Fantasy The Dark Country

[Major Cinnamon Bun]

Jo listened carefully and observed the others. She was sure that everyone here had their reasons for being here right now, and she, at the moment, had no particular desire to know what they were. As for her, it was pretty simple. She could have just gone back to life as it was before, and she probably should have. But now that she knew what was out there, she just could turn around and pretend like all of that stuff didn't exist. Although she wasn't completely convinced of the whole heaven and hell thing, Jo was ready to get out and fight these things, and it seemed like everyone else was too.


She was undecided on how she felt about this group, as far as she could tell, the other woman in this group would be the one to watch for. In fact she may not get along with any of them. But you didn't nessisarily need to like someone in order to cooperate with them, Jo had learned that at an early age.

 

[BarkWolfBacon]

Delson pulled out a drawer from his desk and took out a flask of a strange, dark liquid. It was corked, which was probably for the best, as it seemed the viscous fluid inside had a life of its own, moving inside the flask as an animal trapped in a cage. He set it on his desk, along with 4 badges, silver pentacles inside a circle with a black diamond in the middle. Inscribed in the circle, at the top of the star, were the words "Keep the Light". At the bottom of the star was a verse from Ezekiel "I lay my vengeance upon you."





"These here are badges all Shadowguard carry. Other Federal men will know what they mean and stay out of the way, as for most others, its best to tell them you're a Marshal or somethin'. Most don't question a nice lookin' badge."


He refilled all the whiskey glasses, even the ones turned over, and set the now empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. "You're gonna want to drink that last glass before this next part, take my word for it." Delson rolled up his left sleeve, taking a deep breath as he did so.


It never gets easier to see, even for me.





After he had rolled it to his elbow, he turned his palm towards the new recruits. On it was a strange symbol, a bit like a V that had turned into a snake on one end. His arm looked as though it had been tattooed, but that was not the case. Strange markings, pictures, and symbols rose up his flesh, all dark and crisp, as if they had been just put there that morning.


"The badge ain't what makes a Shadowguard," he pointed towards the vile liquid on his desk ", that is."


One recruit had pulled a pistol out and tried to shoot Delson at this point a few years back; yelling Demon, Demon! It hadn't ended well for the kid. So the Captain kept his gaze steady on the 4 before him.

 

[X3 Infernal Infinity]

"By the fact that you want us to drink before hand I'm inclined to believe that the application is gonna hurt... If that's the case I'll save the drink for later..."


There was a innate curiosity to her gaze as she contemplated the bottle of viscous black liquid. The inky fluid seemed to squirm with some life of its own. She was more intrigued than anything. Whatever was contained in that little bottle had quite the measure of power to it. That much was certain. There was more to it than just making interesting designs on one's skin.


"I want to know the one thing you haven't told us... What does it do...?"


Despite her bad personality, aapparent apathy, and constant sense of languid ease there was one thing she always was; sharp. She hadn't been so successful during the war being average nor was the nickname Crow just a corner moniker. She had gained the nickname for two reason. One they would find out if they ever had the pleasure of seeing her on the battlefield. The other was because of her shrewdness and get ability to determine the value of anything, material, information, or otherwise, with a single glance.


Being blessed with a quick mind and the ability to determine how to best profit from any given situation had kept her alive and allowed her to take care of the only people in her life that mattered. If this group and that fluid were the next requirements to do so then she would do what she must. If was that simple.

 

[Esoteric Truth]

Reuben inhaled sharply as a large flask was lifted and rested on the desk, its contents seeming to swirl and move throughout its container as if it itself had a mind. It was dark and vile-looking and he had a hard time tearing his eyes from it to look at the badges, almost feeling that if he stopped watching it the stuff would go and sneak out of the bottle. The actual badges didn't matter so much to him, it just seemed strange that now he'd be wearing one. The last man he'd known with it on had been there for a very dark time of his.


At Delson's request, he started downing the whiskey. He was a frequent drinker, but due to his current malnourished state, there was no doubt that he'd get drunk quicker and easier than normal, especially seeing as he'd already had a shot downstairs and had been taking the occasional drink from his glass. He stopped, however, when Delson referenced the bottle and held out his arm. We're gonna hafta drink that sh*t? What the hell's this anyway? Bunch o' demon type magic, looks like t' me. He pushed himself towards the back of his chair and eyed the drink warily, opening his mouth and sighing. He knew Delson wasn't a demon. All this didn't seem to be a trick. And yet, now that he was confronted with having to drink this, he became hesitant. Like it or not, you're goin' t' have t' drink it. 'Sides, since when did ya start carin' 'bout what happened to you? This may be the only way t' do justice by your girls. It's a risk worth takin', if you're really as devoted t' bringing down their killer as ya claim t' be.





"Alright. But honestly, I don't think I want t' know what that all does. If I gotta take it, that's what I'm gon' do, but it better happen fast 'fore I think the twice of it," Reuben said gruffly, looking over at the Indian with a nod. He was aware that by the time this stuff had worked its way through his system it would be too late. He would be fully committed, and there would be no turning back. But as far as he was concerned, he felt that there was no turning back as soon as he had left his ranch. He had been given an opportunity to hunt down and kill creatures that were invading God's earth, and he aimed to do that. For justice. For revenge.


He downed the rest of the whiskey with a grimace, the hot burning liquid surging down his throat, tearing up his insides. A feeling he'd accustomed himself to frequently, particularly on the way here. It seemed like he'd drink enough till he was wobbly on his feet but could at least stay on horseback, and then he'd ride until he could ride no more. He hadn't eaten much, but he'd frequented the bars plenty.


"Let's get this the hell overwith."

 

[Vudukudu]

"If it makes no difference to you Cap'n, I'll take it without the whiskey. Call me a fool, but I only drink for pleasure, not the prevention o' pain. And besides, I'm guessin I only get one such opportunity to taint my mind and body and I'd like to be aware of the goings-on." John said, giving the man a stern nod. He knew he probably should listen to the advice the older man had to offer, but he was curious as to just how bad it could be.


While he'd narrowly dodged several bullets during his service, he'd seen the effects on the men around him. It looked pretty awful, and the exit wound of a steel ball was among the worst creations of humanity in his opinion. Part of him doubted that any liquid, living or not, could inflict such pain. The other part, the one more accepting of the position he was currently in, found the liquid vile and repulsive in every meaning of the word.


But then again, you're already too deep into this to back out. "Bring on the juice, Delson. I think we're all as ready as we could ever be, for whatever nightmare you've got in that bottle."

 

[Major Cinnamon Bun]

Jo looked at the liquid that seemed to have a life of its own, internally she cringed but she didn't show I outwardly. Oh, this should be fun. She thought sarcastically. Jo drank what was offered to her, seeing no reason not to. She suspected, as the others did, that this was probably going to hurt. Even though two drinks was not enough to get her drunk, she figured it would help a little. The worst thing, at least in her mind was that this was probably the lest horrible of all of the horrible things out there. Things that she was going to have to fight.


On the bright side, it was more gross than anything else. And any pain that came from this would be a walk in the park to whatever comes after. So lets just think of this a preparation. Train yourself to suck it up and keep going. That's how you survive, that's how you've always survived. It's no different now than it ever was before.


"Lets not waste any time then, I agree with everyone else, lets get this over with." Jo said, internally adding before I have time to change my mind.

 

[BarkWolfBacon]

Delson was surprised by the groups reaction to the fluid. Well I'll be damned, maybe they did send me some troops. He uncorked the bottle and put the Mark on his hand over the mouth of it. The fluid rose up to meet it. His eyes closed, and he began to chant.


"This is the blood of Cain, first of the Shadowguard and cursed to wander the earth, rooting out the evil he had become. This is not a curse, as the bible says, but a chance at redemption. You are now the candle burning in the night, God have mercy, keep the light."


With that the liquid calmed down, and seemed to become inert, with a look like oil. Delson poured about 2 fingers deep into each glass and returned the bottle under his desk.


"It's going to feel like its crawling over your bones and into your muscles. It aint gonna be pretty. This is what allows us to be on a level playing field with the Horde of Hell, and you'll understand why after. You will black out, haven't ever had anyone not. Most have nightmares of their worst fear coming true, its the effect of the evil inside of the blood. To fight evil, we must sometimes take evil into our bodies."


He laughed and sat down at his desk. The Captain hated watching this, but every now and then something went wrong, The Mark would reject someone, and he would have to put them down.


"Drink up, and amen."

 

[X3 Infernal Infinity]

"Well there's no point in sitting around now is there..."


Revanin leaned forward swiping the glass from the desk. She only stared at the oily fluid for a moment. But with the same ease that she put back her drinks she put back the strange liquid as well. A tip of her head and a tilt of the glass and down the liquid went. It felt cold and slimy and she sat the glass down on the desk so she could focus on whatever was to come. The reaction came sooner than she had expected. First it was just a mild creeping feeling, then it grew in intensity until it felt like something literally clawing it's way over her bones. Her face remained stoic even as the clawing feeling began to spread into her muscles. It felt like the liquid was trying to rip her apart but she had experienced pain, and this was nothing she could not handle. If this was all there was then she would be fine, but she doubted it was over, and she couldn't have been more right. A sudden sharp pain radiated along the left side of her body. Instinctively she clutched it with her right hand. Then she blacked out.


For a moment all she saw was darkness, then it began; the nightmare. For a moment she was a child again, lost and alone among a sea of faces that did nothing but scorn her. There was no one there to protect her, only herself. She was so young; weak and frightened, not knowing what to do. Then came the fire and the faces. The heat, the pain, the torture. Two whole years of it she seemed to relive in a few moments. Then the darkness came again. She was older, armed, stronger than she had been. And she was angry with the rage of wounded animal. The faces came again and with them a new surge of anger. But now she had strength, she had the power to lash out. And she did, one by one she felled each of the smiling faces at the edge of her blade. And when they fell, they changed, becoming not the faces of her tormentor but the faces of her friends. So blinded by hatred and consumed by her own rage she had harmed the ones she loved. This was her true nightmare, her greatest fear. The fear that one day the rage and darkness inside of her would finally burst forth and she would harm the ones she would do anything for.


I won't... I am stronger than that... I am stronger than my darkness... I will not fall to anything or anyone even myself. I will survive and protect the ones I love no matter what the cost...





She jerked awake, sweating raven hair plastered slightly to her face. She had gone rigid in her seat, nails digging into the arm of the chair. She exhaled slowly running a hand through her hair. As she did she glimpsed the black designs standing out against her skin.

 

[Esoteric Truth]

"I'll be damned if this don't look like some witch magic," Reuben murmured, his mouth slightly open in awe as he watched the black liquid reach up to meet Delson as he chanted before receding back and becoming live no more. Somehow that made him more comfortable with it. Even though it looked like tar, and even though he'd seen it move and squirm, now that all seemed like a distant truth. It almost seemed like he had been seeing things. He held up his glass of black oily liquid and turned it, his nose scrunched in disgust. Why if it ain't two fingers o' pure cow sh*t.





"Amen," he murmured in response, and he started to lift it to his mouth but hesitated. I guess there is some part o' you that still only gives a shit 'bout you, aint there? Reuben sighed and shook his head, this time bringing the glass all the way to his lips and pouring it inside. It was thick. Thick and black and bitter and disgusting. He tried to swallow it as quickly as he could, pushing down the urge to gag. Somehow he did. At least, he assumed he did because it wasn't in his throat anymore. It was slowly pouring its way through his body, pouring through his flesh and deep, deep into him. The pain was so overwhelming that he couldn't even cry out, for it felt like it was paralyzing him with the sheer agony alone. All he could do was let out a deep and pained groan before everything went black.


It was a pretty time in Kansas. The fields were vibrant green, sprawling out towards the horizon. Only a few short trees broke up the massive extent of the land every now and then, small little green things under a bright blue sky. Thin dirt roads snaked through the land, leading from houses to towns, trafficked every now and then by a jostling wooden carriage led by some tired old farm horse.


Reuben was on one of his horses coming towards his house, a small two story that he'd built with the help of his neighbors and his cowboys. He was still proud of that house looking at it now, with its nice wooden siding and shake roof. He jumped off the horse and let it go, because something deep in him told him that the horse didn't matter, that something was going wrong inside his house. He started to walk quicker towards the front door, then jogged, then ran. He hadn't remembered it being this far to his front door.


When he got there he flung it open, only to see his children and his wife staring back at him. Alive and well, no less. He grabbed them to them, taking in the scent of them, feeling their heads against him. And then, all too soon, they were pulled away from him. They slid backwards against the floor, staring at him, not saying anything, until their backs rested against the wall opposite him. He found himself unable to move, forced to watch as something invisible raked its claws against the house and came through the door. When it came to his girls and his wife, it did not give them a quick death. Instead he watched as invisible claws slowly were dragged across their chests, drawing blood. And then, on their arms were upside down crosses, these deeper so that the liquid flowed thick and fast down their arms and onto their dresses. And then, before he could even blink they were torn into bits and pieces before him.


He was released from his paralyzed state, and he found himself falling to his knees among their remains, not even able to register the gory scene that was all too familiar to them. Reuben shakily lowered himself until he was curled up in it on the floor and only then did he cry, deep bitter wracking sobs that told him all too clearly that he was weak. And he knew that was exactly what he was. When it came down to it, he hadn't even been able to protect those he loved most. All he was good at protecting were cattle.


When Reuben woke up a few tears fell down his face and he wiped these away quickly with the knuckle of his right index finger, tightening his jaw and looking away. New beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and he felt exhausted and in pain. When he looked over he saw the Indian was awake and he saw on her hand she had that tattoo that Delson had. Guess that means I got it too. He sighed and looked down at his left hand, which had the same weird symbol on it. It was like a 'V' but the right bar was curved strangely. Black tendrils curled away from it and went underneath his shirtsleeve. He pushed this up and looked down, greeted with the sight of a solid black ring around his wrist.


"I thought that'd never be over," was all he could manage, and he tightened his jaw and shook his head softly. "God damn..."

 

[Vudukudu]

John grinned and looked at the others as they reached for their glasses. "See y'all on the other side, then." He said cheerily, then gingerly picked up his glass and swallowed the liquid in one gulp. For a few fleeting moments, he felt perfectly okay, and was about to laugh at Delson for playing them all for fools.


Then it hit him, like a stampede of terrified cattle treading over him. He felt it crawling through him, an unnerving and all-around feeling that quickly became extreme pain. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and he'd caught the wrong end of a bayonet once.


His vision grew foggy and distorted, and the outlines of the people around him shuddered and twisted. He slumped to the floor, his knees buckling beneath him like shoddy bridge supports. He fell to the floor with a loud thump and ceased to move at all, with only the soft heaving of his lungs showing he was still alive.


Home. Home. Springfield. But.. I'm supposed to be in Salt Lake. This.. can't be real, right? In the induced nightmare, he rose from his bed to find blood smeared over the walls and an unidentifiable corpse nailed to the wall beside him. He recoiled in horror and looked down to find a bloody hammer and nails in his hands.


He threw them down and burst out the door, finding more hellish scenes outside. Mutilated bodies were scattered across the buildings nearby, and demonic entities danced and screamed across the streets. What hell is this?


The nightmare ended abruptly as one of the figures nearby appeared at John's side and impaled him on a long curved blade. The only visible reaction in the real world was a quick shudder, and then a spray of bloody vomit on the floor besides him.

 

[Major Cinnamon Bun]

Jo picked up a glass off the table and looked at it for a second. Are you really doing this, did you really leave everything for this. She thought while staring at the glass in her hand. Within seconds that doubt was gone though, replaced by an overwhelming need to prove herself. That she could do this, she was strong enough for this. "Suppose I should sit down before I do this." Jo said, mostly to herself and then took a seat in an empty chair by the wall. Quickly she drank the liquid and shuddered as she swallowed. Disgusting.





There was a brief moment where nothing happened, and she sat waiting. But the moment was short and all of a sudden there was sharp pain everywhere. It felt like something was trying to rip her apart from the inside out. Jo closed her eyes and made her hands into tightly clenched fists, trying to deal with the pain as best as she could. She heard a sharp intake of breath, a gasp that she assumed was her own, and then things started to fade quickly to black.


Upon opening her eyes she was somewhere very high, though she had no idea where. Spinning in a quick circle she saw no way out, no where to go, everything was dark except for where she was standing and the obvious drop off a few feet in front of her. Cautiously she took a few steps towards the edge and looked down, nothing, darkness, not a way out. Before she could back away something pushed her forward, and she fell. Jo closed her eyes and memory flashed before her, someone standing on a tall building, jumping, falling into a mess of blood and broken bones. When she opened them she saw the approaching ground, and her impending death. She could feel the dust, feel it coming closer, feel the ground rising up to her.


Jo woke up with a gasp, instantly touching her face. Not dead, your not dead. She repeated over and over again in her mind. Taking her hands away from her face Jo looked at her arm, and there was the mark. She had made it through this, whatever was to come, there was no turning back. If she ever though she could in the first place.

 

[Vudukudu]

Oh lord what smells like vomit and death? John coughed and slowly opened his eyes, which happened to be directed towards the puddle in front of him. I do. I smell like vomit and death.


He groaned and shifted uncomfortably, still reeling from the pain of the experience. "Delson, you might just be the king of understatement. Sir." John muttered, his eyes still struggling to take in the details of the room around him. He raised his hands up in front of his face and was shocked at what he saw.


Starting in a thin line on the tip of his right index finger. It ran around the finger in three curves before forming a triangle on the backside of his hand. Two more arcs sprouted from the wrist-side corners and stretched upwards into a helix, running along the entirety of his forearm. "Well, I'll be damned." He whispered, then slowly pushed himself up to his feet.

 

[BarkWolfBacon]

Delson watched as the recruits woke up. None of them appeared to have been rejected. Had The Mark not taken to them, it would have continued to crawl around inside of them, shredding their insides and fighting to escape. Most would lose their minds during this, never being taken to the vision that protected them from the continued pain of The Marking. The rejected would lash out in blind rage, and were incredibly dangerous. The Captain had been forced to shoot more recruits than he wanted to admit. Truth be told, it wasn't killing them that bothered him, it was watching them lose their minds.


But this group had apparently survived. To his surprise, only one of them had thrown up. Most recruits who underwent The Marking were violently ill after. Hell, some had even shit their pants. Delson thought. The strength of the group was a good sign, because he was about to throw them into the thick of war. He lit his pipe again and stared longingly at the empty whiskey bottle on the floor.


God damn, I wish this was over already. The Captain closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fighting back the chronic weariness he felt these days.


"Well, welcome to the Shadowguard, folks." He waited for them all to get their bearings, and pulled a few books down from his shelf while they continued to recover from The Marking. "I'd like to say the horror you just went through is the last kick in the teeth from The Marking, but that just ain't true. You may discover that you can do things now, things that humans shouldn't be able to. This is a, well a gift I guess, from the blood. Personally, I'm of the mind that The Mark is alive, and when it bonds to you it peers into your damn soul. Sometimes it amplifies what it finds there with some aspect of its own supernatural origin. It ain't uncommon for Shadowguard to be more related to demons after The Marking than people. Some even go years before realizing what uh- gift- they were given."

 

[Esoteric Truth]

"The way you say that makes me think you ain't so sure it's a gift," Reuben muttered, looking down at his tattoo. Now they had powers? He felt some sort of panic in him. You swore t' kill them suckers, not become one. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, calming himself down. When he opened his eyes he had a hard time not looking at Delson in an accusatory way, so he turned his eyes to the floor instead.


"You say it ain't rare t' be related t' the demons. So've any of us gone an' joined their side after drinkin' that sh*t?" he demanded, his jaw clenching. If this stuff could bestow powers onto people who's to say that it couldn't control people altogether. It sure looked demon-like swirling by itself in that container like it was alive. Delson himself believed that it was, even thought it was capable of looking into the soul. If that didn't seem like a demon, Reuben wasn't sure what did. You were the one t' up and drink the stuff. You could've backed down. Is becomin' a demon really the only way t' avenge your girls?





"And what now? I mean, we got powers, but how do we find 'em out? An' how do we learn t' kill the demons?" he questioned, crossing his arms and tightening his jaw. Ain't Delson's fault. He didn't pour it down your throat. You did. He wanted so badly to be able to justifiably be able to blame Delson, but he knew the only one that could be blamed was himself. And maybe it wouldn't turn out bad. Maybe it just evened the playing field. All the same, he knew he was stuck being tied to the demons now in a way that he really didn't want to be. But it wasn't like he was completely ignorant when he downed the drink. He knew something weird was going to happen, and he had told himself back then that anything was worth it to save his girls. Back then he was more thinking his life or his sanity, but now he questioned his soul. His soul that had been looked at and ultimately his soul that would taint his body. If he let a demon inside of him to give himself powers, did that make his soul damned? He didn't know who went to heaven or hell, but he was pretty sure the demons went to hell, and maybe him now too.


You were goin' to hell long 'fore this.

 

[BarkWolfBacon]

Delson listened to Reuben's very legitimate questions, and remembered his similar thoughts after his own Marking.


"Well you ain't a demon, just...kin to them or something." Delson said, flipping a book on his desk labeled The Book of Raziel The Angel. "Enoch gave us the blood and said it came from heaven. I'd like to believe that he didn't leave out eternal damnation from his job description. He did what he thought was best for heaven, and said it offered man redemption. So I guess take that as you would, but it helps me sleep at night."


He skimmed through another book and seemed to be reading intently while answering Reuben's questions. It was clear that The Captain had been asked these questions many times before.


"The powers themselves are individual, very rarely do two Shadowguard have the same power." The Captain began to unbutton his shirt, "Mine came to me in dreams, The Marks way of letting me know I 'spose. Kept dreaming I was back home in the chapel, exorcising demons from poor possessed souls. When I finally came around someone who had come into contact with the demons I understood the dreams. I can see their faces. Their real faces, mind you. If a demon is hiding in plain sight, or possessing someone, I can see it. Shadowguard call it Discernment."


He removed his shirt completely and set it on his desk, his bare chest exposed to the recruits. He was very fit, toned and broad, but age takes its toll; his stomach wasn't as tight as it used to be, and a little gut had begun to form. The rest however, didn't look a day over 30.


Well, minus the black markings that extended from his wrist all the way up and across his chest to the other arm, in runes and symbols that looked like tendrils reaching outward.


"The Mark...grows, as you kill more and more demons. I ain't sure which ones cause the growth and which don't, but I'm guessing the ones that cause it to grow are leaders of some sort, special in some way. They tend to make your powers grow, but it ain't without cost. You absorb a little evil every time you destroy the powerful ones, its what prevents them from just returning to Hell and crawling right back up. The Mark, it eats their soul."


He looked sorrowfully at his body and sat back in his chair, not bothering to put his shirt back on. "A Shadowguard ain't never lived long enough to see the effects long term, but I'm guessin death is the better deal."


Delson pulled out some pistol rounds from his desk, as well as some daggers and various artifacts.


"We have an Armory here, it'll have all the tools you need to fight 'em. There isn't any special instructions, no manual. Most of the time we're fighting blind. It's unfortunate but its what we got. Any existing weapons you got you need to take to the Alchemist, Samuel. His lab is across the hall from where ya'll will be staying here tonight. He'll put the appropriate markings on your weapons to make em effective. From what we know so far, anything marked with the appropriate symbols can harm demons. They're forced to exist within these rules that were laid out by God, far as we can tell."


The Captain pulled out a large tome called "The Greater Key of Solomon the King", and showed them some of the markings.


"These symbols are a part of that law, and we keep 'em to it. So Revi, that blade will need marked, your pistols, as well as your bullets, but we got a large stock o' those in the armory. Take what you need. The crash course is that there are two types of demons out there. Possessors and Oppressors.


"Possessors need a human to inhabit, they are what become folklore's vampires or werewolves. They transform the common man into an abomination by tempting him. Oppressors are physical manifestations of Hell's fury- they're ugly sons of bitches that come in all kinds of flavors. Possessors can only be killed by silver with the proper markings. So make sure you grab enough silver bullets. Oppressors can be killed by anything properly marked, but can only be killed by someone who is Shadowguard. You gotta kill them and let the Mark eat their essence. Christ, I know this is a lot to take in."

 

[MittyMittens]

Gypsy always decided against the train when it came to travel, it was like a can of sardines on wheels, too many people and not enough space. She preferred travel on her leopard paint horse, Jag, who she won in a poker bet a few years back. Not to mention Jag was her only "friend" since she was constantly moving from town to town so it was her only constant companion. She was about half way to Defiance and exactly on schedule when she made her way through one of the small towns for Jag to get a quick drink before she continued her way through. It was a sad looking town, definitely a "pass through" kind of place. She looks over at a group of men leaning on the saloon building's wall eyeing her up. She rolls her eyes in an annoying manner before making her way to the nearest trough, letting her drink while she looked up at the sun, shielding her eyes from it as she estimates the time. She looks back down at hearing a disgruntled neigh from Jag and sees one of the men from outside the saloon had Jag by her bridle.


"Water costs around here Miss.... though we might be persuaded to let your pretty horse drink free if you'd be willing to join me for a drink"


"I don't think so. I'm on a schedule and just passing through" She goes to reach for her coin purse to pay the man before glaring dangerously as another man grabbed her wrist before she could. "I suggest you let go of me"


"What kind of accent is that anyways? It's not wise for a pretty lady such as yourself to be traveling all alone"


"It's my accent" She yanks her arm away from the man only to get laughter from them.


"Looks like we got a fiesty one here boys"


"Just the way we like 'em"


Gypsy lets out a surprised yelp as the third guy drug her off her horse from the other side, taking her gun from her before she could reach for it, and had her arms pinned behind her. "You boys are asking for a world of trouble if you don't let me go. Or you all are about to learn what I do for a living"


"And what's that? Ride into towns looking for trouble? I think we have you in quite a pickle miss. I don't think you're in any room to spit out threats" He laughs as he pulls out a knife as they started to drag her from the middle of town.


Gypsy slams her head back against the guy who had ahold of her, hearing the snap of his nose breaking. He loosens his grip and she takes the chance to rip herself away from him, grabbing her katana from Jag, slicing off the guy who approached her first's hand, the one with the knife in it in one clean swipe. She grins at the sound of his agonizing cry, some may think she enjoyed what she did a little too much, but something snaps in one when they've experienced a certain amount of death. She points it towards the guy who had a hold of her earlier who was covering his nose with eyes full of shock at seeing what just happened. "I'd like to have my gun back if you don't mind" Her voice thick with venom. She watches as the guy throws it at her feet and she couldn't help but scoff, they were cowards, if he had any wits he could've used it against her. She turns her attention to the third guy and saw him already running for the hills. She uses the bottom of her black pants to wipe off the blood from her katana before slipping it back in it's holster on Jag. She pulls herself back up on Jag and tips her hat in the men's direction. "g'day to ya... YAH!" She squeezes Jag's sides and yanks on the reins having her leave in a full out gallop, knowing she was now going to be late, her mood turned sour.

 

[X3 Infernal Infinity]

Revi snorted slightly and leaned back in her chair. Her pale green eyes seemed to be lit with something akin to amusement. It wasn't that she was in a state of disbelief. In fact it was quite the opposite, she fully believed every word that she had heard so far. There was no way that she couldn't after what had happened so far. Of course that offered little comfort at the thought of having some sort of unknown power and from the way it sounded, one that she might not exactly find delightful. She listened passively as Delson offered what remained of his explanations. At the mention of needing their weapons marked she frowned slightly. All three of her weapons were like her children to her, the idea of letting anyone else handle them didn't exactly sit right with her but she supposed there was little that could be done about it. After all she needed them effective in battle and if letting some alchemist adjust them with what markings needed to be added that would be fine by her. Of course it also helped that she had some interest in finding out what this alchemist did himself. She was always interested in things of a rather arcane nature, they were interesting to her. So she supposed she would get some enjoyment out of the situation.


The other thing of course that interested her was the prospect of the Mark's growth and that said growth was accomplished by eating the essence of the demons they would slay. She looked at her own Mark studying it for the first time. In addition to the similar design that they all seemed to bear on the palm hers bore a strange curling braided design around the wrist, three wavy marks twining in and out of each other that on closer inspection consisted of little dots and swirls. Dark rings surrounded her middle and pinky finger, the center of one bearing a design that resembled and eye and the other one that resembled a heart. A thin chain like design ran from the symbol of one ring to the next, connecting them. another two chain like designs sprouted from this one and branched across to either side of her hand. One bore a leaf like emblem and the other a feather shaped one. It was an intricate design from what was essentially a living fluid and she was a bit more than impressed. She would look forward to seeing it's growth.

 

[Esoteric Truth]

"Redemption is somethin' I could use," Reuben muttered, and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He could recall a time before his girls when he'd been all alone, and angry because of it. Just a young boy who'd lost his family. He'd fight with other boys in bars and on the streets, all for something he claimed was pride. In the years past that, he'd wizened up, realized he'd nothing to be proud for save his family, and the only way to defend that pride was to defend them. But he'd lost some of that in the search for money, and that was why he was gone that day, why he wasn't slain alongside them. By the will of his own greed he'd gone out to catch a deal with a man who ended up not giving him the land he wanted anyway instead of being there to protect them. And for that he would need redemption.


"So do we feel when we absorb that evil? Do we get... y'know... more evil? Angry an' the like?" he questioned, his brow furrowed. He was already an angry man. It wasn't that he was always unrestrained and in a bad mood. Granted, he wasn't exactly the friendly type, but he wasn't rude or terribly abrasive. It was just that when he got pushed towards that direction for some reason or another he'd get there a hell of a lot faster than someone else, and his way of dealing with anger was not talking about it with someone or brooding. It was heat of the moment violence and pure unbridled rage. The last thing he needed was more anger in his system.


Reuben unbuttoned the end of his sheet sleeve and rolled it up higher after watching the Indian examine her tattoo, which had its own unique addition to it. The boy on the ground who'd puked -bloody no less- also had a good bit more to his. When he looked down at his wrists he sharply inhaled and held his breath, clenching his jaw. There on his forearm tendrils came up from the black band and knotted themselves into an upside down cross, in identical positioning to the ones which his family bore in his dream. The rest of his forearm was mostly black, with negative space breaking it up into geometric designs and more tendrils. It ain't 'cause you're marked by the devil but 'cause you're bein' taunted by the thing inside you. 'Least you got a reminder of what you lost right there beside you. Ain't that comforting. He pulled his shirtsleeve quickly back down, not wanting to look at it anymore, and glanced back up at Delson.


"Can demons possess us? Or will the thing eat it?" he asked, glancing back down at what he could see of his tattoo. God he hoped it wouldn't grow too much. Who knew what that thing would make him wear next. Perhaps an albatross.

 

[BarkWolfBacon]

"The Mark protects you from being possessed, any demon that tries it will be hurt in the process. As for the way The Mark's growth affects you, it varies from person to person. Some find themselves sliding deeper into depression, others battle horrible nightmares every night, some do get more aggressive. Its controllable, but none of us has ever really lived long enough to see what the horrible outcome might be if it got too bad to control."


How long do you think you got, old man? You're the oldest living Shadowguard...years? weeks? Bet you wish you could see the timer you got tickin' This thought was not his own, it had a deeper voice, one that seemed to echo in his head from his Mark.


shut up, Cain. Delson said to the voice inside his skull.


You even call me by a name, Cull- you already lost to your madness.





Delson gave a weak smile to the recruits and began to put his shirt back on. "But I am imagining we'd have to put 'em down."


You think you could nail the Indian chick? She was eyeballin ya when you took your shirt off... I bet she likes it weird, The Mark said.


You mean the one young enough to be my daughter, you sick bastard?


That don't mean shit to an old man, you know that.





He sighed and sat back down, running a hand through his hair and wishing that the whiskey bottle wasn't empty.

 

[Vudukudu]

"Well ain't information just comfortin'." John muttered, his eyes warily eyeing the Mark on his hand as it finished it's development. "And uh, sorry 'bout your floor Delson. Tends to happen when I drink somethin' particularly disgusting. No iron stomach on me." He continued, patting his abdomen lightly during the last few words.


"Feelin' pretty.. Vigorous, now that the experience is over. Glad it seems to have worn off already." He had expected to feel sick for quite awhile, but now that he was on his feet again he felt right as rain. He could have sworn he saw the triangle on his hand twitch, as if claiming responsibility for the sudden recovery.


By John's figuring, if the Mark was doing some sort of healing stuff, it might just keep him alive in places the others might die. But of course, it'd require some experimenting to learn the limits of this odd magic that was now bound to him. He'd hate to realize there were some conditions to it, during a battle. That could end badly for him, and anyone else who needed help from him.

 

[Major Cinnamon Bun]

Jo listened to the others talk as she examined her own mark. In part it looked just like the others, but branching out from the top of the main symbol were several swirling circles with eyes in the middle, at the bottom a system of twisted tree roots stretched down to her wrist. It didn't make much sense to her really, and she wondered it there was any meaning at all to it. If it had anything to do with her supposed powers, what power would that possible be. A dull headache started to form just from trying to figure all this out, that and the fact that everything seemed louder. She could hear conversations that were going on downstairs and everyone in the room seemed to be talking louder than they needed to.


"Could we go to this Alchemists lab soon? I would rather have the weapons I brought prepared sooner rather than later." Jo said, standing up. She suspected that there wouldn't be much time to prepare before things started to get interesting, and she would rather be shooting with her own guns instead of something borrowed. Also, she wanted to get to her room, or wherever she would be staying tonight before this headache progressed any further.

 

[BarkWolfBacon]

What about that one, the one who worked as a saloon girl, hmmm? I bet she could make your old bones hurt in the morning.





Shut your damn mouth, Cain.





Tick, tock, tick, tock. How long as it been since you went hunting, Cull? You know I always get loud when I'm hungry...





Delson sighed and rubbed his face, then stared bleary eyed at the new Shadowguard. "The Alchemist, Lazarus, is just down the hall and to the right, his door is marked with all kinds of witchcraft lookin' shit. Your quarters while you're here will be the opposite side of the hall, so head right out of the Alchemist's and walk right past my office to get to your barracks. They're marked Barracks, so if you miss 'em, God help ya. You're dismissed."


The Shadowguard HQ is rather large, and its hallways are shaped like a large cross. The stairs from the bar above lead down immediately into the middle, Delson's office being one of the short "arms" of the cross. to the right of his office is the top of the cross, where the Alchemist and armory are located (on opposite sides), and the bottom of the cross is where the barracks are located. Most of it is made from decent dark wood, and shelves of rare and strange books are found everywhere.


There aren't many people about, but it isn't completely empty either. A few other Shadowguard come and go, most looking tired and traveling alone.

 

[X3 Infernal Infinity]

"Well if we're all done here then I might as well get my weapons to Lazarus... I need to check on Shadow too, poor dear get ornery if I leave him for to long..."


The slender woman rose to her feet, lean body stretching with ease as she did so. At the moment she wasn't too worried about figuring out what her "power" was, that knowledge would come in time. For now however she was simply content to go deliver her weapons and oversee the marking process, motivated by equal parts of curiosity and the desire to make sure her weapons weren't wrecked in the process. She made a motion akin to a wave over her shoulder and headed for the door, brushing through it with not so much as a word. Sure a bit of bonding conversation with her new team might have been a good idea, but she wasn't exactly the most sociable of people if it wouldn't benefit her any. Following Delson's instructions she headed down the short hallway and stopped turning to glance at the door on her right. It was indeed decorated with a number of odd symbols but they proved more interesting than frightening at least to her. She spent a good couple of minutes studying the door itself before she knocked lightly.

 

[BarkWolfBacon]

"What you want?!" cried a voice from behind the door, it was old but strong, a voice that showed the man's age before he ever opened the door; it was also heavily british, covered with a thick accent. As the door swung open, some of the pentacles on its surface may have moved...or it may have been a trick of the light.


Standing in the doorway, wearing a leather apron, a white collared shirt with sleeves rolled up (he has no Mark), and a pair of goggles, was Lazarus; the Alchemist. His long graying hair came to his shoulders, all in disarray. The apron he wore was filthy, covered in all kinds of colors and spills.


The lab behind him was a large room, books lined every wall, and in the middle was a large circular stone platform, almost the size of a large dining room table. Ingredients and potions stood scattered all about the lab, and half scribbled notes lie about everywhere, sometimes even on the walls.


"Oh dear." He said as he opened the door, grabbing Revanin's hand and studying her Mark. "New recruit I see, native american blood, Smith and these damn Mormons would have you believe they're the lost tribe of Israel you know? Fools, humans never are good at seeing when the divine use them as puppets. Do you feel lost? No I suppose not, considering you found my office- You're ancestors weren't the lost tribe of Israel so you know."


He leaned in very close to the Mark on Revanin's hand and lifted his goggles off.


"That's the Enochian letter Pa, you know? Its the language of the divine, known only to angels and feared rather strongly by their demonic fallen counterparts. Pa Veh Ur Gal. Not a very pretty language is it? For angels to speak, hmmm? Pa Veh Ur Gal, that's what we are to them, yes? That is what they call us in Enochian, it means Hunters of Shadow. The Romans called us exorcists, some still do. The American's like the term Shadowguard, sounds much more....well American, I suppose.


He dropped her hand and turned back to his desk, seemingly sifting through papers at random.


"I am Lazarus Longmire, alchemist to the Shadowguard and expert on the Greater and Lesser Keys, of King Solomon, not keys of a door! Yes, and who might you be?"


He stopped ranting and stared back intently at the girl over his shoulder, one eyebrow cocked.

 

[Esoteric Truth]

With Delson's words, the group was dismissed. There was still much Reuben was curious about, like why the Shadowguard chose them, or how they were supposed to tell if someone was possessed or was a demon without Delson if they ever got separated. Still, he figured those questions could wait. There was no doubt that the grizzled man was tired. Reuben lifted himself from his chair and strode out, bu not before giving a nod to Delson and a thin smile. If he were to befriend anyone in their small group, he had little doubt that it would be that man. They were closer in age and there was just something about him that was relateable. A smarter man pro'ly coulda figured out what that somethin' was.





The thin man began to walk lethargically through the hallway towards the alchemist. He wasn't normally a sentimental person towards his objects, but his pistol was nice, and he'd paid for it with hard earned money. It was made from a dark metal with a cow bone handle. It was a handsome thing, and he could remember how proud it had made him at the time when he'd gotten it. It had felt like power when he'd first carried it.


When he reached the alchemist he noticed the door was already open. The door in and of itself was an object of wonder. It was a dark wood, littered with intricate markings that he couldn't even begin to guess their meanings. Inside was the true curious thing, though. And that would be the alchemist.


He was a fairly old man, with the stringy gray hair that often was carried by the elderly. His was long and reached his shoulders, and lying across his head were a pair of goggles. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and Reuben was surprised to see that they were unmarked. Apparently the man didn't go out and fight. He seemed chaotic; everything was everywhere in his room and he was spilling out information as if he'd die tomorrow. It was bewildering listening to him, let alone watching him.


"'Fraid you're gonna have t' deal with quite a few of us. Delson just sent us over," Reuben said, stepping into the doorway. "I'm Reuben Waldegrave."