with him, safely out of range.

Jones

Jones scowled at the little creatures. He stopped, and put his hand forward, concentrating. He extended his senses, looking for magic on the critters. He channeled his vision through the seal of Solomon tattoo on his hand, focusing hard.

Jones's luck just seemed to fail time and time again.
"Fine." He sighed. "You guys can come. But if you get too close, it's slashy time."

Jones turned back on his path into the tunnels, hoping against hope that he'd find a sign of his friend.

Muse

He carries on this way, following the rebounding rainbows. It is even easier to see now that there is noise coming from several other sources. Slowly, their numbers grow, but they stay clear of Jones. Three makes a real joke out of the entire situation and the Mage's preferred company of dead people and vermin.

What feels like another hour greases by, sticking to his clammy skin like an unwanted lover's fingers. He is going down hill once more, but the decent is very gradual and he may not even notice it. Every time he checks to make sure none of the critters are too close to him, he spots two or three more than there were the time before until the number is up close to thirty.

Then as he watches, the several that are semi-circled in front of him part to either side and draw away, letting him proceed on without their lead. He soon sees why, as his color vision reveals a pure blackness at his feet that even the sounds don't brighten for him. It is hard to tell what it is with this spell in effect, but the nothingness stretches for six feet across and to both walls.

Looking behind himself, he sees that the rats have fallen well behind. At least twenty feet.

Jones

"Huh. Another pit." Said Jones, peering down into the darkness, but seeing nothing, not even sound extended that far.

'I suppose you're gonna jump over it too, huh?' Grumbled Three.

"Yup."

'Don't fall to you death. That'd be quick.'

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The mage took one last glanced at the rats before taking a few steps back and executing a running leap...

[Thee Independent]

Muse

The rats stay clear back as he makes his move, as if afraid that he might drag them down with him. Jones gets plenty of running space and builds up his momentum, jumping at the perfect moment and flying through the air.

Regardless…

Fate has set against the Mage this time. He has used his pure force of will and reasoning to move ahead and overcome several obstacles this far, but there is no way to predict how each choice affects what will happen next and he set off a series of chain reactions long ago that culminate now in one terrifying moment.

As Jones arches across the darkness of the gaping pit, something tackles him about the waist and drags him down into the earth’s maw. Even with his sound-sight on, he did not see it coming. It was completely silent in its swift movements and undoubtedly attacked from within the darkness.

Now he is held in an iron grip by a creature that is still making no sound in the nothingness as they are falling. It is as though the abyss has solidified about Jones with the intention of dragging him down into its endless emptiness. Struggle as he might, he cannot free himself because he cannot even see what has a hold on him. It is not moving, it is not breathing, and it is relentless in its power over their descent. He can feel rough cloth and dry, pocked flesh, but no visual image can be peiced together from the textures because of the Flambeau's fear caused by the unexpected attack.

And then they reach the lower level, which felt like it was at least two floors down, with a solid thunk and sound showers up from the ground, illuminating a huge man-shaped monster. Details are scarce with the spell in effect and his vision soon dims as the creature takes off the instant they hit the ground, moving with a stealth that is unbelievable, considering the fact that it is carrying Jones along with it. Hardly any sound bounces back up from the ground to help the Mage. As a matter of fact, this creature is making less noise now than Jones was when just walking earlier.

For the first time, the Flambeau has the chance to think and control his reaction, as he is taken deeper into the earth.

Jones

"Holy SHIT!" Yelled Jones as he was tackled out of mid air. He fought against the beast, and for his mind to calm down...

Muse

Jones begins to scream as he struggles against this unbreakable force, trying desperately to get free of it. His flashlight is long lost now and the only reason he still has his sword is because he is beating at the monster with the blade, trying to pummel his way away. He can see, with the commotion he is making, but it does him no good. He does not have the sense to turn the magic off so that he can really see what has him and he would not be able to see in the dark anyway.

They are moving unbelievably fast and yet the creature seems to be making very little effort. The image of that skeleton several tunnels back forces its way into his mind's eye and he suddenly can guess why it looked as though it was stripped clean of its flesh.

Time did not do that.

This faceless terror has plans for him.

Jones

"SHIT GODDAMN COCK-SUCKING MOTHERFUCKING-" Screamed Jones, pummeling the faceless terror(TM) with his blade, but doing no damaged it seemed. Panic took him. Was this the creature that killed Neil? Would he go that way too?

No, he had to think, had to think...

Muse

He had to think, he had to think, but what fucking good was thinking going to do to him right now! Jones fights tooth and claw like a wild animal, enraged and dead terrified of what he thinks is about to happen to him. Nothing he does makes any difference and the monster merely continues on, tireless and silent.

They are covering ground in less than half the time that it took Jones to travel, but the Mage does not recognize where they are. Not that he would be likely to recognize one tunnel from another anyway. He can hear Three yelling something, but he has no time to listen. This is a matter of life and death.

Something primal inside of him tells him that the sword is no help, that he cannot get the angle he needs and that it is only making his escape harder. With a desperate yell, Jones throws the cursed sword down behind them and tries hitting the creature in the head instead.

This gets its attention, as it grunts and lowers him down to its hips so that he is almost upside down and cannot reach above its shoulders. Its grip on him is not quite as tight this way, but there is still not much the Mage can do to break free.

They travel on and on through the labyrinthe and after an hour has passed, Jones calms down despite himself. He has not given up on escaping, but he realizes that he will have to wait for the right time. He is finally capable of rational thought, and of course his sword is long gone

Jones

'Well, this sucks.' Thought Jones. He had no flashlight, no sword, and it didn't look like he had any hope. At least he had his wits now... And his magic.
'Well, DERT!' Thought the Mage. 'Why didn't I see this before? I'll just make a new weapon, something deadlier then three could ever be!
Jones placed his hands together as if he was praying, and traced the Seal of Solomon tatoo on the back of his hand with one digit, calling on the power of The South...

A bright, green glow engulfed the area of the tunnel. Crackling emerald energy flowed from the air and into Jones's hands. It gathered in his cupped palms, shifting with potentail, until the mage clapped his hands together with an echoing BANG!. Slowly, he shaped the energy into a long beam connected to his hands. The glowing rod expanded past his hands until the ends nearly hit the walls of the cave. The beam of prime energy hummed as Jones drew it back along his side.

"Okay fucktard," Snarled Jones "Let's see how quiet you are when you're cut into KFC CHICKEN STRIPS!"

With that, the mage used his proximity to attempt to chop the captor in half.

Muse

Jones finally gets the monster's attention as he works his magic. It growls in what could be frustration and prepares to snuff the nuisance.

Jones has finally proven to be dangerous to this creature, whatever it is, and it has decided to snuff out the problem. While the Mage was creating a newer, better weapon, it shifted him up and now has him by the throat. In one great heave of power, Jones is being slammed towards the tunnel wall.

"FOOL!," the monster snarls and smashes Jones' head into the tunnel wall, sending a tiny avalanche of loose silt sliding to the floor from the impact.

Jones

"Ow! You bitch! I'm gonna beat you like Retard on thursday!" Shouted Jones.

Muse

Pain sears through Jones' head, but he is still able to think and function, which is not what his competitor had hoped for, but the Mage's attack is anticipated nonetheless. Before the Flambeau begins his swing for the monster's midsection, the creature swiftly brings out the hand that is not crushing Jones' windpipe to catch his "sword" arm and pin it back against the wall as well.

Jones

'Not good, not good at all. Almost out of quint, strength failing, no three of Swords and my Holy Stroke arm is pinned. I'm going to have to make my next move count...' Thought the mage.

Muse

The strong devil deepens its hold on Jones' neck, using a different tactic to knock him out. Evidentally, it is not hell bent on killing him the way he is on it.

Jones

Desperation wearing on his nerves, Jones drew up his free hand, the seal of solomon glowing on the back of it.

"IGNIS!" He shouted, drawing up the energy.

Muse

The monster screams in animalistic pain and fury as its entire left side is mutilated by holy fire. It immediately drops Jones to the ground and falls back from him, still shrieking. Huffing and favoring its totured body, it hisses like a cougar and disappears from sight. At least, he can not see it with his sound sight now, no matter how much noise Jones makes.

Its cries have vanished. It is gone.

Jones' headache throbs, pulsing through his entire torso and demanding his attention. Where did this headache come from, anyway? He cannot remember why he has stopped in his track and, looking around, he does not know where he is, either. The pain in his head is centered in the back and he finds that it is very tender when he touches it, with a little blood caking his hair.

He must have fallen and hit his head. Did he pass out?

And then he notices an even stranger change in his situation.

His sword is gone. Three is gone. Where in the hell did it go? Did he drop it? It is nowhere to be found.

He has no memories whatsoever of the creature that he had been fighting only moments before. He does not even know which way in the tunnel is the way he came and which way he has yet to go.

Jones

"Ha!" Shouted Jones, finally, free. He brought his energy-staff to bear against the monster.
"What'd I say, punk?! Thou shalt not FUCK with Ahriman Jones! If you think that hurt, what's coming next is gonna-"

CLICK

Jones blinked, and grabbed his head. A pounding headache throbbed angery in his skull. He swore out loud, and looked around in confusion.
"How did I get here Three? Three?" His sword was missing too. He remembered leaping across that pit... and then nothing. Huh, he must have hit his head and fallen on the way down.
But wait, he was out of quintessence. The familiar pulse of energy stored in his soul was missing as well. A fall wouldn't knock all the juice out of him, it was impossible! Jones looked up at the bear ceiling, finding no hole from which he could have fallen through. Looking at his feet, Jones found a staff of quintessence, forged in his familiar resonance. What the fuck just happened?

Well, he couldn't find anything out by just sticking around here. Jones glanced around, and took a random tunnel. Holding onto his staff, he navigated through the tunnels. Things just kept getting worse and worse...

Muse

Only being able to either go lef or right, Jones takes off by coincidence in the direction that the monster had been taking him before. The tunnel he is is now is larger than any he had been in for quite some time. There are no sounds, beyond his footsteps, and the air feels to be a little fresher.

Jones

Jones continued to walk through the maze. Fresh air... Maybe the exit was ahead?

Muse

Jones spends the better part of two hours trudging along and pondering about the breech in his memory. He does not even know why he has a magical weapon glowing in his hand, but it is better than nothing. Chances are, he will never see Three again.

He is almost certain now that the air is becoming less stale and he thinks that he might recognize the tunnel he is in. It almost looks like the everlasting first tunnel that he willingly jumped into hours ago. Still, with the sound sight on, it is hard to tell for sure because it provides very minimal vision and scarce detail.

Jones

Jones grumbled internally. This whole night was fruitless. He hadn't found anything about Neil, lost a part of his memory, and lost Three! Stupid sword. He'd have to summon the damn spirit out of the fetish and make a new one now. Stupid three. Well, chances were he'd have to come back here again tommorow. He would be coming in the daytime this time. Loaded up with combat magics too.

That is, if he found his way out.

Muse

Jones moves on and on, battling against his own fears and uncertainties and trying to ignore a stomach that is steadily becoming as noisy as Three at the worst of times. The scenery never changes as he loses track of time once more as he just hopes that he will find something, anything, soon.

Meanwhile, he tries over and over to figure out what happened to him. At least those rats didn’t follow him wherever he is. Then again, that could be a bad sign. What could have possibly occurred to cost him his sword? At least he isn’t badly hurt. His head still throbs, though.

He feels a subtle change in the air, like the breath of an Egyptian King. It is dusty and old, but still a breeze is a breeze and hopefully a good sign. He pushes forward faster now, anxious to reach whatever end he is nearing. His rapid footsteps allow for more sight so that the hall before him is lit up with defining color. Not more than half an hour later, his fears are shelved for the time being and relief is his angel.

He has found the hole that dropped him into the caverns to begin with. It is dark all about him, as he stops beneath his exit to freedom and ceases to make noise. He won’t be able to climb out with the light sword in his hand and since he does not know why he invoked it to begin with, he might as well release it.

Jones

Running out into the pit, Jones gave a long sigh of relief. Finally, out of those god-damn caves! He slid his energy blade into his belt, subconciously dampening it's cutting power, and started climbing up the sides. As soon as he got home, he'd summon up three. That Sword had some explaining to do...

Muse

Jones climbs slowly up, the rich scent of baked earth smothering him as he seeks for handholds. Slowly, he makes progress until at last; his dirty fingers grip the lip of the hole. He positions his hands carefully, palms flat and balancing against the pull of gravity. He almost expects the ground to crumble beneath him and toss him back down into the depths, the way this night has gone. It remains firm, though, inviting him out into the night air. Before he brings himself into view, it occurs to him that there will be a good deal more light above ground and if there is anybody or anything out there, they will have an unfair advantage over him as long as he has his sound sight on.

Jones

Seeing the disadvantage he was at, Jones ended his sound-sight spell.

Muse

Jones firmly plants his palms along the rim of the hole and pulls himself up slowly, being careful not to lose his balance. His eyes are still adjusting from the disbarment of his spell and he has to focus his attention on his surroundings in order to see clearly as his nose pokes up above the earth.

It is brighter outside than he remembers it being, even with the cloud cover. That is probably due to his having spent the majority of the night in an underground hell, though. He slides his arms forward, pulling himself up with his forearms, when he hears a shuffling. He stops instantly and peers in the direction that the sound came from.

Four dark apparitions step out of the shadows of a collapsed building, seeming to be closely joined at first. As they draw nearer and pause, the Mage sees that they each have a hand on one another’s’ shoulders, drawing them into a circle, and one of them is quietly intoning words that are too soft for Jones to hear. Before he can use his magic to spy on the procession, the man that is speaking looks up suddenly and catches the Flambeau’s eye. The clouds part briefly from the young moon in just that instant, shedding cold light into the loveless eyes of the leader.

“Ambulatus negatum.”

Badger Coleman

Jones has been spotted and he soon knows that he was expected and that it is not by chance that these people are waiting here for him. He can tell by the confident way the leading man walks towards him, by the certainity in his expression and by the lack of fear that the group of four shows.

More importantly, though, he can tell by the ritual that they have had prepared for him as they lay in wait; in the fact that he is completely unable to move a muscle, even his eyes, and that it is by chance that he was open-eyed and looking at them when the command word was spoken. He is stuck, perched as stone part way out of the tunnel and aware of everything that is enfolding about him, but completely incapable of doing a damn thing about it.

A smug smile sours the face of the man that Jones can guess is in charge as he stops two feet away from Jones and stares down at him. His hands are now shoved deep into the pockets of a dark rain duster that hides most of his body.

"So. You are the one that is causing us problems."

He glances over his shoulder at another man, who steps forward and nods his head vigorously. Jones recognizes him as the vampire that had been feeding the nasty gouled dog earlier that night. "Yeah. That's him."

The leader crouches slowly, moving with the slick assuredness of a predator. His grey eyes study the Mage and a wicked smirk cracks his thin lips into cruelty.

"Meet a friend down there, did you?"

He must have noticed the patch of dry blood caking the back of the Flambeau's oddly colored hair.

"That's a nice toy you have there."

He looks back over his shoulder at one of the silent followers, seeking some kind of an answer without speaking words. He must be referring to Jones' diminished saber, but obviously he does not see either it or the human as much of a threat, turned away as he is with his guard seemingly down.

Jones

'Well, fuck.' Thought Jones, because he couldn't say it.

He knew letting that goddamn vampire get away was a mistake. He knew he should have hunted the prick down, but no, had to stick to the plan. This was Three's fault, somehow. Jones was sure of that.

Well, now he was stuck fast in front of four vampires, and they did not look happy. Jones was going to die.

It didn't bother Jones as much as it should, he was used to facing certain death. One couldn't be a Flambeau without that paticular experience. This wasn't the way he pictured it, but at least he wasn't going asleep, in his bed, from old age. God, that would suck.

Shit, what if they wanted to torture him first? Or even turn him into a vampire? No, even in this state, Jones could still take his own life. He could rend his body into quintessence with Hearts Blood and Holy Stroke, and let his avatar go free. Maybe the resulting explosion could take a few bloodsuckers with him, too.

The stupid vampire was drawing it out, toying with him, Ahriman was sure. Why didn't he just kill him already...?

Ohm Fallow

He looks back over his shoulder at one of the silent followers, seeking some kind of an answer without speaking words.

Displacing himself from the orderly row, he steps forward in response to the glance, turning deep brown irises onto Jones. In fact, his eyes seem almost black, his skin, once a Mediterranean olive, now seems to carry a jaundiced pallor. But the smile he gives Jones is as white as ever.

"Flambeau, would be my guess," he muses, circling Jones predatorily. "I might be inclined to say he's a Tytalan, but they're probably still having their sanguine soireés, the bastards. Flambeau's the only other House capable of pulling this off."

Quickly, he came back into view in front of Jones, and leaned forward, getting close to his face. "Listen to me, respected wizard. You're in no danger." Lips pulled back, and Jones could detect a faint red tinge to the speaker's teeth. "I don't need control of Mind to know your thoughts anymore. I'm sure you think I'm lying. You probably think the end is near, that we're going to kill you...or worse, make you one of us. But that's not the case. You've made a few too many waves, what with killing our hound. Now, someone higher up needs to talk to you."

The man's white-nailed thumb strokes an amulet dangling from his chest, an image of a golden sun and a silver moon separated by a wicked fire opal inset. "It is purely friendly. You've earned what respect you can from House Tremere, and now we're willing to entertain your concerns. After all, you did come here looking for us, didn't you?"

The questioned carried the hint of mocking laughter, a humor echoed in the cruel smiles of those men standing behind him.

"Before we can continue, though, you need to get rid of that," he says, pointing down at the weapon. "Drop it. Stop concentrating. Once you do, we'll go from there, amicably. The alternative is waiting out the duration of our ritual here, alone, prey to whatever predators might crawl out of the caverns behind you. There are worse things out here than an overgrown canine..."

Ohm Fallow waited, a long, Grecian curl of black hair bobbing against his forehead. He turned his head to the side, meeting Jones' eyes expectantly, silently wishing him - silently asking him - to comply. It would make things so much easier, because it seemed that only he had any idea of just how dangerous Jones could be.

Badger Coleman

Badger watches Ohm as the man steps forward and gives his opinion of the petrified Mage. It is pathetic, how the acolyte just can’t let go of his past. Look at how he talks to this stupid day-walker, as if he could actually hurt them. Maybe before, but not now. Maybe. It’s almost as though Ohm still resents being changed, even though his power is far more indefinite and exhilarating than it could have ever been before. Shit, what a thing to take for granted. Well, let him remain indignant. It keeps him controllable at least.

The contempt is obvious on Badger’s ugly face and in his condescending eyes, but there is no way of telling whether it is towards Jones or Ohm and there is no reason for anyone else to assume that it would be the latter. He waits for the strange sword in the Mage’s hand to disappear, which would be their sign that he is assenting to be reasonable.

Jones

'Well, at least they haven't forgotten the Houses.' Thought the mage grimly. 'Respected Wizard? Three would have laughed at that. So would Neil. Hard to be respected when you're stiff as a board.'

Jones didn't believe him at all. It would the an exercise in stupidity to do so. But, on the other hand, Jones was beaten. He knew that much. If they want to talk, there wasn't much he could do about it. Maybe he could get a chance to escape, too.

The glowing green blade flashed brightly for a second, then evaporated into the air, the quintessence returned to the Tapestry.

Ohm Fallow

"That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

Behind a smarmy attitude, there was something else in the Tremere's manner of speaking. Something unusual, but something familiar, too. But was it unusual for a magician to perceive the unusual as familiar?

Shrugging his shoulders, he took a step back, glancing aside at Badger with a cool yet expectant look on his face. It was his show, after all...the arrogant bastard.

Badger Coleman

"Very good. Now listen carefully, Mage.”

He spits the title out as if it is a dirty word that leaves a poisonous taste on the tip of his sharp tongue. Obviously, he attributes very little of his clan's prowess to their forbearers.

“We are here to speak to you, and obviously this cannot be done while you are paralyzed. I will release you from this spell once I set the terms of our agreement. Understand that I can easily freeze you again, among worse acts. Do not be foolish once you are able to move once more.”

He smirks, almost hoping that Jones will give him a reason to use a more painful ritual. He motions with a hand as he speaks again, bringing the silent Tremere forward so that they are half circling the Flambeau.

“We will not speak here, in the open night, where our voices may be overheard. We intend to take you to another location and you will not be aware of your surroundings as we travel. If you resist, we will restrain you. If you attempt to harm one of us, I will kill you.”

The personal note in his threat is appalling to more than one person present, but it is clear that he is serious. He continues on, beginning to drawl as he recites the less important information.

“If you tell us who specifically you are seeking, if anybody at all, then we will attempt to take you to that person. Regardless, you will be speaking to our Regent, which requires you to control yourself and be courteous. He will decide in the end what your fate is, now that you have found Domus et Genus Tremere.”

Badger studies Jones silently, imagining the indignation and wrath that must be boiling within the man’s gut, and then he nods and stands. Swiftly, the other three vampires set a hand on him and he utters a quiet dismissal of the ritual. Jones’ body tingles furiously as the blood rushes through his comatose veins and he begins to lose his grip, not quite able to control his muscles right away. Ohm’s hand quickly extends down and grasps the Mage’s arm, supporting him until he can pull himself out.

Jones

Jones was indeed quite pissed at the situation, but cooperation was his only means of escape at this time. And who knows, maybe they knew what happpened to Neil. Keep calm, keep cool, and he might just get out of this alive.

After the spell was released, the magi jerked his limbs, trying to get everything working. He muttered a gruff thanks to Ohm for keeping him from falling back into the pit. He tried to straightened his shirt, then realised he still looked like frickin' rambo. That erked him a little more then usual, for some reason.

Jones made a 'after you' motion.
"Lead the way." He said plainly.

[Thee Independent]

Ohm Fallow and B. Tawny

On and on and on. It never stops with Badger. Ohm watches their cabal's leader threaten and - ah hah - "badger" the young, blue-haired Flambeau with gusto.

No matter what some of the others say, Badger was not handed this position on a silver platter. He spent his time in the kitchen cooking up power, rituals for recipes. Ohm knew, perhaps more than some of the others, that Badger had earned the right to be a complete and total prick to everyone else.

"Hey, Tawny," Ohm turned his head aside, addressing the Tremere Jones may recognize as the Warlock he met before his journey into the Underdark. "Care to pick up a memento of Rover? I think I noticed that the Mage left enough of him lying outside that you can have your pick."

"Do shut up," Tawny responds, crossing his arms in indignation. Both bony, pale white hands disappear beneath the flowing black sleeves on his robes. He tilts his nose imperiously away from Ohm, ignoring his brother's macabre and misplaced sense of humor. B was convinced that Ohm's mortal history - those pitiful years spent breathing others' air and being faced with taxing mortality - had given him a self-stamped certification of "Tremere-bred acolyte", having had some experience with the true occult when he was unfortunately alive.

Obviously, with this upstart charlatan-turned-spelunkerer, being a mage isn't anything special. They had captured this one rather easily, hadn't they? This pugnacious, eerie-locked mouthbreather who had killed...no, murdered...the chantry's dog. It might as well as have been Tawny's dog, he being the only one to ever come out here to the middle of nowhere to give it some company and some vitae.

B. Tawny, with barely concealed rage, burned Jones alive with his wrathful gaze.

"Maybe a canine?" Ohm asks, mostly to himself but well within earshot of Tawny, curling his lip and revealing a fanged incisor. "To remember your canine by?"

Tawny hated Ohm. But he hated Jones more.

Jones

Jones gazed coolly at the arguing vampires. Looks like there was trouble with the group. But then, that was to be expected amoung vampires and any house of the Order. They probably had a great deal of problems that he didn't know about.

Jones glanced at B. Tawny appraisingly. "Not to sound Morbid," Said Jones. "But I'm kinda wondering that myself. I mean, if killing his dog is my only sin against you guys, then I'd think you'd be bringing in every 5th grade boy to Big Cheese Tremere." He blinked suddenly.
"Okay, that give me a very desturbing image. Forget I asked."

"But, you guys DO know you've got Cthulhu sleeping in that cave, don't you?" Asked the Mage. Massive spirits tended to catch Jones's interest, and it would be nice to know what the fuck that thing was before he died.

Badger Coleman and Chester Longley

Badger reels on Tawny, a cruel light in his eyes. The young Tremere is in for it and it is entirely his own fault; even Ohm is safer now in his impassive indifference to their leader. The dog’s keeper has overstepped his position by appealing so openly to a man that knows he is superior.

“And what has he done? Beyond succeeding in a feat that deserves at least a little of our respect – one which you could have never accomplished. What has he done to deserve your prideful ire? Would you kill him, despite our orders, just to soothe your ego?”

He pulls his accusing finger away from Tawny and snorts derisively, looking now at the Mage as Jones speaks. In the instant that he lapses into silence, their silent fourth finally steps forward and clears his throat to talk. He is a subtle man with what must have once been a kind face. It still is, at least compared to the other three Tremere. Chester Longley was older than the others when embraced, giving him the feel of being their elder, even though it is painfully clear by now who the leader is.

As the composed man begins to speak, Badger crosses his arms and stares stolidly at he and Jones. The man is taking this chance to respond to the Flambeau where the others would not. “Unlike many of our undead brethren, our House does not follow leads brought on solely by violence, young Flambeau.” Ohm might have guessed what Jones is, but this vampire speaks with certainty. He must know more about the standings within the Order of Hermes than the others.

“We know that you are seeking us out and it is important for us to understand why. We have no quandary left with your Order and would certainly benefit from the building of a cooperative relationship. Don’t you think?” He smiles lightly, shrugging with the offhandedness of a scholar. “Besides that, very few mortals seek out the Tremere unless they are in dire straights. You have risked yourself greatly and this incurs respect, as Badger stated.” Interestingly, all of the others are silent as he speaks. There is something about his calm presence that brings the group to heel.

“Now, do not be alarmed. I must nullify your sight for the time being.” He steps up to the Mage as he dabs some kind of an aromatic liquid onto his own fingers from a phial. Simultaneously, the chastised Tawny moves up behind Jones and attempts to fasten his wrists. Chester lifts his glistening fingers to Jones’ face and marks a sigil in strikes about his eyes. Instantly, he is cast back into a darkness that he had only just gotten away from. It feels as though B. is struggling with whatever he is trying to do and the Flambeau gets the feeling that this will be no ordinary binding.

“A Cthulhu, you say?” Chester’s voice is interested, but otherwise expressionless so that Jones cannot tell whether this information is new to him or not.

Jones

Jones made a mental list on who was on top in this little cabal. He'd have to pick things up quick if he wanted to get away. At least he wouldn't die before seeing big boss Tremere, it would seem.

"I didn't come here looking for the Tremere." Jones said quietly glancing to the side. He'd save his reasons for their Regent. "I knew you might be here, but I didn't come looking for you."

The mage actually laughed when the man suggested a 'cooperative relationship'.
"You've gotta be kidding!" He snickered. "Unless you've been out of it the past few years, there was a little war between our respective factions not too long ago. Just because the fighting stopped, doesn't mean the hate's gone away. Not to mention the whole 'bloodsucking' thing isn't exactly making you guys lots of friends, if you know what I mean."
Oddly enough, his tone was less like 'Ally with YOU?! Never!' and more like 'It'll happen when pigs fly!'

He struggled for an instant in surprised when B. grabbed his hands, but Jones then stopped moving and let them do what they wanted. Blindness wasn't a problem, he could turn on echo-location if nessisary.

"Yeah, Cthulhu." Said Jones. "It's a reference to a big ass beyond-human-comprehension thing, an occupational hazard to Umbral travelers normally. I started getting messages, or at least stray thoughts from something huge while I was in those caves. Usually such entities are kept really, really deep in the Umbra, but I think there's one down there. You guys know anything about it? Am I mistaken?"

Ohm Fallow and B. Tawny

And what has he done? Beyond succeeding in a feat that deserves at least a little of our respect – one which you could have never accomplished. What has he done to deserve your prideful ire? Would you kill him, despite our orders, just to soothe your ego?

If Tawny had a tail, it would be between his legs. As it is, his face looks dour and hangdog as he crosses behind Jones and does as bidden. Thwip. Swiftly, B. uncoils the dingy cord from around his waist and, forcibly, thrusts Jones' wrists together behind his back.

Bearers of the black spheres, bellies to the earth. Heed my call and bind these wrists as you bound Yggadrasil's roots. Twin Serpents, do as I bid you, and accept the gift of my Life.

The incantation was the easy part. But in order for the invocation to be effective, Tawny first had to tie the ropes securely in a hermetic's knot around Jones' wrists. "Ungh,"he struggles, tying and, once or twice, having to unbind and retie again. Why wasn't tying knots a part of the Chantry's early curriculum for budding acolytes? It's making Tawny look like an idiot! If Badger sees him fumbling like this...

Ohm folded his arms across his chest while Chester regaled them all with his unwelcome, pacifistic demeanor. That was Chester, in a nutshell; intelligent, easy-going, like a pudgy friar with an unhealthy desire for the blood of his congregation. Ohm always suspected him to be as capable of enlightening your mind as casting your body into darkness, but to date, he'd seen nothing to suggest this. The wisened Tremere seemed to be one of the few who understood the things Ohm understood; what he had lost, and what he had gained.

"Not to mention the whole 'bloodsucking' thing isn't exactly making you guys lots of friends, if you know what I mean."

"We haven't got a whole lot of choice there, brother," Ohm offered up. "Our...your ancient Massassa War was about as ridiculous as this country's recent war in Iraq. They went across the globe digging for nuclear weapons. You came digging in our chantries for books and blood, committing wholesale slaughter. Time had put water under the bridge, and you swept it all away in a moment of sheer arrogance and ambition."

Ohm's voice took on a more fevered pitch, though it was still appropriately controlled. Every word assaulted Jones, as if he alone were responsible for some terrible casualty.

"A lot of people lost their lives and a lot more in that little war, as you called it, Flambeau. Were you even there? You're too young - the Order wouldn't send someone your age into that kind of warzone. Can't be more than, what, a second circle initiate? You don't know about the sear of hellfire and the burn of raw power. You don't know about the twist in your gut when a Numismancer tells you something's wrong but you have to plunge blindly into something out of Lovecraft's diseased mind. You don't know about the fear of being cooped up in a room full of dusty books, unseen eyes watching your every breath, straining to hear something in the silence, to determine whether your friends are still fighting the good fight or whether they're dead and you should just go ahead and end it now before they get their hands on you. What do you know about the whole Massassa War, anyway? You know about the treachery of the Tytalans by now, but you can't know the icy spike it drove into the hearts of those who trusted them most, those who were sacrificing their God damn lives for a little chance at giving them diabolical power. Don't go telling me that it was little, Flambeau. I know damn well what it was really like..."

Ohm quiets down before Badger has to do it for him. He won't bear Tawny's humiliation. "Just what were you looking for here, if not for us?"

Jones

Even though he was blind, Jones rolled his eyes. Christ on a stick, this was like, the third time he heard this 'you know shit about war' speech.

"So, what do you want from me? A Cookie? I know enough about that paticular war. I know that it was started because of stupid pride. I know about all the horrible things that went on in that war, but it's nothing new. The Order's been at war for over five hundred years, and I've fought my fair share of them, taken more then enough lives, so don't bitch to me about the horrors of it. You're never too young to be a soldier, that was Flambeau motto..." If Jones knew what direction Ohm was, he'd be glaring at him. One of these guys might have been an Hermetic at one time, probably a long time ago. The Order has changed it's priorities rather dramaticly from when (if?) they joined, it would seem. 19 years old and in their time he was not allowed to fight?! Jones found himself wishing that things were like that. Life would have been so much easier.

"You'll find out pretty soon. I'm not going to tell the story twice." He shuffled at little. "Or, at least, you would be hearing it pretty soon if the guy behind me could tie knots right and stop trying to cop a feel..."

Ohm Fallow and B. Tawny

"Insolent whelp!"

A harsh hiss of taut cord precedes a sudden jerk and tight pain that might make an ordinary person cry out in shock. B., out of spite for Jones, restarts his knot, only with more slack this time thanks to Jones clamped wrists. The pressure is intense, on the verge of injurious. The Tremere keeps concentrating on tying the knot, refusing to glance up to look at Badger. It didn't mean he couldn't feel the burn of his eyes on him, though.

Ohm allowed Chester to continue in his various ministrations while he let off some steam. The war had been over for a while, hadn't it? Or had it just felt that way, since that night? He felt like he'd been living in the same place, locked away in the hills east of Hollywood, for ages. The Flambeau's admission that he'd been involved in the Massassa War was some comfort; Ohm couldn't tell whether that comfort was due to the fact that Jones had shared his burden in the war or whether it was because Jones might have met the same fate he had...only didn't. Jones deserved no more respect that anyone outside the Clan. Ohm knew that. But it was hard not to, especially after that beautiful quip at that dreary dogowner, B. Tawny.

"Maybe you'd be having an easier time if it were a leash, B?"

"Go to hell." Loop, over, under, pull. Damnit. Start over.

"Well, Flambeau, save your story, then," Ohm said, a tad too bitterly for his own taste. "Will you give us your name, though? I'll give you a fair exchange. Call me Ohm."

Jones

Jones winced a little when B. Pulled the ropes tight.
"Easy back there, I'm not your S&M partner." He quipted.

"Fine Ohm. Everybody calls me Jones. 'Everybody' would encompass you guys, I'd guess." He said with a shrug

B. Tawny

That does it. He will not stand to be talked back to by a mortal!

B., in a moment of horrific clarity and envisioned revenge, imagines plunging his hands into Jones' guts, and that these cords are his bloody intestines. In moments, the Tremere has coiled an efficient hermetic knot around Ahriman's hands. He could almost feel the visvera beneath his fingernails.

Quickly, Tawny places his hands over the cords and whispers, breathily, "Bearers of the black spheres, bracers of man's fear, bellies to the earth. Heed my call and bind these wrists as you bound Yggadrasil's roots. Twin Serpents, do as I bid you, and accept the gift of my Life."

The familiar burn coursed through his veins, and he closed his eyes, willing history to come true in a microcosm that spelled "danger" for Jones.

The Flambeau felt the rough cords begin to gyrate - of their own accord - their surfaces becoming less material and more decidedly scaly. The end of Tawny's incantation slithers off of his tongue, and his teeth seem to rattle, wickedly, on every consonant. Abruptly, the coils wound about Jones' wrist tighten on their own accord, and something slick glides along his forearm.

"Should you attempt to escape from my bindings, Jones, you will be in for a deadly surprise. One false move, and these twin serpents will strike you, repeatedly, until their expedient venom brings you to a miserable end. This is the price of crossing the Tremere. This is the price of insulting B. Tawny, you worthless waste of potential."

Badger Coleman and Chester Longley

...why the hell did I agree to bring him...

Badger watches Tawny fuck up the ropes over and over, distaste for the brat rising in the back of his throat. He folds his arms tightly across his arms and listens to the exchange between the Mage and Ohm, remaining silent. He is better than this petty fight.

He just can't help himself. That Mage baited him perfectly.

He breaks out of his acidic thoughts to suggest in deceptively sardonic tones, "Why don't you tell him your entire history, Ohm?" His smile is cold and exacting. He cannot help, but enjoy the cracks at B though, no matter how removed he is pretending to be from these games. The boy deserves it.

Chester, on the other hand, watches the entire scene in the calm silence that he has maintained for most of this adventure. He was not given the chance to respond to the Mage and this suits him fine.

As Tawny finally completes his ritual, the leader watches Jones’ reaction. The Mage appears to act unaffected, but Badger knows that this particular spell is as intimidating as it is deadly. And it is one of three reasons that B was even brought along. He has outlived his use.

He starts off then, before any more bickering can start up, expecting the other three to bring the Flambeau along behind without giving the order. Jones is shoved sharply forward from behind by the dejected dog keeper, but Ohm catches his shoulder and guides him. He can feel the presence of the others circled about him, but he can not tell even remotely what direction he is being led in or who is near him and who is not.

Jones

Jones smiled internally. Snakes, even magic ones, would be easier to escape from then enchanted chains. One application of Rub the Bones should do it, and then he'd be free. He'd have to bide his time first, wait for the right moment. And maybe see if this Regent guy knew anything about Neil...
"That's groovy B. Are we done here?" He asked.

Jones walked on through the darkness of his blindness, hoping that they'd be at... wherever they were going soon. If it was one thing that Jones hated, it was waiting.

Muse

It feels to Jones as though they have been walking for an hour, and it has been in complete silence. Evidently, the Tremere have done enough sharing for the time being. He feels the terrain becoming smoother eventually as he walks on packed earth rather than the rough wild and then he hears the tapping of his soles upon pavement. Shortly after this, Badger’s detached voice says, “Alright, that’s as far as you go,” and Jones is stopped. There is a moment of still quiet and then someone behind him moves and Jones is unconscious.

Carried into Pharoah's Casket