[Nexus] The Black Dragon's Den VII

[ThirdEmperor]

Cornerdude is a bit surprised by the demon's comment, but not overly so. When you're an interdimensional traveling merchant you learn to ignore a whole lot of weirdness. And how to spot an opportunity to sell something. "Er, excuse me if this is rude, but from your conversation and your rather unusual companion, I would say you're a magic-wielder of some sort?"

[Rae Artemi]

"That was sarcasm, Dearie." The Eye says after The Lady's fistpump. "And no, she can't do any magic. She's literally my mother. That was sarcasm too."

[Beans]

She gently baps the back of the eye-thing's head-body-whatthehellisthathing-etc.
Bleh, stop being all annoying.

Yes, I can do magic. I'm a warlock, and this is my annoying sidekick.
I'm not his mom.

[ThirdEmperor]

"Well, judging by what you've said, I'd say you probably get chased out of towns and such a lot. People can be quite narrow minded, sadly." Cornerdude says, and retrieves from his backpack a simple silver necklace. "Might I suggest buying a necklace of survival? Stops fire from burning you, lets you breath without air for up to thirty minutes a day, protects you from hangings, the works. Oh, and I'm Mel, traveling merchant and novice wizard". Mel will attempt to shake the warlock's hand.

[Rae Artemi]

The Eye thing is bapped! "But watching her get burnt or attempted drowned is the best part!" He complains. "Anyways, I'm Dan, and she's unimportant."

[Beans]

Handyshake!
Actually, my name's Thaxa. And no thanks on the necklace, though I'm sure it's all fire-stoppy and stuff.
Both the TH and X sounds in her name are pronounced oddly, as if one was trying to also pronounce an S while saying them.

[Murkus]

Nope. Ivaz shakes her head. Not really into that stuff much. Tried it, didn't do it for me.

Works well enough for tortures, sure. But, eh, just not into it.

"Ah. So much for that plot." Percival gives her a smirk - which may or may not be joking - and tries to take Ivaz's hand so he might plant a kiss there. "I suppose I'll see you around, then. I think my summoner's expecting me."

[ThirdEmperor]

"Well, worth a shot." Mel says, smiling. "And good to meet you."

[Rae Artemi]

"Yeah, yeah. You got anything on the other side of the spectrum, power enhancers, destructive scrolls, things like that? Underlord knows Little Miss Lisp here could use those." Dan says, peering straight at Mel with his huge eye.

[Beans]

I do not lisp, my name's just pronounced with weird consonants! She baps at Dan again.

[Rae Artemi]

Dan is bapped again! He turns to look at Thaxa instead of Mel. "I know that, and you know I know that, but we also both know that I'm a sarcastic prick." He says, crossing his arms. He doesn't like being bapped.

[ThirdEmperor]

"Of course, wouldn't be much of a purveyor of wonders if I didn't." Mel says. "I've got scrolls, well, more like spells inscribed on sticky notes really, a wand or two, a candle that lets you summon imps.... Can't imagine you'd really need that one. Oh, and this. With that, Mel quickly opens one of the sidepockets on his backpack and takes out a small wooden box. "This is a real artifact, not just an enchanted trinket. It's a memory band, used by an archmage to record his spellbook."

[Devixer]

A living statue walks into the tavern. He appears to be studying the other patrons, although since his face is a gas mask, most probably wouldn't notice. The Operative sits at a table in another corner.

[Rae Artemi]

"Hmm... Imps can usually take a good bullying... Nah. And there's no way we could afford an archmage's spellbook... Any more detail on the wands and sticky notes?" Dan asks.

[The Alexandrian]

So, one tango rushes into a bar with one US Army Second Lieutenant in close pursuit. He makes it about five steps inside the establishment before he is peppered with a hot spray of lead fired by the officer and falls to the ground, dead and bleeding.

The officer walks up to the corpse, flips it over with his right boot, and fires a couple of bullets right into the man's skull while announcing in a raspy, vicious voice,

"Kill confirmed."

Get it?

Hahahahahahaha!

...

Yeah, I don't get it either.

But it happens all the same!

The US Army Second Lieutenant is decked out in a standard ACU and Interceptor body armor (supplemented with thigh Kevlar inserts and the standard E-SAPI plates, ESBIs, and DAPs). He's wearing an Advanced Combat Helmet as well. Clutched in his hands is a warm Colt M4 carbine with a Trijicon ACOG telescope sight installed over the Picatinny rail and M203 grenade launcher mounted underneath said tactical rail. The soldier's face displays a sense of grotesque satisfaction concerning what easily could be portrayed as the "base murder" he just committed. The boy's cobalt eyes rest upon the product of his labors, the bullet-riddled corpse sprawled upon the ground, glazed eyes and twisted face contorted into an expression of insurmountable fear.

The young soldier stares at the corpse. As if he had not already done enough, he raises his dust-covered boot aloft and stomps once on the blood-soaked corpse's chest, leaning closer to the lifeless form before emptying the rest of his clip into its already gored face. The bullets splurch through flesh, blood, and bone, reducing the corpse's head to an unrecognizable mass of putrid mash. A wicked smirk shamelessly spreads across the soldier's face as a recently emptied clip strikes the wooden floor and another quickly replaces it.

The soldier pauses for a moment, triumphantly hovering over his fallen enemy while simultaneously catching his breath, his finely sculpted facial features softening. His dry, cracked, blood-red lips, regal nose, sly cobalt eyes, commonplace ears, clean-shaven face (for he did, indubitably, retain a fuzzy mustache and beard combo at some point), and sun-scorched complexion coupled with his overall body language make him seem somewhat approachable now. None of his jet black hair is visible at this point.

All things considered, this is definitely one guy you don't want to offend.

[Devixer]

The Second Lieutenant might notice the marble lenses of the Operative's gas mask staring at him. The statue was impressed by the scene, if not the man's skill. Just the sort of person he was looking for in his plan.

[KerfuffleMach2]

"Ah. So much for that plot." Percival gives her a smirk - which may or may not be joking - and tries to take Ivaz's hand so he might plant a kiss there. "I suppose I'll see you around, then. I think my summoner's expecting me."

She lets her hand be taken.

Sure thing, big guy. She grins.

[The Alexandrian]

The Second Lieutenant removes his boot from where he planted it on the dead man's chest and scans the chamber he has found himself in with hard eyes. Upon finding a statue staring at him, the soldier marches over to the Operative, carbine held against his chest in a position where he could ready it at a moment's notice.

"Do you have a problem with that, sir?"

The soldier tilts his thead towards the spectacular piece of bloody art he just crafted while uttering the word "that".

The man's tone is only somewhat hostile. He mostly sounds perplexed about something. This foreign environment, perhaps?

[Devixer]

Once again, the Operative has a slight wish that he could normally talk in this form. He hopes that this soldier wouldn't be too antagonistic towards telepathy. And while he was on that particular path, he tries to read the soldier's mind, to get his name.

In the meantime, he decides to make conversation. Oh, just the opposite. I'm rather impressed, truly. He gestures toward the M4. Why don't you put that down? I have no wish to fight.

[AmberVael]

"Why not do both?" Nae grins back, finishing her drink. "None of those three sound particularly interesting to me - but chasing a ravening horde of monsters through time might be good.

As for the mirror, it broke after I went through, unfortunately."

Jean looks like she is going to respond, but is interrupted by a rather fantastically dysfunctional display of violence in the form of splattering brains and blood across the floor accompanied by an unnecessary number of bullets. She watches with a blank expression, then speaks to Nae again. "...want to go somewhere less messy?"

[The Alexandrian]

As it dawns on the soldier that he is being contacted telepathically, a stream of expletives in a multitude of dialects spring to the front of his mind.

His name is Warsh. Peter Owersen Warsh. Of course, he is accustomed to being called by his last name.

The man's outer bearing doesn't change one iota.

"I don't think I'll be putting my carbine down anytime soon. You might not be inclined to oppose me, but others are."

On that note, the man shifts his position so that he can monitor the entrance to the bar.

Were there more of them en route?

[The Bushranger]

"I believe our conversation would be less disrupted by madmen were we to do that, yes."
Naethalee shakes her head in disgust at the wanton display of random violence, and drops a few platinum coins on the bar. They should pay for her drink - and repairs.

She then gracefully stands, her cloak falling perfectly into place, and pulls up her hood, nodding for Jean to lead to wherever she cares to continue their conversation.

[AmberVael]

Jean flits out the door and into the streets, skirting far around the corpse and the psychotic murderer who made it on her path out.

[Devixer]

I assure you, Mr. Warsh, any who come here with the intent to harm you will be met with full force by me. The Operative had just received an opportunity, and he was not about to waste it. If you insist on keeping your carbine, may I at least convince you to have a seat?

[The Bushranger]

And Naethalee gracefully follows.

[The Alexandrian]

****. This guy was poking around inside his (Warsh's) noggin. Best to just flood his (Warsh's) active mind with a slew of insubstantial notions to counter any attempts to access mission critical information, should the statue's intent be malicious in nature.

"Thank you for your invitation, sir."

With that, Warsh will seat himself in a military manner, focusing on keeping his bearing intact.

"I take it that you have taken a particular interest in me. You know what's on my mind. What's on your's?"

[Devixer]

Fortunately for Warsh, the Operative's mind-reading capabilities don't extend beyond names and lies just now. He had only recently discovered his powers himself. The statue nods as the Lieutenant sits down. No thanks neccessary.

He looks at Peter's cobalt eyes with his lenses. I have a job offer for you. First, though, can you tell me where you're from?

[The Alexandrian]

"I'm from California."

"And as far as I can tell, we're pretty darn far from the states, unless this is all just some sort of clever hallucination."

"But I highly doubt that this is a delusion. That body and these bullets seem real enough."

Lieutenant Warsh replies, studying the Operative's every movement. This "job offer" seemed very shady. Very shady indeed.

Best be wary lest things get scary.

[Devixer]

Shady? Nah, the Operative's completely legit. Could you say no to a marble, masked face like that?

Oh, you have little idea of how far you are from the US. That, I can assure you of. But I can also assure you that it is no illusion, either. Should he explain? Nah, culture shock might make things ugly.

I'm starting an organization of people like you and I. Mercenaries, if you will. What regiment are you from?

[The Alexandrian]

Mercs...

Mercs were always fun to play with. They always thought they were better than all the "normal soldiers" right up until their gray matter was splattered all over the wall.

"I'm with the 75th. Rangers."

It didn't matter if he told the Operative anyway. I mean, what would the Operative do with the data? None of it is extremely useful in this plane.