Multiple Settings War for the Moon

[ValidEmotions]

Argia
The Storyteller | Fallen Collector

Spoiler: Outfit

Ten years.

The land was parched. Shriveled. It begged for mercy from the endless sun. Her hand swept across the petrified tree, feeling dead bark crumble away beneath her fingers. It didn't matter how gentle her touch was. Argia pulled her hand away and studied the particles clinging to her palm before eventually brushing it clean against the fabric of her skirt. Suffocating wind moaned, tangling the ends of her hair as the gust further weathered the dead tree before her. Looking away, her gaze drifted towards the dome rising from the horizon.

Clouded as it appeared, sunlight glinted off the hues of swirling dark blue as if it were a reflective material. In the ten years since the moon vanished, several of these domes popped into existence. The clouded barrier ahead was a looming, silent, announcement that the city was under the control of at least one demon. If she focused long enough, she could faintly see the runes embedded on the dome that allowed it to protect the city within.

Cracked earth crunched under foot as she started forward again. She could feel the souls calling within and, as she eventually drew close enough, she could parse their individual Lifelines. Glimmers of mortal life that danced across all of her senses. Argia drifted closer to the enclosed city, eventually reaching its boarder. Magic leaked from the dome like a heatwave. This close, she could make out the large runes etched into the dome in better detail.

Bringing a hand up, her fingers hovered just a hair's breadth away from the dome. Infernal energy prickled at her fingertips, threatening to lace itself through her. Slowly, she eased her hand away and continued moving along the city's protected boarder until she could find the entrance. It was one of those 'blink, and you'll miss it' sort. They nearly always were.

Several minutes passed before she at last found the entrance, a subtle seam within the magic. Standing before it, Argia studied the significantly smaller runes lining the threshold until she was certain of the safety in crossing it. Passing through a dome's barrier was always easier when going in than going out. Magical energy crawled along her body, soaking through the fabrics of her clothing and old bandages to caress her skin with intense heat. The light of the sun vanished, replaced by a heavy darkness that blanketed the city within.

Pausing briefly, Argia allowed her eyes to quickly adjust to the starless night before surveying the city ahead. Not many were out, leaving the street in an eerie silence with weak lamps struggling to stay alight. She frowned. Quietly, she resumed walking, passing beneath the streetlights and the shuttered buildings. Within, she could sense the mortals. It was becoming very likely that the city had an imposed curfew, Argia's gaze drifting to the pair of figures lingering at the opposite end of the street. They were watching her in similar kind. When she had closed about half the distance, she halted. Infernal energy rippled off their forms like murky water, painting their impossibly endless Lifelines behind Argia's dark eyes. Eventually, the pair began moving, striding towards her.

She waited.

"Been awhile since we had a visitor," one said when there were only a few strides left between them and her. The demon who spoke, the taller of the pair, leaned forward slightly, making no secret of studying her as his gaze flickered down then back up. His fellow took to pacing around her until they stood behind her. "What business do you have here tonight, Mäuschen?"

"Merely a traveler passing through," she replied, a glance darting towards the demon behind her before returning to the demon in front.

The short demon behind her sniffed, then chortled. "Well, your kind needs to pay for passage. Elsewise... We can't truly ensure you a safe refuge while here." As they spoke, Argia more felt than heard the demon shuffle forward. A set of claws plucked at one of the small pouches tied to her hip.

'Her kind'. A faint frown twitched at the corner of her lip in response. Demons never failed to make sure Argia was well aware of 'lowly' status of those who didn't cleanly fit within one category or another. Abomination. The blend of her Celestial and Infernal energies was one thing. Being Fallen just compounded upon that. She could only remember the last ten years, but she was quickly taught about the strongly rooted hatred. Her back itched--chaffed--beneath the cropped, short-sleeved, coat she wore. For a moment, she felt feathers brush her neck where the upright collar touched.

"What payment do you seek?" Argia finally inquired, fingers curling into her palm to avoid slapping the intrusive demon's hand away from her.

The taller demon grinned, a sickly-sweet expression upon his features that didn't look human enough. Sharp fangs glinted in the streetlight. "Just a few souls. Surely, Mäuschen, you have some to spare?"

She paused, considering her next reply carefully. Once more, she glanced behind her shoulder at the shorter demon who was still prodding at the pouches attached to her belt, head tilted as if they were listening to the contents. "Very well," Argia sighed. "If that is all...." She reached a hand upward, fingers touching lightly against the silver crescent pendant resting upon her collarbone. As she drew her hand away and outward towards the taller demon, flickers of blue flame sparked into existence at her fingertips. The flames gathered and swirled, coalescing into a sphere of blue fire roughly the size of a baseball that floated above her open palm.

Argia no longer remembered how she came to possess the mortal's soul resting within her hand. But, as she held it out for the demon to take, she remembered the mortal's life story. A youth, with so many hopes and dreams and ambitions that never came to fruition. Her eyes stung, forcing her to swallow down the emotion that began to ball up within her throat. I'm sorry, little one....

Letting the Soulfire float up from her palm to hover near her shoulder, she touched her necklace a second time. Similar to the first, the next Soulfire manifested, an elder's life playing through her thoughts as if she were flipping through the pages of an aged book. 'Storyteller' echoed at the back of her mind, the memory a frayed thread dangling just outside of Argia's reach. She wouldn't let her thoughts linger on the unknown memory, coaxing the second Soulfire to hover alongside the first.

The third Soulfire ended up belonging to a middle-aged individual, one who struggled regularly through the phases of their existence. Argia's chest pinged with a soft pain for the mortal as the Soulfire joined the other two near her shoulder. "I have these to offer you. If there is nothing else, I wish to be on my way," she said, gathering the three Soulfires between her hands to nudge carefully towards the taller demon.

The demon behind her finally traced their way back to their companion's side, both grinning sharply. "Yes, that'll do quite nicely, Mäuschen." Both demons took a step sideways, providing Argia a 'path' between them, and gesturing for her permittance to leave. She shifted her gaze from one to the other and back again, studying their features, their postures, and the three Soulfires that now floated about them. Finally, she stepped between and past them, striding down the sidewalk and out from beneath the streetlamp's glow. Silence stretched on as she continued, the lack of a breeze winding through the entombed city growing more eerie to Argia than the lack of mortals traveling the streets. It almost--

Her hackles prickled at the back of her neck.

She twisted abruptly, angling her body low as she swept her leg out for a counterbalance. Metal glinted with faint light as the dagger shot through where her shoulder should have been. Now facing the way she'd come, Argia narrowed her gaze upon the pair of demons sprinting for her. Both clutched daggers within their clawed hands.

"We know you've got a wealth of souls, Mäuschen," the taller demon called out. He leapt high, twirling through the jump to slash at her with his pair of daggers. "And you're going to yield them all!"

Argia dodged backwards, tendrils of shadow coalescing at her fingers until they solidified into a long staff that ended in a sharp, deadly, curved blade. She retaliated, switching her grip to swing the scythe in a wide arch. The shorter demon dove below the attack, managing to dart in close and forcing Argia to jerk the staff upward to deflect their cutting assault.

 

[Lycanious]

Vazithrazuul

Keeper of Quills
Fallen Angel & Knowledge Demon

Though the city held a dreary atmosphere, and the unforgiving sun boiled away at the world beyond it, there were some who liked to think that small, scattered pockets of comfort and peace still existed.

The Quill Collective, some would claim, could be considered one of those pockets. The library was vast and the building it sat within was an ancient one, yet seemed to always maintain a bright light and a pleasant temperature for its visitors. For those who treated the location with respect, and demanded little other than a small space to temporarily carve out for themselves, it could be seen as both a reprieve from the troubles of the outside world and, for the particularly curious, house the answers to their questions somewhere within its walls.

Many mortals however were off-put by its usual patrons, who could range from the eerie subtlety of questionable humanity to the obviously demonic. The librarian who ran the place was hardly an exception to this, being a tall, pointy sort of being with gaunt features and talon-like nails frequently stained by ink. Normally they would simply sit by the desk at the entrance during opening hours, either with their attention lost in some great tome while they lounged back in a comfortable armchair or simply regarding an unassuming corner of the library with an unblinking, vacant stare for several minutes at a time. Sometimes it would take a few tries to win back their attention when this happened, to the point where the desk held a little sign suggesting to ‘Just keep calling the name ‘Vazithrazuul’ until I respond’ for anyone in a rush to speak to them.

For now, though, the library was closed. And with the mortals shuffled out of the door and the place to themself Vazithrazuul, or ‘Vaz’ for short, was currently occupied with an inventory check. Honey-hued eyes hidden behind a pair of spectacles drifted over some papers in the librarian’s hand, their tongue clicking in thought as they shuffled through them one-by-one to ensure that the name of each book written upon them had indeed been accounted for. Above them swarmed a series of floating, enchanted quills, each one zipping back and forth across the library to attend to their duties. Occasionally one would pause and turn to Vaz, as if taking note from afar of the title they were reading, before darting away to presumably locate it for them.

Once satisfied with their contents, Vaz placed the papers back down onto their desk and tapped a nail to them a few times. One of the quills descended, the tip of their hilt splitting open like a beak before the writing utensil pecked at the corner of one of the pages and lifted it into the air to file it away. Other quills started to follow suit, Vaz not even batting an eyelid as feathers and papers whizzed and fluttered all around them. Instead they merely fished out a small leather-bound diary from the chest pocket of the coat they were wearing, opening it before them as the pages started to flip to the section they wanted on their own accord.

They didn’t need to announce the name they had in mind. Simply by raising their hand and twitching their fingers, half distracted by the to-do list they were now mulling over, the quills on instinct knew which of them Vaz wished to speak to. One with a hilt carved of gold boldly darted forward. The quill flitted through the air before tapping at Vaz’s outstretched hand. In response the hand shifted, Vaz’s eyes remaining glued to their list, but still taking hold of the quill in a gentle manner. They then brought the hand to their list and tutted in thought, using the quill to strike out two items and scribble down some notes in the corner of the page before releasing both the writing instrument and the paper from their grasp. The quill remained nearby and began to float a mere few inches away from their head, as if peering over the shoulder at their work. The planner, meanwhile, flipped closed while still suspended in the air before it obediently tucked itself away into the chest pocket of Vaz’s coat.

Through Vaz’s mind a vision of elegant, emerald-hued calligraphy then manifested.

I see you have a business meeting for tonight. Shall I have a contract prepared?

“No need, Fi, though thank you for asking.” Vaz hummed, briefly glancing towards the quill to acknowledge the writing tool. “The meeting in question is simply between Jorath and I.”

I see. That explains the booking for the coffee shop.

“Yes, well. I wanted to make sure we obtained that private little nook on the upper floor balcony for the duration of the visit.”

Very sensible. I take it that there is a good reason for the expensive dress under your coat, too?

“...Yes. A formal attire sets a good reputation, my dear. It would potentially benefit us should any future clientele happen to venture by.”

Of course. As for the flowers that I was tasked to order for the table…?

A pause. Vaz’s mouth opened briefly, then closed, then opened again to perform an abrupt cough before they dismissed the questions with a flourish of their hand. “I must be off soon, dear. Perhaps we can leave the rest of the inquiries for when I return?”

The quill twitched in response, a motion that over the years Vaz had come to understand was a show of mild exasperation from them. Though Vaz adored every one of their enchanted quills, Fi’Faltuun was almost as old as them at this point, and thus held no reservations over letting Vaz know what she thought of their decisions and musings. It was for this reason that they found mild surprise when the quill decided not to press further on the matter, instead drifting away to presumably return to her duties of managing the various inner workings of The Archives.

“Thank you, Fi. I trust you will have everything running as smoothly as always in my absence. Though do let me know if something unexpected pops up in the meantime.”

Of course, my scribe.

An accepting, polite dip of their head followed in acknowledgement. Vaz then turned on their heel and made for the exit. As they passed by the desk by the entrance they withdrew a sturdy, intricately-carved walking cane with one hand while the other patted around in their many-pocketed coat for where they’d last put the keys to the building. Though they could potter around indoors without too much trouble, sometimes old, ancient wounds liked to flare up unexpectedly during longer strolls or if they were forced to exert themself for any reason. Being able to at least rest some of their weight on said cane when it happened tended to make the journey more bearable.

Vaz exited the library, grumbling under-breath as they stepped out of the comforting, glowing warmth of The Quill Collective and into the dreary eternal-dusk of the city beyond it. They found that this particular location was not unlike the realm of demons itself, shielded from any inviting sort of lighting in exchange for the dim, ominous glow of everburning infernos in the distance. Even the atmosphere, though devoid of the usual stench of charcoal burning in the air, Vaz regarded as having a similarly dull, clammy sort of feeling against the skin of their mortal form.

A sigh escaped them, almost involuntary, as Vaz turned to jam their key into the lock of the library doors. Under breath they recited a simple warding incantation as the lock turned, brown eyes briefly glinting with gold as a hint towards the power imbued within the words. It was a weak one, any demon or angel worth their salt could likely still break in with little trouble, but it would be enough to at least dissuade any humans from trying to enter in their absence-

Without warning a hand brushed against Vaz’s arm. Startled, they yelped and and swung low with their cane, aiming to crunch it into the ankles of whoever had approached them. The new presence however merely took a graceful step backwards before they were able to make contact, as if they’d been predicting this exact kind of reaction from them. Vaz’s head snapped towards them, processing who it was in a single breath, before they huffed and pulled the cane to their side once more. “Good grief Xaal, I nearly set the quills on you!”

Before them stood a woman dressed in a simple, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and dark trousers that ended in thick, heavy boots. Briefly her shoulders trembled, silent amusement clearly escaping her despite the attempts to hide her grin by placing a hand over her mouth. It took a moment before she was able to properly form her reply because of it, eventually withdrawing her hand so that she could motion that she was sorry for startling them.

“I fail to see why my reaction has prompted amusement, my dear.” Huffed Vaz. In response Xaal just shook her head full of dark, thick curls of hair, trying to dismiss the question, but relented as Vaz continued to stare over at her while waiting for her answer.

< The sound. > She signed, still grinning. < Like a bird squawk. >

“I would hope you’re exaggerating, dear.” They sighed in response, though not before gesturing in the direction of the street ahead of them as an invitation to walk alongside them all the same. “Is there something you wish to discuss, dear? Or are we just taking a break from our duties for a few hours?”

Xaal pursed her lips in apparent thought, then provided little more than a shrug. A similarly non-detailed hum issued from the librarian in response, as they began to make their way down the path. “Were you waiting for me, then? Or simply passing through?”

< Keeping watch. > Explained Xaal, a furrow in her brow finally replacing the cheerful expression from before. < The humans say that Toll-Masters have been demanding many things from them lately. This is one of the places they warned against. >

“Hm…sounds like the work of Greed demons, if I had to make a wager.” Vaz replied. Briefly their concentration drifted, flipping through metaphorical pages in their head as they tried to recall whether they’d seen anything worth reporting to her as of late. “...I suspect they will have stationed themselves near the entrance to the city, or perhaps at the nearest places of interest to it. Make the best use of the desperation of those wanting to enter and take all that they can from them for it.”

A saddened nod of agreement followed from Xaal, her gaze shifting in the direction of said entrance at the prompt. Vaz knew that as per her duties as a Guardian, Xaal had already made the choice to linger in the vicinity of said entrance when on lookout duty. Though the both of them knew better than to inquiry too deeply into the other’s line of work, Vaz nonetheless had heard a few tales from the demons she’d already crossed paths with. Given how close The Quill Collective was to the entrance, and its advertised status as ‘neutral’ territory as long as people behaved themselves, it was not-uncommon for some weakened, once-proud two-horn of a demon to stumble into the entrance of the library at the early hours of the morning to complain about ‘that bloody angel’ while yanking out arrows from their bruised and battered forms.

It didn’t take long for Xaal to pause in her stride completely, grasping at Vaz’s arm to also stop them on their path. The librarian blinked a few times in response, surveying the area surrounding them, though they could find nothing that immediately stood out to them. “What? What is it? Have you sensed something, dear?”

< Distress. > Xaal replied, frowning, as she gestured in the direction of the entrance they had been discussing earlier. Brow creasing, Vaz followed her gaze, though unsurprisingly whatever it was that she had found was far beyond their range to know about it.

“And…?” Vaz prompted, albeit with a slightly resigned tone. They already knew what Xaal was about to ask them to do, even though she was still just gazing off into the distance. When her attention snapped back towards them, it was one of serious concern.

< They have many souls on hand. >

Of course they did. Vaz felt their shoulders sink a little in response. It was no secret that souls were what powered immortals, whether it was for turning the tides of the war in their favour or simply a rogue trying to make a living for themself. However, it was rare these days to find someone both capable of and willing to travel with more than a few at their disposal at a time. The only beings that Vaz felt would risk losing any more would be…

< Collector? >

Xaal finished their thought for them, prompting Vaz to glance aside and nod in agreement. “Perhaps. Though it has been a while since I crossed paths with one. I was starting to dread that they had disappeared entirely.”

< Do you have somewhere important to be? >

There it was. Vaz made a reluctant tut in response, before fishing out a golden pocket-watch from their coat. Tapping a sharp, talon-like finger to the top of the device flicked it open, and through their pointed teeth Vaz inhaled as they mulled over the chances of the encounter being a quick one for the pair.

“I do, in approximately half an hour.” They eventually replied. “...And given my usual punctuality, I fear my companion for the evening would fret were I to be more than a few mortal minutes late.”

< Can you not send him a message? >

“Well, perhaps, but he doesn’t have one of my quills on hand so…”

< With your phone. > Xaal continued, with an expression that successfully conveyed the level of exasperation she intended behind the motions. Vaz likewise matched the look, both individuals staring each other down, before Vaz eventually relented and withdrew the ancient, flip-lid device from another pocket with a wrinkled nose.

“I just find these things so confusing. Why don't they let you just use a quill on them?!” They complained, trying to simultaneously walk forward and text with of their claw-like nails in a manner that convinced Xaal she could witness the heat-death of the universe before they were done experimenting and pecking at the buttons one-at-a-time in the hopes of constructing the message they wanted. After an agonising minute of waiting for them to finish constructing their first sentence, Xaal gave up and snatched the phone out of their hands to finish the message off.

Recipient

me

Hi Jorath. Change of plans, small detour near entrance. Demons. Lots of souls on the line. Bring some jam tarts if you want to come. Vaz is moody - Xaal

She then handed the device back to Vaz, who wrinkled their nose over the message before shoving the phone back into their pocket. “Alright, but only because I understand the importance of this one, dear. I do not want you to start dragging me out here for every little scuffle you plan to get into while you’re stationed here.”

She nodded in acceptance of this, before gesturing to herself, Vaz, and then upwards to the sky. Vaz shook their head in response.

“I will walk.”

She quirked an eyebrow upwards, now making the sign for ‘owl’ before tapping on her outstretched forearm. A pause followed, just briefly, as Vaz mulled over the option. They then however shook their head once more, and gently nudged at her arm with their own hand as a prompt for her to lower it before they began to walk forward. Head turning aside, they caught a glimpse of her starting to follow in their peripherals before speaking once more. “Please do not fret, dear, just venture ahead and I will catch up shortly. Though I rather suspect you will have finished off whatever awaits us without my assistance by the time I do, regardless.”

Xaal’s shoulders sank, her head rolling in obvious critique towards her companion, though she made no further attempts to argue on the matter. Instead the shorter woman stepped forward and picked up the pace, soon placing some distance between the pair of them. As she passed by Vaz her form seemed to shimmer, as if a soft, reflective wave of golden light had briefly drifted over her, and the familiar script of her aura vanished into the dim-lit surroundings. It was not a perfect guise by any means, Vaz could still see her physical presence. And they knew from experience that many demons would easily pick up on a waft of celestial energy if they drew to a conversational distance. From afar though Xaal’s aura was now heavily masked, providing even a Tracker with a vague sense of her presence but not of her nature. For an immortal like Vaz, who without their glasses could scarcely make out an aura until they were standing a mere few strides away from another being, Xaal was practically invisible when she wanted to be.

Now, from Xaal’s back, two sets of feathered wings sprouted and stretched out into view. Immediately, regrettably, Vaz felt a pang of envy for them as their gaze drifted over the well-maintained, snow-white feathers with a thick peppering of brown and black speckles. It prompted them to slow their step, just for a moment, before they averted their gaze down some dim-lit, abandoned alleyway to help the feeling subside. There their gaze stayed focused, waiting until they sensed Xaal had taken to the sky before finally allowing themself to focus directly ahead of them once more.

By wing it took very little time for Xaal to reach the commotion, her Guardian nature allowing her to easily hone in on what looked to be two demons toying with a new arrival. Despite her keen eyesight, it was difficult to get a read on the faces of any of them, nor did she recognise any of the colour-splashes of their aura. One thing was for certain though, was that the scythe that the being had just summoned into existence was certainly on par with what one would expect a collector to be wielding, adding to her and Vaz’s theory as to the nature of the new arrival.

Xaal wasted little time as she descended onto a nearby rooftop, her hand outstretched to summon her own weapon into existence. By the time she landed upon it a bow had materialised in her grasp alongside of a quicker settled at her hip. From it she withdrew an arrow, not bothering to imbue it with any of her power, and instead deliberately firing it a few inches away from where the trio had started their fight. A last warning, should the demons be familiar with her steadily increasing local notoriety, before she started to aim for their vitals with the next one.