On top of a nearby building in the crime infested city stood Roswell, the gentle afternoon breeze slowly ruffling through his hair. The pointed fingers of Neganium Apex rhythmically tapped at his side, as he reviewed the contents on a sheet of paper.

"The subject responds to Frelia Marcale. Almost 18 years of age, musically gifted, and seems to have an irrational phobia of mirrors. A backround check reveals that the subject naive and easily trusting, as well as introverted. One should approach the subject with a patient and friendly demanor if one is to earn its trust."

Roswell stowed the memo in his back pocket, using his now-free left hand to rub his temple.

"How has a child with this mindset survived in today's world?" he pondered, "I suppose when one is born a Guardian, one is also fated to be able to cope..."

Noticing the subjects hasty idle speed, he hopped to the next building, keeping Frelia in his sights at all cost. He was still uncertain when the proper time was to instigate her leg of the journey, so for now, all he could do was bide his time...

Gilean Atticus opened his eyes and looked into the sky. What a boring sky. And yet, what a great sky it was. He could see no clouds, only blue. The sky looked like an ocean. Which was well enough for Gilean, because he was in a desert. Gilean stretched and sat up, wrapping his hand around a bunch of sand. He put his hand in front of his face and watched the sand fall. He smiled. Gilean proceeded to take a large breath of dry air. That was some nap, he thought. Gilean jumped up and stood, rolling his neck around a bit. "Ahhhh yeah, that's the stuff."

Gilean put one foot in front og the other and slip down the dune he was resting upon. His booted feet were exceptionally hot, and his gloved hands didn't help any either, but he could never get used to desert clothing, and besides, it was dry heat. Humid heat was worse. Once he was down the sand dune, Gilean shook the sand out of his crimson hair, and then his pants. It's amazing, the places sand can get. Gilean knew he was only about 15 minutes away from a settlement, so he walked in that direction, eager to get some water. The sky was making him thirsty.

Gilean was a Guardian. Guardian of the Scythe. Protector of Neutrality. Gilean didn't think he actually protected anything. Neutrality didn't truly exist after all, not with humans. But Gilean, like his brothers and sisters he knew must be about, was on a quest to find The Innocent. What he'd do when he found this Innocent, he didn't know. He never knew. But that's what made life fun : He never knew. But Gilean was determined to find The Innocent, in order to neutralize the words of his brothers and sisters. if the person was truly innnocent, they'd need guidance so they won't be fooled easily by his ambitous kin. That would be wrong, Gilean decided, it is so wrong to fool someone so willingly just because you can. It is so wrong. And Gilean knew that both sides of the spectrum : The Guardians who remained good and those who turned evil, would both use any means necessary to convince and trap this Innocent into believing whatever they wanted the Innocent to believe. Gilean didn't necessarily think truth was always essential. Certainly not, lies are just as well sometimes, sometimes even better. But Gilean believed that everyone should hear all sides of the story before making a decision. And there were always more than two sides of a story.

Gilean approached the small settlement he had been to before. he waved to the people there, for he could go nowhere without getting noticed with that wild hair of his, and odd way of dressing.

"Ello, Jim. Got any bread I can buy?" Gilean asked. He needed food, he was starving.

"Why yes sir. Here it is. Just 20 Goolunds for you."

"Thanks Jim." Gilean smiled at the man and paid him what he asked. Gilean went over to a cleared spot, sat down in the sand and ate like a pig.

She had an extreme urge to hurt something.

Four hundred and fifty years. For four hundred and fifty years, she had had her peace. She had wandered the earth, lived amongst the humans, slept in valleys and on mountains, in treetops on beaches. The peace had been hers for almost five hundred years.

And yet, the invocation still had come.

She knew she had done wrong in the past. She was immortal, not infallible after all. Her temper had a way of running away with her and an innocent or two may have been caught in the crossfire. She wasn't the only one (it's hard to be unique if among gods).

And yet, her invocation was not the same as it would have been for some of her comrades. The words were the same, of course, but the meaning behind them... there was darkness in her call.

They had reduced her to nothing but a weighted chip, stacked on the other side to keep the balance.

"F*ck!" Amunet snarled, whipping her axe from her back and swinging it with abandon. There was hardly a sound as the blade of her wepon slipped easily through the trunk of a young sapling. It did't make her feel better. She touched the mark at her neck, her the sign that her beloved axe was of her, and she was of it. She couldn't see it, but she knew it had bled pitch black, a deeper black than her counterparts' marks would be.

"Fine then," she mumbled, her knuckles straining around the handle of her axe. "Fine."

If they were going to pull her into this war; if they were going to make her play this game, then there was only one response.

She was going to win.

Hunter. Hunter was such an auspicious name. He loved the way it rolled off his tongue, and how it spoke of him. It told people he was a predator; that he was strong and fierce: a hunter of men. He did not simply attack, his movements were cunning and strategic, striking vital points and weakening his prey before it was devoured still partially alive. He loved to hear his name spoken, especially when fear rattled the voice. He was one to be feared...

"Hunter... P... Pen draygen?" He heaved a sigh.

Of course, hearing his name get butchered on a regular basis by mere mortals was also a constant source of aggravation. Hunter stood up from his seat and approached the counter where the perky and cute dark haired Barista held his prize. He faked a smile and accepted it, peeling the lid back ever so slightly to see inside.

"This mocha has no whipped cream," he quipped and pushed it back.

The girl apologized profusely and took it back to fix it. If he were really in a sour mood he'd find something irrevocably wrong with his drink and have them make it new. Today he was feeling particularly generous, for reasons that were beyond him and he thanked the girl when she returned with his mocha. He moved to the cream and sugar counter, feeling justified that he'd only tipped them forty-two cents as he shook a generous helping of cocoa powder into his cup and replaced the lid.

Hunter moved outside, pausing to block the doorway and let the silken mixture of cocoa, coffee, and cream slide down his throat before he started walking up the hill. He sighed with pleasure and wished he could make love to whoever invented mocha, although another thought quickly dawned on him that the inventor might be a man. After a long internal deliberation he came to a conclusion: sacrifices must be made.

The chill autumn wind howled in his ears and caused the flesh on his exposed arms to break out in goose bumps. Hunter paused to brush a minuscule fleck of lint off of the sleeveless black T-shirt he was wearing so he didn't stand out quite so much. It was actually rather entertaining how little he had to change to turn from someone with a taste for the oriental and a fetish for blades into a starving artist. By trading his kimono top for a sleeveless shirt and pinning his hair back with a pair of sunglasses, he instantly fit in... well hiding his weapons helped too. People didn't just walk around with swords in plain sight anymore. A shame really. Of course now he had to resist the urge to kill the idiots that gaped at his scar.

Hunter was supposed to be looking for some girl for the fate of humanity or some such drivel. Why change what was already so good? Humanity was engulfed in war, with plenty of internal violence and strife to keep him entertained. With all the conflicts, there were plenty of opportunities to participate on all sides. This, of course, allowed him to contribute to the constant strife and violence in his own way: to the highest bidder. That is what Hunter was: a mercenary for hire... at least when he wasn't being pestered by the gods to find one particular girl on a planet with a population of about 6 billion.

Where do I even start... He paused at a major cross street and swirled the remains of his mocha to mix together that last bit of whipped cream and cocoa powder. He shoved his free hand in his pocket and breathed in the city air but he was at a loss really... searching wasn't his thing. He payed people to search for him, and he didn't think his best operatives would agree to search the planet for a one in six-billion girl with no other description than "has a bow and arrow drawn on her someplace."

Bah. This really was a job for him then... if there was going to be a war over the fate of the planet they might as well win it. Hunter knew at least one guardian that would share his mindset, the other might take some convincing... and then there was always Gilean Atticus who would side with no one... or the side that amused him the most. He sighed and poured the remaining contents of his mocha into his throat and started walking, crushing the cup and slipping it into a mother's baby carriage as she passed. She was, of course, too busy talking on her cell phone to notice.

"Alright then, Amunet... where are you hiding today..." He paused on the curb and closed his eyes, feeling the world around him with his senses. When he came to a best guess, he sighed... of course she would have chosen the most remote and inaccessible place in the world. Now the problem would be getting there without alerting the others. Hunter opened his eyes and continued down the street in thought: this would take some planning.

Arching her back, Erena attempted to relieve the stiffness that had gathered overnight. Sleeping on hard concrete was never a pleasant experience under any circumstance, and most certainly not this one. Continuing to stretch different parts of her body, the ache slowly began to creep away, but deep in her bones there was still the remnants of the rough night's slumber. Gazing upon the sky that peeked through the two, tall buildings that she had lain between, Erena could see the tip of the sun poking through a few low-lying clouds on the horizon. Guessing the time to be around 6.00am, Erena strode out from the cover of the grey buildings and joined the main path of the street, which was nearly empty at this time, save for the odd car that drove by.

Erena pulled the large trench coat closer around her shoulders, a movement which made little difference in blocking out the cold breeze that had drifted by. She hated the constriction of the dark coat, it almost felt like it was suffocating her. She much preferred her usual loose clothes that fit comfortably, but alas, they would very futile in this kind of weather.

With every step she took, she could feel the bump of a longish rod of wood against her back; her staff. It was hidden neatly by the thick jacket, another reason why she put up with the unfamiliarity of the coat.

"Why did we have to sleep in the streets? I feel so stiff! What's so wrong with staying at a motel?!" a gruff, sharp voice echoed within Erena's mind. "You're a piece of wood; you're always stiff, you grumpy old stick." Erena muttered back to her staff. Yes, her weapon talked. It was bad enough having to lug that thing around, let alone put up with it's constant whining. Nothing ever could please it. Although, as much as she complained about it, the staff was her constant companion, and as old and grouchy as it was, the staff was a wise piece of wood.

"Still would have been nice to lay my head on a pillow, metaphorically speaking that is. I don't actually have a head..."

Erena used the tried and true method of ignoring the staff, but honestly, Erena would have quite liked to rest on a nice, soft, fluffy pillow as well. The only reason that they had to find home on the street was the pitiful reason of not having enough money. Not too long ago, Erena had been robbed quite sneakily by a small boy. She had kindly offered to buy him a meal, as he looked rather starved, and the wretched kid had snatched her wallet right out of her hand. She could have possibly gave chase to the child, but it happened so suddenly, and the boy was so small he slipped away craftily and before Erena knew it, he was completely gone.

Erena grated her teeth slightly at the though of the event. How much evil can this world contain, that even a small child is possessed to rob someone after they only ever showed them kindness? It was just wrong. Everything about it. Erena's thoughts then drifted to the Innocent, the one who could change all this. As soon as she had discovered about the Innocent, Erena had sworn to find the human before all the others, and teach them about the need to restore the balance of good and evil and convert Earth to the kind place it once was. She was very aware of the cruel desires of some of the other Guardians, and it angered her beyond anything that they wanted to corrupt such a pure soul for their own gain.

Her expression was now set in a sour grimace, thinking about her fellow Guardians that had betrayed their duty. She stared unfocused at the ground, anger clouding all other thoughts. Erena barely even noticed her surroundings until suddenly Erena found herself falling backwards, and landing hard on her backside, the staff digging painfully into her back.

"What'dya fall over for?!" the staff demanded in it's usual, annoying, earthy tones. Looking up, Erena realised she had bumped into another person. "Pardon me" she said quickly before hurriedly getting to her feet, and continuing her trek down the street, not even glancing back at the person she encountered. Erena put head up, and faced forwards so she would not have a similar accidence again. Her golden eyes gazed into the distance, wondering where the Innocent could be. They could live anywhere in the entire world, and the world was quite a large place. Erena began to despair, but quickly brushed the feeling away. There was no way she would just stand by and do nothing! Erena had decided that she would keep journeying until she found them, no matter how far! Renewed with optimism and enthusium, Erena continued walking, staff on her back, towards wherever the Innocent may be.

The train station was thoroughly squalid. The locomotives (he still thought of them as this, rather than trains) on the other hand, were gleaming and worked well. Which is why I'm getting on one, Richard thought to himself, the same thought echoing from his crossbow. The curved jumble of brass and steel, rather than talking out loud as he knew the Staff did, had the sense to speak in his head, at least in public. His train barreling in to the station, he grabbed his bag, made sure the Crossbow was still under the trenchcoat he wore, and stepped on.

Lenune's eyes flickered open . Normally , the slits would have slowly widened, allowing a more peaceful awakening with out the sun blaring in his eyes and causing him to become temporarily blinded. Today, however, was completely different. It was raining. The cold droplets ricocheted off his bare skin repetitively , one after the other making their small ivasive moves. IT was funny how much rain symbolized team work. If it were a mere globule by itself, one wouldn't notice the liquid at all. While when there were thousands of them all working in harmony, one definetely was aware of their presence.

Not to say that they were necessarily happy about that. A painful groan sounded as he prolongated his lanky body and his muscle tensed, cramps from his night's sleep taking place. He had crouched in one of the high branches in an oak tree beside a street and he was now awakened by the pelting of water. He was , by this point, completely and totally drenched as the rain hadn't hesitantly come in but actually began in full throtle. Or, at least Lenune hoped this was full throtle. If there was worse to come, he wouldn't be a happy camper to say the least.

He swiftly leapt from his place in the leafy tree, a depth of about fifteen feet or so, and impacted the ground with only a "poo" resounding from splash his body weight had created in the pool of water gathering at his feet. He then made his way down the normally bustling path in seemingly complete solitude, searching for a motel of sorts.

This was a day in the life of Lenune Séparateur. Always wandering the world with no real ambition or goal. That is, until the heavens assigned him the task of persuading the innocent bearing the mark of a bow and arrow. Now his days and nights were spent searching for that lone stranger. It was like shuffling through a pile of coal the size of Mount Everest for a single diamond. The order seemed impossible when thought of , however, Leneune realized this gave him something to work for and had set out immediately.

With this in mind, he was oh-so consious of the whip curled neatley around its handle in his over sized pocket and started to sprint in the mucky weather aiming to visit the closest town , a place where the population was so high that even in this weather there were sure to be people out and about. "If this weather is even there. It oculd be sunny and warm for all I know." he thought to himself. With that, Lenune bumped into a woman but continued onward, knowing that if it were some scam in attempt to steal his belongings, that he had none to steal aside from his whip which he knew was still located in the buttoned and zipped up pocket. He didn't even spare a look at the being. He had an innocent to track.

From his perch on the building, Roswell observed Frelia enter the bakery. Confident that that was where she would stay for a while, Roswell continued to observe the information handed to him at HQ.

"It's now or never...if I wait for much longer, one of the 'others' will find her..."

Digging the claws of Neganium Apex into the side of the building, he nimbly slid down the side, hitting the sidewalk with surprising grace. He quickly scanned the area, knowing his next course of action would be to hide the menacing gauntlet that was the Neganium Apex. He couldn't very well earn her trust with such an aggressive appearance.

His wish was almost instantly granted, as a rugged man hastily ran down the side of the road, a briefcase held tightly in both of his hands. With one swift motion, Roswell launched himself at the criminal, knocking him out cold.

Confident that he had picked the right person to clothesline, he swiped the briefcase, which he noticed was filled with neatly organized stacks of money.

"They say that two wrongs don't make a right, but since my cause is more justified than this lowlife's...

He had no qualms with stealing from the criminal. Carefully removing Neganium Apex from his arm, he neatly stowed it away with the stolen money. Tidying himself up, he made his way towards the bakery.

He entered the door, and stood at the counter, preparing himself for, what he would later realize, the biggest mission of his life.

After eating obnoxious amounts of bread, Gilean Atticus accidentally fell asleep. In the sand. In the middle of the city. Eating had always made him drowsy. Which was fine enough, it didn't usually bug him. But he was asleep a second ago. It seemed a waste to drift off again so soon. Nevertheless, nature took over his mind and he fell asleep.

Gilean was runnnig, he was running for his life. Glancing behind himself, he saw a whip, an axe, katars, a staff, a sword and a crossbow. They glared at him with the ferocity of an offended lion. How they glared, orwhy they glared, Gilean didn't know. All he knew was that he should run, and so he did. Ahead, he saw a bright field filled with flowers. He ran toward the field. Those in pursuit of him were quick and gaining on him, Gilean was running out of breath. Gasping for air, Gilean made it to the field. He tripped over something. He groaned and attempted to get up. He had tripped over a scythe. Gilean reached down and picked the scythe up. It was perfect for his grip. The figures kept coming towards him, so Gilean commenced his running.

Gilean made it to the field, but could go no further, he was out of energy, and gasping for air. The scythe was still in his hand. He was at the field. The gardens of Nazara. Where was Illidan? The keeper of the gardens said she'd be here. Gileans mind was racing. He would have to fight the figures before they got to the castle of Nazara, for surely that was where she was. In his thoughts, Gilean didn't notice the figures drag him down to the ground, making a thud. They dragged him closer with their serpent-like appendages. "No! No..." Was all he could mutter. What to do... what to do..? Gilean was confused. He heard the cakling of the figures. He had to do something. "NO!" Gilean took his scythe and struck the figures. He struck and he struck, slashing them to bits. But before his eyes, the figures of the various weapons turned into a female figure. It was like an illusion. Illidan now stood where the monstrous figures were before. She fell at his blade. Gilean stared. Then he screamed. Then he fell. And then he was... having a seizure...?

Gilean woke up, being shaken awake by a man named Daren. "Gilean! Gilean wake up!"

Gilean stared at Daren, still screaming. Gilean realized he was dreaming and burst into tears, not because he was still frightened, but because he was so surprised his dream wasn't real. Gilean grabbed Daren for support. "It was just... a dream. A dream. A bad... Bad dream... not reall... just fake" Muttered Gilean incoherently out of paranoia.

Daren slapped Gilean across the face. "Get ahold of yourself man! You're not acting like yourself."

"Y-yes, thanks." Gilean said as he composed himself. Everyone in the small village had seen his conflict. Gilean felt embarassed and lost. Lost from his dream, embarassed because everyone had heard him scream bloody murder. Gilean stood up shakily and tried to walk out of the village. He ran. He ran behind the nearest sand dune and sunk into the sand. He had to stop falling asleep. Gilean took a few deep breaths and decided he should probably start searching for this Innocent person.

"Dust to dust,
Space remains,
Show me how
To bend the Planes."

And so Gilean had transported to the port city of Lavigon. Away from sand. Away from bread. Away from memories. Of the dead.

This was it; he was here. What he said here and now would determine how the rest of his mission would pan out. For a split second, he hesitated. Why was he suddenly at a loss for words? His actions were always descisive and thorough.

The truth was, he knew why he had suddently choked up. Despite this stigma, however...he couldn't let that stop him. Right now, all that mattered was completing his objective. And he knew his objective. It was clearly explained to him upon departure.

No longer missing a beat, he straightened up and regained composure.

"Let the games begin..."

He spoke with a voice that contradicted his appearance; soft, but clear enough to be understood and appreciated.

"Hey now, it's alright!" Though he didn't smile, his voice was comforting enough to sound sincere, "I'm just new in town, and have heard some very good things about this bakery. What would you reccommend?"

((Hey... do all of our weapons talk?))

Already, Amunet was beginnig to feel the itch, the uncomfortable sense of need, that came with a quest. The guardians were not often called into battle (they each had a tendency to take things to the extreme, be they well meaning or otherwise) but when they were, there was no way to avoid the call. Still, she felt it better for both the innocent and the Innocent if she stay where she was for the time being. She needed to simmer down. On the off chance she actually found the Innocent very soon, there was a good chance her "persuasion" would involve more of her axe than was really appropriate.

Said axe was lain across her lap. Amunet polished its blade absently, wondering if it was due for a sharpening yet. Already, she was beginning to sense the rest of the Guardians better. It seemed that the lines had already been drawn this round. Luckily, she was nicely removed from the group. It would be a nice little challenge in case any of them wanted to find her. She would enjoy her last few moments alone.

"What do you make of it, huh?" she muttered to the axe. Unlike some of the other more flippiantly ridiculous weapons, her axe did not communicate in words and sentences. Instead, the notion of annoyance paced in Amunet's mind. She grimaced. "I agree completely. You and I are sadly underestimated, babe. The other side will be unbearable after this time around."

Suddenly, there was a fierce wistfullness. For triumph. Amunet quirked an eyebrow. "Is that how you feel? That would shut them up quite nicely. Or then again, it could also just make them feel even more self-righteous than usual. You know how persistent they are in their notions of right and wrong," she snorted. A good natured sense of scorn nudged her and she nodded, a hard bark of laughter bubbling up in her. "Erena and her magical complaining twig will be ready to rip out our throats." Her axe seemed to scoff. She had been bonded with the weapon long enough to interpret that one into words.

"Yeah, we can take them, but there'd be long reaching consequences for that fight... ugh, stupid Innocent. I vote we procrastinate until the last moment possible. I want a bath."

Roswell's analytical training was not put to waste. Piecing together Anna's instigation, and Frelia's bitter and passive-agressive response, he judged the situation fairly accurately.

"Frelia's not to fond of this girl. Understandable, I can't imagine too many are..."

This unfortunate happening for Frelia, however, happened to favor Roswell's cause. Thinking on his feet, he decided he would exploit Frelia's hatred for Anna in order to gain her trust. It wasn't a personal issue, it was just that befriending Frelia was more important than keeping Anna uninvolved. He figured that, in the long run, it wouldn't make too much of an impact on her life.

"Excuse me?" Roswell said, putting a hint of shock in his voice, "I'm rather appalled by your demeanor, young lady! For one thing, you should be more concerned with serving your customers than with competing with your co-workers! The young lady over there was doing a fine job, until you decided to come in and one-up her!"

He suddenly found himself getting worked up, his face flushed. He hadn't been this green since his days as a rookie. He would have to get ahold of himself and fast, if this mission was to be a success...

Regaining his composure, he changed his attitude from angry to suspicious, "And now that I think about it, I seem to recall a cousin of mine being hospitalized for food poisoning not too long ago. He claimed that the last food he ate was from this bakery; a piece of angel food cake. He also told me that a hostess, <<ahaha, no pun intended!>> whose description fits you to the 't', had encouraged him to get said cake!"

He could see the look of flabbergast and fear in her eyes. He had gotten the job done, so it was time to excuse her, "This simply won't do, please go and get me your manager."

This was risky. While he had indeed told off the person whom Frelia couldn't stand, he also made himself look menacing and unapproachable. In his line of work, however, risks were inevitable, and now that he had acted, there was no going back. He could only wait for the events to transpire...

Well, at least it isn't a dump, Richard thought idly to himself. The motel had looked fairly suspect, but the Crossbow was getting generally pissed at him for not getting any sleep. The thing acted like his mother sometimes. The hardwood floor clomping under his boots, he plopped on the bed, put the Crossbow on a chair nearby, and fell asleep, still clothed.

((My posts are sooo short... |D ))

Though Roswell didn't smile back, he was more than amused with the outcome. Not only had he removed the obstacles that were impeding his talk with Frelia, he had simeltaneously earned her favor. He took the cake from Frelia, eating the sample then and there. He was actually quite hungry, and Frelia was quite right; it hit the spot!

Taking a napkin from the counter, he wiped his mouth and fingers, preparing to make the next move in his master plan.

"Truth be told..." Roswell began, "I'm actually here looking for someone. You see, I'm a travelling historian of sorts, and I've been asked to come and talk to a Ms. Frelia Marcale about a proposition. I, uh...hope that wasn't her that I just ran off..."

Hunter felt around with his senses as he walked, hands shoved in his pockets. His senses had always been the keenest of the three "dark" guardians, at least in his opinion... the one that mattered. Hunter found the vague sense of the guardian he was looking for... his next move was to get there. Hunter gave himself about a mile of deviance... maybe two since he was out of practice. Hunter rounded a corner and pushed his way into a rather nice office building, taking the elevator to the top floor. He punched a code into the security door half way down the hall and pushed it open.

"Hello, sir," a nice looking blond greeted him from a desk across the way with a smile, which he faked in return. He didn't really like her... she was as dense as a steel door and always got his order wrong when he sent her out to get coffee and lunch. On the other hand, she was nice to look at, and kept his files organized.

"Hello, Stacey. I'm going on an... extended vacation, so you don't have to come in for a while," he said calmly and relished the look of disguised fear in her face. "Don't worry about it. I'll probably be asking you to do some work from home, nothing big, and you'll be payed for a full 40 hour work week regularly until I get back."

Stacey breathed a visible sigh of relief. Hunter wasn't heartless, and besides... finding someone as organized as her, dense as she was, was difficult and he didn't want to lose her to another job. Wasn't like he couldn't afford it either.

"Why don't you go home early today," he said, digging out his wallet and flipping her a twenty dollar bill. "Have lunch on me... I'll take care of things here." She thanked him as he passed into his office, closing the door behind him and pulling his shirt off with a sigh. He tossed his sunglasses on a very nice wooden desk and flopped into the plush office chair as he heard the door outside close loudly. He felt a twinge of annoyance from the hidden closet across the room, which he pointedly ignored. His weapons just didn't like being locked up. Hunter kicked his feet up on his desk and stared at the ceiling, wondering how much of a plan he should formulate before leaving... once he had gathered the other two "dark guardians" where would he start searching? Once he found the Innocent, how would he keep her? He was sure there were other forces that would meddle with the affair besides the guardians.

"Amunet... why do you insist on playing hard to get?" He sighed again and got up, opening the hidden closet and pulling on his kimono top, then belting his katars around his waist. He caressed the hand guard of the right handed blade as he pulled his scarf and mask off a shelf and shut the door of the closet soundly. He felt out to where he guessed she was again, concentrating on the area until his office began to twist around him in a sickening fashion, vibrating, stretching, and building up to one final POP! Hunter was gone from the office.

There was a deep rumble of power building up somewhere in the woods where Amunet was. Space stretched, causing distortions only she would feel, and Hunter appeared, blasting dust and leaves away from him as his physical form displaced the air and scattered the local wildlife. Hunter probed the area with his senses, a slow grin spreading across his masked face as his icy blue eyes scanned the trees. He knew Amunet would feel his arrival... the domain of his magic was largely physical: enhancing the performance of his body rather than affecting the world around him. So his transportation technique tended to be rather crude and loud in comparison. Odds were, any guardians in the same city he left sensed his departure... and he was definitely close enough to Amunet for her to sense his arrival. He paused, probing with his senses to see what she would do.

And so... I have made the first move: Arved Heinrichsen's "Queen's Knight Attack." What will you do now?