The Hunt Continues

Solid digits dug themselves palm deep into the soft and trampled ground that supported him; they clenched and brought the dirt within the palm, which immediately uprooted itself and the body to which the hand belonged to rose from its kneeling position. Diaphanous films fluttered over obsidian oculars in curiosity or confusion, it was hard to tell exactly what emotion they were sending out given their intrinsic vagueness, as the sand filtered through slightly opened fingers and piled itself back into the hole forged a moment ago.

“Hm...� A most scrutinous glint rose in those incurious eyes of his, purporting a perpetual mien of ambivalency, as he seemed to eyeball something noteworthy in the way that the debris fell from his hand, as opposed to the debris itself. When all of the sand had been sifted through the makeshift sieve, he held a singular grain within his hand. Correction, not a grain, but something strikingly similar. The tips of his forefinger and thumb worked away the covering of grime until what he held, nearly pinched within his digits, was the body of a barely struggling fly.

“Mnemoth? Odd that he would be here.� Slight whispers to himself; the only form of company that he could bare to stand for extended periods of time.

“How...interesting.�

Interesting indeed, and there could be little more interesting a sight than that of a man in an ashen trench coat, merely standing in the middle of a busy street, nearly immovable whilst a throng of others surged around him – he was a pillar standing in the middle of a sea. What more, he appeared to be startlingly close to crazy, holding the body of a dying fly between his fingers while muttering to himself.

“Sealed, wasn't he? Yeah, in that young boy. Maybe...hm, someone exorcised? Unlikely. But...not impossible...�

[ooc: I'm assuming it is daytime, and adding a little to the scenery. If I'm wrong, let me know and I'll edit. edit: man, I am really rusty...]

Sunlight filtered lazily through thick, slightly gray clouds, gracing the busy streets with dappled illumination. Slipping through the crowd, Jaunie was alternately ignored or avoided, her strange cerulean eyes repelling the more superstitious pedestrians. Trying hard to put it out of her mind, the young girl looked up at her companion, barely aware of the conversation he was apparently having with her. He laughed suddenly, apparently finding one of his own comments humorous, though not even the slightest smile touched her lips. Instead she was content to watch him, his vivid personality providing her all the comfort she needed.

thud

Though she had heard the sound hundreds of times since her strange powers surfaced, she was only recently learning that it could be a good one. Stopping in her tracks, she turned slightly, bending down to the cobbled sidewalk. Laying there was a small coinpurse. With slender, adolescent fingers she lifted it, testing the heaviness, and decided that it was quite full. Turning as she stood, she faced her companion, her dark, messy locks falling away from her face. Without hesitation, she offered the evidence to him, knowing that he would try to make it right.

"Sorry, Zanac..." Her soft voice was still childish, adding a pathetic quality to her tone.

"...so he says to the group of orcs 'You guys should bottle your smell, and sell it to the Minotaurs!'" Zanac began to laugh at the comment "Hopper was such an interesting person. Never knew when to quit. That is, untill he died by a drow arrow. He never should have offered to 'clean the sooty elf.'" Zanac made a quote sign with his hands at the end of that sentance.

The bustling street was a refreshing sight to behold. The sights, sounds and calamity was much what Zanacrath was used to, back in his home town. The air, smelling like freshly baked dung-bread with a side of metal, was not far from what he smelt every day of his life as a child.

Zanac's walk was leasurly, his armor making the sound of armor clacking like two pieces of wood. His sword tinging against the ocasional rock in the road. Onlookers were amazed to see the specially designed armor and large, strangely designed sword that he wore across his back and under his bag. IT was a trophey from a tournament long ago, a tournament that Zanac had won. The blade was almost five feet long, the hilt being about another foot. The two sides of the blade had notches, one inch square, taken out of it, and all the edges sharpened to an edge rivaled only by obsidian.



*cough* "I forgot how much these places..."

Thud

A coin purse fell off a nearby gentleman and hit the ground, unnoticed by all but two sets of eyes. His and his companions.

"Sorry, Zanac..."

A small hand produced the pouch full of money. Quickly, yet with a soft smile on his face, Zanac took the pouch and began to yell for the owner, "Sir! Sir!..." turning to his friend he stated, "Well I guess he wanted you to have it. Here you go." Zanac dropped the coin purse back into the hans of his friend and turnd to face the street.

"GAH!!!" shouted Zanac in surprise as there was a man standing before him, seemingly staring at a piece of sand. Zanac stopped short, by about one and a half feet, his armor clacked loudly. "I am sorry sir, I didn't see you there."

His eyes tore themselves away from the minuscule object that he held within the grasp of his fingers; they swiveled in their sockets as his sight sought to weave around the bodies and clothing of the proletariat; though he supposedly strove to protect them from forces they could not possibly fathom, how completely irrelevant they had become in the wake of an entity who had forcefully entered his ambit of perception.

A spike registered in his supernatural seismograph; navy blue eyes settled definitively on the one who had caused it. “Interesting...� That it should be a girl, and above that, a rather young girl. Head canted to the side curiously as he regarded her, watching carefully while she bent to pick up the coin purse and give it to the man.

Jason merely shook his head, shaking away the preposterous idea that he had felt magic seep from the child's form. “And not just magic. But probability manipulation of all things; to think that a child was capable of harnessing such a chaotic structure of power was beyond belief, despite the nonsensical images he sees in everyday life. Eyes turned back to the grain of sand; fingers clenched, the fly was crushed and remnants of its life scattered to the wind.

“GAH!!! I am sorry sir, I didn't see you there.�

Once more, his head turned; slow, methodical, and with an undeniable mien of apathy floating around him like a tangible aura. Deep lazuline pools regarded the 'knight', or so it could be inferred by his mighty sword and metallic carapace, dispassionately.

“My...you're a loud one, aren't you?�

They would rest upon the young female at the other's side for a moment, beholding her with a small amount of interest, before turning back to the male. His body would turn to follow the rotation of his head; he now faced the small party with his front.

Why the hell not? I'll never unless I ask.

“So, tell me; is your daughter, or sister or whatever, a thief or just lucky?�

Zanac was a little taken back by the dark nature of the individual infront of him. The question he was asked made him think for a moment on what to respond with. He didn't want to be rude, but usually when people asked about his friend, it was to harm her in some way, or something worse. This man did seem a little different, if not anything; distracted, and his question seemed innocent enough. The item in his hand seemed interesting to him, but Zanac never saw what it was. Fixing his armor, Zanac straightened himself before answering the man.

Keeping a calm voice and a steady eye Zanac said calmly in a friendly tone, "She is my companion, and I am her guardian. We have been together for a year now. As far as her being lucky, lets just say she is...different. She doesn't do it to mean harm, it just sort of happens."

Realizing that he had been rude to the individual, Zanac quickly extended his hand in greeting and said, "I am Zanac M'Altair, I am actually new here, and if you could, can you help show us around?"

Zanac hoped that the man before him wasn't as anti-social as he seemed. In all his travels Zanac had met far too many people who would sooner gut him like a fish, then help him out. The world seemed to be cooling off in the manners department, everyone was always on edge and no one wanted to help another. This upset Zanac, who was a merchants son and met many people, always figured that the world was a place filled with pleasent things. The past year had proven him wrong. Fighting, death, violence, it all seemed like a weighted lode stone on the back of the strong fighter. His world was shattered by these things, but he always remained happy and pleasent, being that beam of light in the dark embrace of a chaotic world.

(OOC: Given the recent bout of inactivity, I have no reason to expect a reply in this thread anytime soon. PM me if it picks up.)

Exit: Jason Benedict.