Protectors

[Nicola Christine]

It had not been a good day - and that statement might count as an understatement still. Any day containing a microeconomics and an econometrics class has to be a bad one. But it had not stopped there. All her housemates had managed to snap up a room in college for next term. Unfortunately she had not been as lucky. It meant that she would have to find accommodation somewhere else in Oxford - not hard as it brimmed with student accommodation, but a hassle nevertheless. And she would have to deal with new housemates. Alright, she could be honest at least to herself. It wasn't the hassle that bothered her. What if her current circle of friends would ignore her as soon as they lived apart? She was not shy precisely, but she also did not relish the thought of losing her hard won social circle.

And now she would have to spend all night writing her Political Theory essay for the tutorial at 10 tomorrow. Bother. All the others were planning to go over to the JCR party at Teddy Hall. She trudged the last few meters to her college through the rain halting to check her pigeon hole. 3 letters. Her phone bill, her exam schedule and a letter with her address written in pen on the front, without a stamp:
Isabella Plessow
Holy Ghost College
Oxford

She tugged the other two letters under her arm and opened the unknown letter whilst crossing the quad to her room.

Ewen St. Jordan
Solicitor
323 High Street
Oxford

3.3.2010

Dear Miss Plessow,

This letter forms an invitation to attend the meeting of the brotherhood of the curator honoratio on March 4th, 2010 at 11pm, St. Cross House. Your attendance is obligatory.

Sincerely
Ewen St Jordan

Isabella looked up from the letter and thought: What the hell is all that about?

The rain drop snaking down her face and threatening to drip inelegantly from her nose made her realise that she had stopped in the middle of the quad and that neither her books, nor herself, were getting any dryer from this. She quickly hurried the last steps up to her floor and to her room. Her room was less of the refuge she had expected it to be as the woefully inefficient heater had clearly died - again. What did she expect? It was one of these days. She let her bag slip from her shoulder and dropped the books on the small side table. Her mind was only superficially occupied with the actions and the annoyance of the cold heater. Mainly she worried about the letter. Really, it sounded like a prank and she was tempted to treat it like that. However, there remained this little niggling voice in her mind that reminded her that ignoring a letter from a lawyer was never a good idea. Unthinking she grabbed for the phone and dialled home. Before it could even ring she hung up. Unsure even to why she had done so. John, her brother and guardian since the death of her parents 2 years ago, would not have minded the call or the question. He would not even have laughed, even in the very likely circumstance that he would agree with her assessment of the letter as a prank. Which made it almost worse. Mum would have laughed, and even made fun of her for years telling the story to all and sundry, embarrassing Isabella horribly. But John would not. He would take her seriously. Carefully and diplomatically hint to it being a scam but assuring her that she had every right to consider it and was in no way gullible. And then they would chat like strangers about his lecturer position at Goldsmiths, his students, her courses and college. Possibly they even would make some remarks about the weather. This is how it had been for the last two years when he had come to pick her up from boarding school telling her that her parents had had an accident. Careful. Civilised.

Isabella shook her head. There was nothing wrong with civilised. To be exact it was preferable to hysterics, fights and depressions - all reactions teachers, friends, and even the psychologist John had insisted she see after the accident, seemed to expect from them. It was definitely preferable that John at least did not expect her to engage in histrionics. But even after having spent every holiday throughout the last two years with him she just still felt she did not know her brother. She even knew that it was not his fault, nor was it hers, she thought. He was ten years older than her. He left for university when she was 7, and from then onwards was only a voice on the phone and an intermittent visitor in her home. A glittering butterfly arriving with presents once or twice a year and taking her to concerts or amusement parks with her friends. She had always adored him - she just did not know him. The only longer conversations they had shared when she was younger were the instant messenger interactions throughout the many injury times her brothers random sports seem to cause. At least once a year he would be lain up with an injury from sky-diving or whatever else he had been into recently. He would always assure everyone that he was fine and discourage any visitors to whatever out of the way country he was laid up in. It had always worried her mother and each time her mother would become more morose for a few days. But it was great for Isabella. She would discuss philosophy, or politics, or their fathers latest assignment with John for hours over instant messenger. These conversations had not disappeared after the accident - even if they now took place over the living room table. It was just that sometimes she also would like to discuss if the guy in her class even saw her, or if she was completely paranoid worrying about a clearly fake letter from a lawyer, without feeling too embarrassed. She wanted the hours back she spent with her mother sitting at the kitchen table doing nothing much, just talk. Talk about nothing. Talk about everything. She let the phone slip from her fingers onto the bed and turned to the desk.

Twenty minutes later she had to reread the same paragraph the third time. “However exalted we may wish our concepts to be, and however abstract we may make them in relation to the realm of our senses, they will continue to associate with figurative notions…” Kant’s Political Writings were, when she was at her best, hard to understand. They did not improve in lucidity when her eyes wandered to the large vellum envelope with the lawyer’s crest every few words. No matter how often she forced her eyes back to the page they always seemed to return to the letter. Oh blast! She had to write this essay tonight, no way around it. And the cold chill of the room did not help her concentration either. Resolutely she stood up and grabbed her jacket again. She would go and tell the porters about the broken radiator and at the same time inquire into who had brought the letter. As there had not been a post-mark someone must have brought it in. If the porters had not seen anyone then it must be one of the college members and therefore it was a definite prank. If not - then she at least had a clue who was behind this. She closed her room door with more purpose than she had expended on the whole paragraph of Kantian philosophy.

2 hours later she was looking down a beautiful old little alley close to the Carfax Tower. Unable to suppress her tendency to have conversations with herself she remarked: "Oxford has to be the only place in the world where you find the best addresses down small, cobbled, medieval and dank alleys." This was the address the letter indicated. This was where the lawyers office should be. So if it was there then the probability of the letter being a hoax diminished considerably. If there was no lawyer by that name, she had proven it to be a mere scam. She took a few steps admiring the undeniable beautiful exterior of the two victorian houses at the entrance of the alley. However, going down the street was like a time journey and quickly the houses looked more gothic and medieval. "No wonder so many people believe in ghosts here."

"Ah, here it is." The building was dark aside from one room out of which light spilled on the cobble stones. What was visible through the window were large shelves of old books bound in leather. No one was in sight. To read the other plaques on the wall more closely she leant against the door and it opened slowly. WITHOUT a creak. Dang, if things have to be stereotypical they should at least go all the way and stay with the ambience.

"His Lordship is expecting you, Miss Isabella" A voice suddenly spoke. In the door stood, well, the only word coming to mind was, a gnome. Obviously that was ridiculous - just as the impression that he just appeared there was. Isa was sure the dark hallway behind the door had been empty and now it was filled with a very small grey man in a suit carrying a candle. A candle - did their electricity cut out? The gn - ahh, man, must just have stepped into view from the side. Her brain pushed rationality past surprise and startlement and made her aware of what had been said. Expecting me? But before she could say anything the little man, for lack of a better term, hobbled down the hallway towards a door under which there was a shadow of light. She followed him. She knew it was a bad idea to follow a strange man into a strange house - but in this moment, in this situation she just felt like she was caught in a fairy tale. Her brain was cowering under a metaphorical table waiting if Tinker-bell was not about to step out of the woodworks as well. A few moments later she found herself in a library, just a library. Fairly standard for Oxford purposes. Nothing sinister, or strange. The gnome bustled around the room making inconsequential remarks about the weather. Suddenly, he turned to her. “I have to say, Mistress Isabella, you are the spitting image of your brother John. We were very sad to see him leave. Please sign here” Her hand automatically moved over the paper she had been given. This man knew her brother. Before she could ask him about it her world went black.

When she opened her eyes it was day and her surrounding had changed significantly. For once she was lying on a large four poster bed in a room she had never seen before. across form the bed a door led to a bathroom, identifiable through the sink she could see through the half open door. To her left there was a large desk and some bookcases - the only thing that looked remotely like her last waking memory. Besides that a sofa and various chairs made a comfortable seating arrangement. Various hues of red were dominating the room with bed, curtains, carpet and upholstery in a rich burgundy. She was 100 percent sure that she had never seen this room before. Shit, what had she gotten into?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and realised that somehow she was wearing a nightgown. A NIGHTGOWN! Surprisingly it was not the fact that she clearly had changed clothes sometimes during the night that alarmed her - but the ruffles on the garment. She did not deal with nightgowns - discarded t-shirts had always been her choice of night clothes! Searching for her clothes was obviously necessary. She walked into the bathroom - and stopped cold. All her toiletries were arranged around the place. That was creepy. Helpful however were her clothes lying in plain sight. A shower and jeans later she was ready to discover what was happening. Panic, screaming and running all might have been the more logical choices in action - but a shower made her fell better.

First steps first. Isabella pulled the curtains to look outside. She expected an Oxford skyline - definitely not what she actually saw. Openmouthed she stared out the windows. She might normally have said something - but speech was above her. She just stared at the landscape, well, landscapes.

Out there was an image of a world as if someone had double, well more triple and quadruple exposed a photograph. She remembered the products of her first camera sometimes looked like this - something she missed in the age of digital cameras. Oxford was there, a pale image of a street somewhere in North-Oxford with a large Apple trees in the garden. But overlying was an image of a dark world with two moons and buildings full of steel and glass and corners. There also was a greenish landscape with rolling hills and wood in the background which clearly was experiencing an early afternoon under a pale red sun. A stony red and blue landscape almost desert-like was to be identified as well. Isabella had to lean against the windowsill and could not help telling the empty room an overused quote which nevertheless seemed appropriate:
"We are SOOOOOOOO not in Kansas anymore".

[Digital Muse]

The verdant green of the grass felt lush under Petiri's bare slender feet as it stood waiting for the procedure to be complete. The process to open a portal into a world it's people had visited many times in the past. A simple linen shift that hung to Petiri's ankles covered it's tall, slender form while huge white wings were tipped with a dusky brown and folded neatly against its back. Petiri's elegant hand glowed in ambient blue light where it clasped hands with another being similar to it. The Angel, for it was an Angel for all intents and purposes, to Petiri's right, held a device of unusual complexity in it's right hand. it's eyes were closed, long lashes resting upon smooth cheeks. A green light flashed briefly on the device causing a gentle breeze to swirl about the pair. The light wind lifted the long curls of auburn hair from Petiri's shoulders.

Before long, a slim line of blue appeared in the air before it. When the slice in reality reached from the ground to a height of 8 feet, Petiri reached out, slipped its hands into the slit and pressed it open as if parting a simple cloth curtain. it paused to observed the scene beyond. Petiri took a moment to allow it's eyes to adjust to the darkened room beyond. A cheerily burning fire was built in a large fireplace to the left of the opened portal. Two large and slightly worn wing backs were set before it. Elegant mahogany paneling gleamed richly along the walls while deep blue velvet curtained tall leaded-glass windows.

Petiri had not been in this world before. But it's people had been coming into it for millennium. Their appearance gave rise to legends of ghosts, gods, demons, Jinn and more. Sightings most recently gave rise to the Christian belief in Angels. Petiri had been taught the language of the creatures called Humans. It had also been taught the art of diplomacy and inter-species relations among other things. Petiri was to enter the Human world to act as a teacher, liaison and in some small way a protector.

Its ruminations did not make Petiri hesitate to step through the Portal to the dark enveloping room in a world so very different from it's own. Once through, Petiri waved an elegant hand, and the portal disappeared with an odd popping sound. Straightening it's robes, it waited. No sooner had the softly glowing portal disappeared when a small, wrinkled creature appeared in the doorway. "Welcome to Earth, Petiri Tabari. We're most delighted to have you join us. May I get you anything to make your time with us more comfortable?"

Petiri turned to look at the small creature with a wrinkled brow of curiosity. "Forgive One." It stated softly. "One was led to believe thy people were taller. Is it not true?" Petiri's voice was a strange combination of soft whisper overlaying a sense of deeper power. The odd harmonic was not unpleasant to listen to. Petiri folded its hands before it comfortably waiting to be educated.

The little man smiled slightly. "Your first visit, I understand? You'll find Humans come in many shapes and sizes." A slightly gnarled hand indicated a chair, "If you will please make yourself comfortable, His Lordship and the others will be joining you shortly."

[Crimson Saint]

Archael sat atop a tall bell tower, one leg dangling over the edge. She pulled down the hood of her dark cloak to reveal dark hair, which showed a blueish hue as it reflected the pale moonlight. Grey-blue eyes scanned the city below. Even in a moment of rest, it was her habit to remain vigilant. She had been trained from a young age to see more than these humans she now spent most of her time amongst ever did. Occasionally, there was a human with perception that rivaled her own, but Archael knew how to fool even the most perceptive of beings.

As a Kelliistri, Archael had been raised in the shadows. They were as much her home as any other place. She had tried, countless times, to explain this to other beings, however, few understood - most of them feared the shadows. It made sense, in a way. Most beings feared the unknown, and very few knew all. Lesser still knew more of the shadows than the Kelliistri. It helped that the Kelliistri could see well in the low light, but it was more than that. It had been long ago, long before any living being could remember, that the Kelliistri had found an ally in the darkness. They embraced it, and it embraced them, giving them shelter and refuge from their enemies. It was said that, over the centuries, the shadows had become a very part of each and every Kelliistri.

Archael felt a vibration coming from the pouch on her belt. She reached in and retrieved a small cell phone. Had she been on an important mission, she wouldn't have brought it, but tonight she was merely a messenger, and she felt comfortable carrying it. Without checking the ID, she pressed a green button and held the device to her ear - she already knew who it was.

"This is Archael." As she spoke, a slightly enlarged canine tooth caught the moonlight.

"Hello, Archael,' a voice on the other side of the phone replied courteously, 'have you completed your task?"

"All messages delivered successfully."

"Good, come back in then. You're being reassigned shortly."

"I'll be in shortly, then."

Archael hung up the phone. It was time for her to return to headquarters. She rose, and pulled her cloak about her. Without a sound, she descended from the bell tower, nimbly making her way over rooftops and through dark alleys. She could feel a light breeze blow past her as she darted towards her objective. The air wasn't as clean here as it was on her home world, but the breeze was, nonetheless, appreciated. As she neared the headquarters of the Protectors, she couldn't help but be curious as to the nature of her new assignment.

[Guilty Carrion]

The beat is rapid, and infects his entire body with it’s pulsing rhythm, driving his body through the throng of flesh and fabric to the centre of the dance floor. Hot fingers dig into his nape, dragging his attention to the smaller woman who’s fiery, hungered gaze ensnares the animal inside with ease. With natural ease, they slide through the pressing mass, contact never breaking, the friction of skin divine in it’s frantic sin.

Every blast of light sends his senses reeling, but the feeling is ecstasy, snatching him from the jaws of comfort and normalcy. Gods above, this place was like Olympus come to earth, with an overabundance of Goddesses and an endless supply of Ambrosia.

He never wants to leave…unless of course this young Aphrodite is looking for company tonight.

For a brief moment, as the petite woman presses her lips against his neck in something far from chaste, he entertains the thought for a moment longer. Perhaps she is…any man would be so lucky to attend to her needs, why should he decline? Casual grey orbs catch the blazing hazel watching them from the bar, and the thought returns to the inky swirls of his mind.

Envy.

The man is green with it, as the popular human expression goes, and the unknown woman’s blissful unawareness of the choking emotion simply radiating from the man is sweeter than the finest wine he‘d ever drank. He shouldn’t tease, but when was he the one to avoid a challenge? A subtle wink and a flick of the tongue send the message clear, before the pulse of the crowd swallows the furious figure from view.

The beat swirls around them again, his pointed ears vibrating at the force of the bass shakes the crowd like an earthquake never could. She closes in, pulling his body snug against hers, and the grin across her face tells him she’s liking what she feels. His smile is no doubt twice as wide.

A single hand clasps down on his shoulder, and her eyes jolt open from half-lidded pleasure. Drawing a single, heavy sigh, he turns casually on the flat of his hoof, eyes locking once more with that blazing hazel. As a single hook crashes across his face, he feels the tell-tale ‘vum’ of his cell phone buzzing in his pocket and that mean’s the fun is over. They need him for ‘something’.

He staggers back but a few steps, before casually cracking his neck.

“Kinda rude, don’t you think?” His voice, a casual baritone of boyish charm, was barely heard over the rapid heart beat of the song, but the furious newcomer heard him all too well. “I mean, I was just showing the lady a good time, and then you saunter over and deal me one? Did your mother teach you manners?” That struck a nerve. Another fist comes flying, but with awareness comes the ease of dodging, and he watches the man regain his footing with a childish smirk. “Relax, buddy. I’ve got stuff to do, so your lady will, unfortunately for her, be going home solo tonight.”

She casts nervous eyes between his retreating back and the still shaking form of the furious man. Hissing a curse under his breath, the man tries to regain his tattered image one more time, only to find his fist sailing through the air where the stranger had once been walking. Cheeky grey flashes happily beneath him, before a leg bent in ways no human could ever bend smashes forcefully into his chest. The wind leaves him, and the assailant crashes to the floor in an undignified heap, the victor straightening out as if nothing had ever happened.

“Holy shit…” She breaths quietly, as the man casts his impish gaze on her. Taking a brief moment to fix his slightly lopsided fedora, the man casually extends his hand to her, which she takes hesitantly. He presses the skin to his lips for a moment, before leaving her with only a name and number scrawled elegantly on a scrap of paper.

--------------------------------------

The words flow like a river, slicing through the Satyr’s memories like a blade, and he allows his grin to grow to a full smile as his head bobs to the music of his massive ear phones. An elegant fedora sits calmly atop his head, undisturbed as his head shifts it’s attention quickly to the door of his room as it creaks open with a low groan. They had learned to stop knocking awhile ago, he could rarely hear it.

Tugging the headphones down around his neck, he grins at the figure in the doorway. “Bout time, ain’t it?” The figure simply turns away, disappearing with a casual warning to ‘Not be late again, Cardinal.’ Waving a dismissive hand at the empty door, the Satyr stretched out before rising to his hoofs with a groan. “Well, I hope this one is actually important.” Tugging a baggy shirt over his bare chest, he wasted no more time in his quarters, quick strides caring him swiftly towards the meeting place.

The harsh turn in the music forces his head into a bob, mimicking the kick of the drum as heavy braids dance about his grinning face. The tune carries him onwards, and Cardinal wonders just what exactly this big ‘important’ meeting could be about…

“Find out soon enough, I suppose.”

[Nicola Christine]

Isabella sat cross-legged on her bed staring vacantly at the wall in front of her. Shellshocked seemed the right word here. She had just had her world view turned upside down, most of her scientific knowledge proven unsound and had, most importantly, the image of her brother as a sedate academic shattered and replace by the image of a secret operative. And she had ten minuted to screw on her head right before she was introduced to her team. Great!!! Let's recap:
She had met a fairy, yes, a real fairy, with transparent little wings, 30 centimetres high, wearing an adorable little dress and dusting sparkling flakes everywhere. The fairy, Ereyt, had fluttered into her room (no idea how she had opened the door) and told her to follow to meet his Lordship. As she had led Isa down a hallway from which, in regular intervals, identical white doors led, Isa had tried to get some information out of her winged companion. Zilch. After an initial "His Lordship will explain everything" the fairy remained silent as a grave and just gave her polite smiles. One staircase up and through a heavy set of ornate wooden double doors she found herself in the most beautiful office she had ever seen. And the most beautiful man she had ever seen behind the steel and glass construction masquerading as a desk.
"Miss Plessow, I am Lord Deren, if you would please take a seat."
Isa moved slowly forwards over the lush oriental rug towards the desk and sat in one of the two comfortable black chairs facing the man behind the desk. She crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair trying hard to portray an air of casual confidence. An amuse smile ghosted over the well sculpted lips of Lord Deren as he steepeled his hands. His dark blue eyes matched hers in an equally concentrated stare.
"Miss Plessow, Welcome to the Protectors. Ereyt, the fairy who led you here, will provide you with a handbook later which details general rules and regulations. I have to inform you that your membership has been modified to temporal rather than permanent due to the insistence of your brother" here he fingered a faint red line on his throat with a grin before continuing. "In 6 months you will be asked to make the decision regarding permanent membership. Till then you will be assigned to a team and together undergo basic training before a decision on your specialisation is taken. Unfortunately the Congress will take place in this building in three weeks time and some aspects of your training might suffer temporarily. Also, all students are requested to be available for house duty during this time period. Do you have any questions at the moment?"
Isa looked at the man flabbergasted. Questions? She had only questions among the first was if she was in an asylum for paranoid schizophrenics.
"What is this? Where am I? Who are you? - and this is only the start of it as I am seriously tempted to add on the question "Who am I?"". Lord Deren threw his head back and laughed out loud. Whilst the laughter did not in no way make his almost ascetic face less beautiful, it made it more approachable. It also revealed two well defined fangs in place of normal incisors. A vampire? She had met a fairy - why not a vampire?

"I assume Joseph, you remember him? He met you in the office in town, has been sparse on details. He tends to be a bit curt and short. We really should replace him but he has served the order faithfully since 900 years and so...."
She could not help it. She had to interrupt him here
"Curt and short? He gave me a paper to sign whilst telling me he knew my brother. Next thing I knew I was here."
Lord Deren stared at her for a moment before frowning. "This might pose a problem. It might be just as well that your membership is only temporary for the moment. Joseph was supposed to inform you of the purpose and basic intentions regarding the Protectors before he made you sign a binding contract." For a moment Lord Deren appeared discomfited, and she had the feeling this was rarely the case. His fingers again wandered to the red line at his throat.
"No matter. Let me remedy the oversight. The Protectors were founded over 600 000 years ago, when this planet, and humans on it, were still in very early stages of development..." In summary, the Protectors had been formed on a nexus between different world streams, yes there were parallel worlds. Its main anchor was on earth, chosen as it was neutral territory with an underdeveloped population of bipedal apes then, but from this exact place the majority of then developed civilisations in the multiverse were accessible. The aim of the protectors was the facilitation of commerce and peaceful interaction between peoples. For this purpose they undertook diplomatic, trade, police, research, aid and often also spy missions. Theoretically they were subordinated under the Congress, a meeting of state leaders formally occurring once a decade however practically their leadership was the Protector's council. Teams were formed from a multitude of races, always comprising 7 members and through rigorous training formed into loyal, independent and complementary units. The number of teams was fixed and new teams were formed only when an old one was killed, dissolved or retired. Members of teams were either drawn from elite units in their own own nation or selected by the Protectors. All had to only have one common attribute, they had to be naturally Neodymium resistant as crossing over the nexus required a person to be able to function even after high exposure. As a result membership in the Protectors often ran in families. Isa was supposed to be a new member for a newly formed team. And now she was sitting in her room shellshocked, supposed to get ready to meet her new team members for the first time before her first class, hand-to-hadn combat. A look on her schedule, provided by the helpful fairy, this class was followed by one in local customs, one in chemistry, one in rhetoric and so on... Apparently these would change in a few weeks and be replaced by others. And she was supposed to keep on living her normal life to continue her grounding in humanity. Ahhhhhhhhh... First things first. She took her handbook, which rivalled the Encyclopedia Britannica in size and went to the door. With a deep breath she entered the living room behind it. Here she was supposed to meet her team members before class. All their rooms led to this large sunny area furnished by cheerful comfortable sofas and armchairs. A door led to the hallway she had followed earlier to the meeting with Lord Deren. Taking all her courage in hand she pushed through her room door to meet her team. Two curious pairs of eyes turned to her. "Hello"

[Digital Muse]

Petiri looked at the 'chairs' indicated by the little creature with some perplexity It wasn't precisely certain how it was was supposed to make oneself comfortable in such a thing. Shrugging, Petiri chose to wander the room touching the finishes, examining the feeling of heat from the crackling fire and thumbing through some of the many volumes of books that lined the shelves. A small smile lights Petiri's face giving it a soft, beautiful light. A slender finger follows along the lines of text within the book as it read. The Koran. One had heard of the text. It was a recent religious text as the humans go.

Petiri had preferred the older texts of the Egyptians in its studies. The pictographs always seemed more artful than the later lettering systems, it felt. As if following that line of thought, Petiri's eyes lifted to the large painted portraits and landscapes above the fireplace and and on other of the walls. The rich colors fascinated the Angel. Just about to touch one of oil canvases, it was stopped by the soft clearing of the throat of a half Human half beast on four legs. The beast's torso was bare while the animal's body was a sorrel that shone in the firelight. Petiri raised an auburn brow brow on a gentle brow and wondered how such a creature had approached without it hearing him.

The Centaur apparently read something of the questions in Petiri's mind for it grinned at the Angel broadly. "Been doing this a long time." It stated with a baritone chuckle. "Just checking in to see the new meat. I'm being assigned elsewhere for the time being. With the meeting coming up, I wanted to see what we had coming in." The Centaur smiled again, "Nice to see you don't panic at the slightest little thing. Gonna need it. Humans mostly don't know about the rest of the Worlds or our role. Go easy on any you meet, got it?" It turned, preparing to leave the building, "They don't push well." The Centaur warned.

Petiri watched the remarkable creature stealth from the building, ruminating on it's words of advice. "Humans don't push well..." It repeated softly. Petiri had to wonder what that meant. It made little sense. As far as Petiri could fathom, Humans were smaller and weaker than its own race. If Petiri chose to push a Human, it would most certainly move. Petiri made a resolution to ask the first opportunity it had. It would seem that it's lessons were not entirely complete.

A few minutes later, other creatures and a single Human girl also entered the room. Of them all, only the girl seemed unsure of its place.

[Crimson Saint]

Archael walked slowly through the familiar halls of the Protectors' headquarters. She had pulled her cloak back over her shoulders, revealing her clothes underneath. She wore a sleeveless top which was similar in style to the "halter" tops many women of earth found fashionable. For Archael, it was more a matter of practicality than fashion - this style of shirt allowed free movement of the arms and shoulders. She also wore skin-tight, dark pants. Both top and bottom were crafted of a Kelliistri material which was both flexible and strong. It was not completely dissimilar to spandex, though tougher, with less sheen to it. It was a favoured among the Kelliistri because it was tight, but did not restrict movement, and was relatively silent.

Archael's arms were wrapped in dark cloth, and on her feet she wore thin-soled boots with a split between the large toe and the rest of the toes. These boots allowed her to better feel the ground she was treading on, and did not hamper her ability to grip a surface. This allowed for quiet movement through shadows and firm footing in perilous places. Around her waist was a belt which carried several tools, weapons, and useful items. Some had their own individual holsters, and the remainder resided in a small pouch which hung towards the back of the belt.

Each silent footstep carried Archael closer to the room in which she would meet her new team. She now knew that she was one of the senior members to have been placed in this team. She would be aiding the newer members during training, which would double as a sort of refresher for her as well. Though she'd been with the Protectors for some time, this was the first time she'd been assigned to a team with this many rookies. To her knowledge, there was only one other senior member on the team, and they were still fairly new. Most of her previous assignments had been either solo, or with members older than her. It seemed that now she would be the most experienced on the team, though she had not been given all the details yet. This promised to be a new experience.

Archael now entered the meeting room. She was greeted immediately by the sight of an angelic being. She had met several of these creatures in her time with the Protectors, though she did not yet recognize this one. Not long after she had entered herself, Archael saw two more enter: one a satyr, and a human girl who looked to be, overall, rather confused. Archael politely bowed her head as they entered, "Hello."

[Guilty Carrion]

The rhythm pushes and tugs him along, every step and twitch an addition to the pounding music he’s had practically since he came to this world from his own. Pausing in his restless stride, the Satyr flicked his eyes down the various hallways, before chuckling quietly to himself. “I can’t remember which room for the life of me.”

Tapping his hoof against the floor for a moment, he mused which way to head before he simply shrugged and continued on his merry way, speaking aloud to himself as he went. “I’ll get there when I’m meant to. Fates haven’t guided me wrong yet…well, except maybe on that Bar mat the other day.” His stomach rumbled angrily at the memory, and the Satyr bit off a gag at the memory. “That’s a drink I won’t be trying again anytime soon…” A chill ran down his spine, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the shadowy figure from before had returned.

“You’re late.”

It was less than thrilled about his lack of direction, he gathered. “Well, you kinda forgot directions, so unless you’re expecting me to just auto-pilot my way there…” It’s blackened forehead creased in annoyance, a long sigh escaping the shadow.

“I gave you directions, Cardinal...but I suspect you weren‘t actually listening.” Was that what that static sound in his headphones was? Shit. “Regardless, most of the squad is already there. Let’s not keep them waiting any longer, hm?” It moved past him, and the Satyr fell into step behind it. So, he was finally getting a squad, eh? Bout damn time. He’d been ready to join one the moment he joined the Protectors, but their ‘traditions’(which he still to this day thought was a bullshit excuse) prevented the formation of a squad until one of the old ones kicked the bucket. Waste of time and talent.

A few minutes of silent(save for his unreasonably loud music) walking, and the shade left him outside the room in which his team was supposedly assembled. Well, no sense in keeping them waiting, right? Taking a moment to check his appearance on the reflection of his mp3, Cardinal fixed his best casual smile to his face, and opened the door.

First thought: Only women. The fates must love me!

Flicking his hand up in greeting, he moved swiftly to an unoccupied seat and slouched down into it. “So, is this everyone, or are we waiting on anyone else?” As if on a cue, the door opened to reveal a human, and his grin only widened. The fates are far, far too kind to me. “Come on in, don’t be shy! I won’t bite.”

[Nicola Christine]

Isa carefully let her eyes wander around the room. She did not want to be impolite and stare - but that was hard. Not only did she seem to be the only one out of place, she also seemed to be the only one feeling confused. Possibly her trial period was a good idea.

As the door opened and Lord Deren entered she quietly hurried to an empty seat in the back of the room.
"Welcome to the Protectors. Some of you have resided with us and acted on our behalf since considerable time, some of you have entered these halls for the first time." His well-modulated deep voice reached every occupant of the room and wrapped itself around them, calming and utterly trustworthy. Isa frowned - she did not think ANYONE trustworthy on first impression and had never thought something like this about a voice. Something was wrong there. She quickly drew her attention away from that thought and tried to concentrate on what was spoken again.

"Here you will learn skills that complement your already existing ones and become a true Protectors squad. For this purpose you will undertake many uncomfortable and often dangerous tasks. This is not an easy life and your chances of success are low. Only one in 23 squads beginning their training also reach active status. Our expectations are high and exacting, there is no shame in failing." She always hated it when people said that. No shame in failing. What they said was that there was no shame in not being the best - from her perspective that seemed a skewed perspective. Obviously there was shame in not being the best - otherwise there would not be an incentive to strive for the best.

"Many of you have trained for many years to reach this point, others have only just come to realise that this is where their life path leads them. No matter, you will either become part of the Protectors as a squad or not at all." Here he gave Isa a searching glance. Blast! Did this mean that if she decided that she did not want to be here ALL of them would be expelled. Isa shrank in her seat.

"You have your preliminary schedules. Most of the mornings you will spend with your own people, at least part of the week. We do not want you to become a working squad in isolation but in real life. In the afternoons, and for two whole days a week, you will attend classes design not only to supplement your already existing skills set but to test you and ensure you are able to work as a group. Most importantly they will force you to trust and depend on your squad mates. As such these lessons are often harsh and cruel." And she thought microeconomics had been bad....

"Your evenings will be given to tasks relating to the Congress. Each evening after the dinnerbell you will report to the secretariat for assignments. This suit is yours for the duration of your stay with us - might it be long or short. You are required to sleep here and to spend most of your free time here with your squad mates" Free time? Looking at that schedule that would be a nice myth.

"I advise you to hurry to your first class now. Weapons-master Beresce is not fond of dawdlers. Let me just say that I am very proud to have you here and hope you will succeed. I will periodically check on you individually and as a group." With that he disappeared. And she did not mean walked out of the door, or even transformed into a bat and was gone. Nope, just gone. As Isabella grabbed for her bag and jacket she was still staring at the space in which he had stood. Almost in a daze she followed the others out of the room and down the hall. After a few turns they entered a wide hall with mirrors down the sides. Lilac piercing eyes in a weatherworn face atop a huge 9 foot frame judged them sharply.

"What a sorry lot." The "troll?" said with a sigh. "I hope you are better than the scouts reported otherwise I might just as well kill you right here. I do not understand why the protectors even consider some of your races as desirable members. Impostors" He almost spit with anger and Isa had the distinct impression that his piercing eyes were concentrating on her - and only on her. She swallowed.

"We will see." His eyes moved on to two of the others "Cardinal, Petri, I assume? Well, at least you should do well." He turned his back on them and stalked to a pile of wooden sticks on the floor. "We will start with practice weapons so that you cannot dent your pretty hides." Before Isabella even started to move forward she saw a movement out of the corner of her eyes. A sword was being swung at her head.

[Digital Muse]

Petiri listened to the elegant Vampire as he addressed them and detailed their duties and schedules. Petiri had no other obligations other than the Protectors, so it made plans to learn more of the Human world when time allowed. The dialect spoken here was quite different than what it had learned in it's own plain of existence.

While Lord Deren filled them in, Petiri looked at the other members of the proposed squad. The Satyr was obviously very comfortable in the Human world. That might be a good resource if it came down to it. Petiri's pale eyes then slid to the one called Archael. Petiri had heard of the Kellistri, but had never met one before. The angel didn't know what to expect from Archael or how she would fit in to the new squad. Time would tell, Petiri reasoned. Lastly, Petiri took in the nervous and uncomfortable-looking human girl. Isabella. Petiri got the distinct impression the girl was completely at sea about what she was involved in. It made the Angel uneasy for reasons it couldn't name.

After the Vampire had dismissed the group and literally disappeared from sight, Petiri and the rest stood and filed out of the richly appointed room. Cardinal and Archael seemed comfortable enough as they moved into the weapons practice room. Petiri was taken aback by the sight of the enormous troll that faced them. Pale skin covered with warts and bulging, corded muscles did not make for a pleasant sight. Petiri did dip it's chin when the troll called it out, "Yes, it is how One is called." It acknowledged as the Angel bent to retrieve a wooden practice sword. Hefting the stout piece of oak, Petiri stood calmly, muscles loose as always.

When a sword was swung through the air at Isabella's head, Petiri's arm darted out with preternatural speed, blocking the blade with an audible clang. The blade was stopped dead just short of Isabella's head and Petiri's arm strained to fight the strength of the Troll. Petiri's facial expression barely changed, despite the intense effort holding the sword at bay took. "One believes starting slowly would best serve the young woman. Would it not?" Petiri asked in it's soft voice overlaying the power that obviously lies just beneath the surface.

[Crimson Saint]

Archael listened patiently through Lord Deren's speech. This was the same one she'd heard before. She could probably have given it herself, though she lacked the Vampire's natural charm. So, instead of giving him her full attention, Archael instead made a point of further observing her team. The Angel was easy enough to understand. For all their long life and deep thoughts, they were really a rather simple people. Archael couldn't decide whether she found that a point against them or in their favor. Satyr's were an intriguing sort. They seemed to enjoy song, dance, and parties above all else. They were an almost opposite to the Kelliistri, something which put members of the two races at odds rather often, though there was no real tension between the two races, and no true conflict had occurred - nothing outside of minor disagreements.

As for humans, they were very similar, physiologically, to the Kelliistri. Their bodies were not nearly as agile or flexible, but they often showed resilience beyond what most thought them capable of. An odd race, they were, somehow weak, and yet, somehow strong. Archael had often found them to be a curious group, on the whole. This one seemed confused, and a touch scared. It was understandable, when one's world had been so radically changed, to need some time to adjust. Unfortunately, time was one thing that was not readily available, and even the manor of Lord Deren's exit proved the fact.

Soon enough, Archael found herself standing in the training room, facing the troll, Beresce. Trolls were a race she did know well, and one seh was not fond of. They prided themselves on their strength, but they ignored the true art of combat. They simply charged in, swinging around their massive weight, hoping they hit something important to the enemy. it was nothing short of barbaric, and it was something any proud Kelliistri warrior would look down upon.

It was a good thing that the Petiri had stopped the troll's blow. Archael had the skill and speed, but not the strength to stop the sword. The Angel was right. The Kelliistri had harsh training regiments, but they understood how to push one's abilities without killing them in the process. Troll's seemed to have less concern for the lives of their trainees, especially "weak" ones, such as humans or Kelliistri. Unfortunately, they still made effective weapons masters, though Archael would have traded the troll's instruction for a proper Kelliistri trainer in an instant.

With the sword stopped, Archeal pulled the stunned girl back, out of harms way. As she did, she more carefully eyed the girl. From the look of her, she would be more suited to Archael's own style, rather than the brutish instruction of the troll. Perhaps, as they spent time together, there would be opportunity to work with her on that. It made sense that the girl might find Archael to be the first one she could relate to, due to her human-like appearance. Maybe that would open the way for Archael to share some of her own martial ability with her.

Regardless of what may or may not happen, they both had to get through the troll's instruction.

[Guilty Carrion]

The vampire held his attention for all of…two seconds? Worthless pretty boys, the lot of them. As friendly as he was, the Satyr simply brushed it off. He’d seen plenty enough posers to know what one sounded like. He was going to check on them? Creepy. Cardinal already had a mother, thank you very much. He felt differing pairs of eyes on him, and a smug grin cracked his face. Ladies, please! Wait until he leaves before you begin undressing me with your eyes!

The vampire disappeared, and his music came back to life with a sudden blaring of drums right in his ears. (An oddity, considering he hadn’t touched it, but he dismissed it with a casual shrug.) Rising from his seat with a potentially over eager hop, Cardinal quickly popped the door open, allowing each of his team-mates to pass by before tugging it shut, and falling into step behind them. Chivalry was not dead, especially when it let you observe your female co-workers’ bodies risk free. It was like a club, only it was his job to interact and grow close with them. The proverbial Jackpot, if he ever saw it.

A quick pinch confirmed he was, indeed, not dreaming, and he quickened his pace to catch up with them as they entered the training hall. “Oh damn.” His eyes flicked upward, holding back a grimace at the troll’s less than pleasing appearance. Still, the praise was a welcome change from the usual crap he got from other older members. “Glad to know my reputation precedes me, Beresce.” He stretched his shoulders, cracking his cocky grin to the others. “We’ll go slo-” The blur of motion cut him short, and it took him a minute to process what had happened, watching with a surprise as Petiri blocked the blade, holding the massive ogre back alone.

“Shit. You’re tougher than you look…” Not wanting to be out done, he stomped roughly on the end of a training stick, catching it in his hand with a wink towards the human. “Alrighty! Now it’s my turn!” It spun elegantly in his hand for a moment, before hefting it like a javelin; he lobbed the stick forcefully into his instructor’s forehead. Scooping another up to repeat the process, he paled slightly when projectile bounced harmlessly off the massive creature’s head, and its lilac eyes narrowed on him. “You are one tough mother fucker, aren’t yo-” A powerful kick sent him careening across the floor, hissing swears with every bounce and crack of his body.

“Sonuvabitch! That fucking hurt!” Pushing up with the stick to balance himself, Cardinal forced his grin back to his face, drumming his fingers against the worn wood in an attempt to satisfy his need for music. (His headphones lay in two pieces somewhere else in the room). “Lucky I don’t have my bow…then you’d be in for it there, Teach.” A relieving crack of his back later and he stood ready once again, eagerly bouncing from one foot to the other. “Slow for her, yeah. I’m built for speed myself, but I’m cool at the slower pace.”

[quakernuts]

Being pulled away in the middle of an experiment involving a formula capable of wiping out an entire planet's ecosystem was not something that Rick Jaxton enjoyed very much. A Shade had come by, irritated as they always seemed to be, and told the good doctor that he had already missed the initial briefing for his Protector team. Rick had scoffed, deeming such things as a social encouragement test rather than actual hard facts as to what they would be doing. Ten minutes of arguing later, and Rick was walking grudgingly down the hall. "You know, when I develop a scientific way to dissassemble your molecules one by one then placing them at exact equal points of longitude and latitude on a random planet with no hope of ever reassembling again, you will fear me."

"Yes yes yes, I am so scared. You do know that science really has nothing to do with me, right?" The floating apparition spoke sarcastically to the doctor, levitating just a couple feet in front of Rick.

"Don't argue with me! I'm a genius!" the shade appeared to shake its head as it continued leading Rick down the hallway, and towards where the rest of the team had already made it. By the looks of it, a Troll had taken upon itself to teach the class how to dodge a giant sword being swung at their heads. Rick got there in time to see an angel, a Terenjian if he read the records correctly, which of course, he did. He was surprised by the amount of strength the creature held, but not enough to outwardly show it. Soon after that fact, another one of the members attempted to throw something at the Troll. Horribly inadequate, and he soon paid for that mistake by being thrown across the room. Laughter would have been permitted if Rick was not indulging in self pity at the team he had been given. Instead, he adopted his casual arrogant 'I'm better than you in every way' stride, and made himself known to the crew after a few statements were put out.

"Don't try reasoning with the putrid smelling Neanderthal, you'll only confuse it. Just beat it at it's own horribly inadequate game compared to intelligent forms of recreation, and shall we be on our way?" The Shade dropped it's head, speaking something that seemed akin to a whisper and nails against a chalkboard as it floated away from the scene. The Terenjian turned towards him, it's face inspecting and completely insulting Rick as it looked over his custom designed, built, scrapped, redesigned, and rebuilt custom armour.

"There is always something to be learned, even in unpleasantness." It said to Rick. "And you would be?"

"I would be the most intelligent being that you have probably met. If you ever meet Jonathan Juanthra from the Hall of Technological Diversity back on Ira, he'll say the same thing." Rick leaned in a bit. "He's at least two IQ points behind me! Two!" Rick looked at them for a second. "Oh, I suppose you were asking for a name." Rick made an extravagant bow. "The name is Doctor Rick Jaxton. Dr. Jax is also acceptable, considering people not of my calibre have a thing with coming up with nicknames." Rick looked to the Troll, who seemed to be a little more than pissed off at the moment.

"As for learning from unpleasantness, while that can be true, it really isn't. For instance, I would like to assume you are all house broken, yes? Well, I know the excretion of certain elements from your intestinal tract can be quite pleasing to a few. Yet such things are labelled as 'gross' and 'yucky' to most. See, nothing that is unpleasant is worth learning." Rick was about to continue when the huge arm of the Troll came flying at his chest, hitting him broad in the chest, and pinning him up against the wall. Rick's breath came in gasps, obvious to others that, despite the suit, he was not a fighter.

"Correction Terenjian. I have learned to duck today. Although this isn't so much as unpleasant as painful. Painful lessons are often the best though, and for that, I thank you Mr. Neanderthal." The Troll snorted, not saying anything for the moment, but Rick was fine with filling that void. "Oh, going for the tried and true 'Glare' technique, designed by many warriors, especially during the medieval times with knights and fair maidens...or what passed for fair maidens, to destroy the will and moral of their opponent. I assure you, Mr. Neanderthal, that you will not break me." Rick looked down at the arm that was pinning him against the wall. "At least not mentally, maybe emotionally and physically if you apply enough pressure to my ribs, second and third in particular since that is where your fist seems to applying the most pressure. Inadequate methodology by the way." The Troll simply grumbled beneath his breath, and released the doctor to the ground, who fell with a clank onto his stomach.


"Well...that was rather unple-" Rick stopped, and looked to the angel for a second before correcting himself. "Painful. I was going to say painful. Shall we get on with the who's called what now, or do I care enough to know your names?" Rick held his chin for a second, and shrugged. "Well considering I have to work with all of you lesser minds, I guess I'd better have something to call you other than 'Monkey' followed by a numerical digit." The Troll made to say something, but Rick cut him off. "Only the people I work with Neanderthal! I think that title suits you already!"

[Nicola Christine]

Isa was absolutely horrified. No other word came to mind which could even come close to express her current mental state. Terrified might come close, abject fear and confusion might follow close behind. But horrified was still the most appropriate. Within the last minute a sword had been travelling in the direction of her throat with the definite intention to depart her head from its current position, she had proven to be a completely useless individual and she had head the funniest introductory speech. Trouble was she almost suspected the speaker was not trying to be funny.

Isa was trying to see around the girl who had, after pulling her out from under the sword pushed her towards the back. She could have almost believed the girl to be human as well but Lord Deren had made clear that there would be no other humans in the group. But at least she appeared not to be as intimidating and so obviously superior as the others were. Especially the Angel. Rationally Isa knew that even as an atheist her western European upbringing coloured her perception of the other as a divine all powerful being - but after seeing her stopping that sword it was hard to think rationally rather than emotionally, At least the Satyr was only "mythical" in her cultural subconscious - not divine. The guy in the suit? Neither her rational nor subconscious mind could come up with anything.

Suddenly the Troll, she was just stuck on this epithet, started laughing. A roaring, all encompassing laugh. Not jovial, not amused - but nasty and sharp. " So this is our future. The next elite team. A winged emotionless robot, a whore, a winy boy, a weakling - and all defending the sister of a traitor. This is a comedy! You should let me give her the mercy blow now - you others might even be able to amount to something. In...." A loud crack shook the walls of the room and a wave of fury ghosted over them. Isa could almost physically feel the emotion on her naked arms and suddenly the room felt darker, colder. The large mirrors developed a coating of frost crystals. If not for the acute feeling of danger her mind signalled to her body Isa would have found the ice-flowers growing on the walls breathtakingly beautiful. Lord Deren glided into the room. Earlier in his office she had met a pristine and elegant nobleman - now she saw the deadly predator under the veneer of the Lord entering the room. His attention was fixed on Beresce, though she did not live in the illusion that he was oblivious to the smallest detail of the room and its occupants.

"Master Beresce, I was sure I had expressed my wishes regarding the training of this new team in our meetings? I am sure I can reiterate the points in a more visceral manner, if you so desire." The silky voice was cuttingly polite, icily precise. The Troll held his eyes for a full twenty seconds before he dropped his gaze. Isa was impressed - she was sure that even the bravest being could not stand long against this man. Which is why she was surprised when she heard her own voice.
"Mylord, would it be possible to have an appointment with you today after lessons." Her own audacity left her incapable of any further thought. She had the feeling that Lord Deren was aware of this as an amused glint ghosted through his eyes. "I will have you collected by one of the staff when it is convenient" With a polite nod to the whole room he left them. When the door closed the Troll muttered under his breath "Overbred bloodsucker. Abomination. Never should have ...One day ..." Isa could not hear the end of the sentence but the expression with which the Troll stared at the door was not friendly. Not friendly at all.

The Troll turned to them and yelled, as if nothing had happened before Lord Deren had entered "Alright pair up and take some of the practice swords. Satyr with the winged one, you two girls together. You boy, wait throughout the first round. Let's see what we have to work with." Isa hefted the wooden weapon fearing that all her years of fencing with an epee would not help her here. She tried to smile at her "opponent" and told herself: "I only have to get through the morning."

[Crimson Saint]

Archael watched as Lord Deren stared down the Troll. There was little secret in the contempt that the beast held for him. Troll's were a naturally abrasive kind, but Beresce was the worst Archael had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Also, she did not take kindly to being called a whore. Had this happened under any other circumstance, she would have ripped the Troll's throat out before it knew what was coming. But here, under this roof, the beast was, in what she considered a cruel irony, her superior. That in mind, she took as much pleasure from Lord Deren subduing the beast as she possibly could.

It was with no small amount of surprise that Archael realized that the young human had spoken up, requesting an audience with Lord Deren. Archael sensed that her own shock was outmatched only by the girl herself. Still, Lord Deren was, in one way or another, a kind man, and he politely obliged her. As he exited the room, the Troll could be heard muttering some form of treason, though Archael wasted not any effort in deciphering it. If the creature ever did act on its thoughts, Lord Deren would easily strike it down - supposing, that is, that Archael did not end its miserable existence first.

Archael took up a wooden sword. It was light in her hands. She had been raised wielding a steel blade, even when training. The Kelliistri believed not in the use of false weapons. "If you are going to fight, you had best learn how to fight with real weapons!" Archael's father had told her when she was young, "When you strike, you kill. When you defend, you do not get cut. War is no game, why should you learn its ways with toys?" There was truth in these words. Nothing could prepare you for battle more than the feel of a real weapon in your hands. Still, the Protectors did not allow sparring with real weapons, at least not at this level, and Archael had found the challenge in learning how a wooden sword could be as lethal as its steel counterpart. Nevertheless, there was nothing that could be compared to the feel of her own blade. It was as much a part of her as the arm that wielded it.

Archael stood opposite her sparring partner, the human girl. She could see the fear and doubt in the human's eyes. No doubt this one had never been in a real fight before, let alone a duel with a Kelliistri. Archael straightened herself out, as she scrutinized the girl's posture. She lightly shook her head, "Your stance is wrong. Look at your footing, it's completely off-balance. Watch how I stand, and copy me."

Archael slowly assumed a balanced stance, exaggerating each movement so that the girl could see them clearly. She then watched as the girl copied her. She was a quick learner, but this was simple material. "You must learn to move such that you do not lose balance.' Archael offered up some more advice, 'If your opponent catches you off-balance, you're dead. Watch."

Archael struck out once, rather lightly, at the girl. She was able to block the blow, but lost her footing in the process. Archael quickly attacked again, knocking her opponent back. The human almost fell over, but Archael caught her by the hand and pulled her back up. "Battle is about finding your rythm. It sounds odd, no doubt, but you'll understand with time. You must find your own rythm, and you must find your enemy's rythm. If you can disrupt his rythm, you have the advantage."

In order to offer some sort of demonstration, Archael performed a series of movements, battling an invisible opponent. The 'fight' was almost a dance. She moved with a certain grace, dignity, and sureness that came from years of experience. Once she'd finished, she offered a smile towards her sparring partner, "You'll get the hang of it sooner than you think. Before you know it, you may even be able to spar with me on even terms. Until then, I'll do what I can to help you. I am Archael, by the way."

[Digital Muse]

*Thanks to Guilty Carrion for the collaboration*

The late entrance of a small human-looking man with an unusual style of dress garnered their attention. Petiri looked at 'Dr Jax' curiously. The little man seemed very sure of himself. Confidence was both a blessing and a curse it had noticed. When asked for their names, the troll's huge arm smashed into Dr. Jax, pinning him to the wall. Petiri would have winced in sympathy if it could. "One is Petiri. One is honored to know you."

The troll gave no time for further introductions, commenting on the short-comings of this new team. As if summoned from thin air, Lord Deren arrived along with a palpable frost in the air. The stand off between the Troll and Lord Deren had prompted many questions in Petiri's mind. As had the comments made by the Troll before the Vampire had appeared to express his frosty displeasure. Once Lord Deren retired from the practice room followed by the dark mutterings of the Troll, Petiri looked toward the Satyr and bowed slightly. It still left its arms loosely held at its sides, not lifting the practice sword in an en garde in any way.

Ever solicitous, Petiri asked Cardinal, "Are you alright? Will you be able to continue?"

The Satyr chuckled, dusting his shoulders off casually. “It’ll take more than one kick to keep me down, no need to worry your pretty little head about it.” Twirling the practice weapon casually, the Satyr reached deep into his pocket for a moment, before pulling out a smaller pair of headphones to replace his ruined pair. As the music once again surged into his eager ears, Cardinal fell back into the beat without a moment’s hesitation, lifting the weapon up in front of him as he danced on the ‘balls’ of his hooves. “En garde, Angelcakes.”

At first the unconventional strikes and attacks of the Satyr completely baffled Petiri. It was only its speed and power that allowed the Angel to avoid being hit or thrown off balance at all. Gradually, Petiri began to understand that the pace of Cardinal's attacks were more like a dance focused on the music blaring at high volume from the odd device clamped to his ears. The music continually changed making the Satyr effectively unpredictable. It also revealed an inherent weakness. Petiri could hear the same music and predict many of the sword blows before they came, often rapping Cardinal's knuckles painfully. Petiri went on the offensive finally, forcing Cardinal back with sword thrusts out of tune with his music, causing the smallest moment's hesitation. Just before Cardinal bumped up against a wall, a deft flick of Petiri's wrist looped on the Ipod's cords and jerked the earphones from his ears.

Sweeping his hand down quick, he snatched up the falling earphones, before flicking his gaze over to the angelic being. “Well, I know when I’m out matched…” An idea sparked in the Satyr’s mind, and a cheeky grin split across his tan face. “Of course, not many folks round here use formal fencing to fight. Too pretty, ya know? How bout we go a little…street? Less formal, more gritty. You down, Angelcakes?”

Petri considered the Satyr's suggestion carefully. It would do well to understand how to survive in this world where there was little order or predictability. It nodded in agreement. "I would be grateful to you for any..." But Petiri wasn't given time to finish the sentence before Cardinal rushed it, sidestepping at the last possible moment and then launching a back kick squarely into Petiri's backside. The unexpected blow threw the angel forward a few long strides before it could catch its balance again. Petiri stretched its wings, giving them a shake. "This is normal here?"

“If you call brawling with a Satyr normal, yeah.” Cardinal tossed the practice sword aside, cracking his bruising knuckles eagerly. “Humans don’t fight fair, they use everything they can to beat the living shit out of you.” He launched forward again, firing off a series of jabs against the polished wood of the blade, before stomping his hoof down towards the angel’s foot. She stepped back, avoiding the stomp whilst sweeping her blade at his shoulder, only for the Satyr to duck under it and drive his fist roughly into her gut, pushing hard with his shoulder to force the angel back further. The handle hit roughly in the square of his back, forcing the brawler down to his knees. “Christ you are fucking strong, lady.”

"Forgive One. One is neither male or fe..." Petiri began to correct Cardinal's misapprehension about its gender.

Pushing up roughly, he swept his legs around, tripping the elegant creature’s footing out from under her, before hand springing back up to his feet. It seemed as if the wings had allowed her to remain standing, forcing a sigh from the Satyr’s lips. “Man, why couldn’t I have been made with wings? Well, I’m good if you are.” He turned from her, eyes dancing with mischief as the angel took a step forward. “Brawling rules. Cheat often.” Without warning he dropped down, catching himself with his hands and kicking back forcefully with both his hooves, catching the brunt of the wooden sword but managing to toss the angel back against the wall. “Haha! That’s how we do it round here! Lie, hit and cheat, you’ll never lose another fight, Angelcakes!”

Cardinal's first leg sweep had surprised Petiri, but it managed to prop itself on it's wingtips enough to keep it's feet. It once again misunderstood the banter from the Satyr and attempted to answer his rhetoric question about having wings. "I do not believe Satyr muscles structure would permit..." This time, both hooves into Petiri's chest sent the Terenjian flying backwards to slam into the brick wall behind it. Petiri bounced off the brick surface to land on it's hands and knees inelegantly. Wide eyed and panting from the unexpected blow, Petiri glanced up at the widely grinning Satyr.

"Such tactics are common in this plain?" Petiri rose slowly to it's feet once more. It's stance was relaxed and unguarded as it stood there considering Cardinal's assertion that one had to "Lie, hit and cheat." A small furrow creased Petiri's brow, "That does not seem proper." Suddenly, from out of nowhere, the Troll stepped forward and back-fisted Petiri directly between the shoulders with a bawling shout, "Don't ever forget what's around you!" The blow was immensely powerful and it flung Petiri forward directly at Cardinal.

The Satyr might have agreed with the sentiment, but the Angel was his sparring partner and he didn't want Beresce interfering with his fun. "Hey!" He shouted at the Troll as he caught Petiri on the fly. "Get your own girl! If you can." Cardinal's eyes danced with laughter and he set Petiri back on it's feet again. "Right, ready to go again?"

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