July 2072 // Los Angeles, PCC

Locket surveyed the items in front of her. An ancient pair of iron-shod boots. An ankh the length of her forearm made of the bones of the damned and alchemically fused with orichalcum. A book, said to be unreadable by anyone other than its creator. There were others that Coltrane and his people were collecting. Fragments that had been lost across time, and now she was freed from her prison to find them.

She stroked a perfectly manicured nail across the book, its power tempting her to open it. When she placed her hand fully upon it though, the BINDING bit into her flesh. She was to gather them, to return them to the Endless. The BINDING would destroy body and soul if she swerved even the slightest from that task. Sending lackeys forth to collect the items had been as far as Locket could squirm from under the oath she had sworn.

Soon, she would be free of the binding. There were travellers who had ventured into her realm, stood in the Gallery. She would make them pay. All of them would pay.

--==Elsewhen==--

Is it time?

The time is coming. We must reclaim that which has fallen within the void.

There will be a price to pay.

There always must be.

A young ork, sat up in bed, still asleep. He walked into the kitchen, drawing the knife from the block. In the next room, a large mirror stands across from a piano. The mirror had been his great-grandmother's, passed down through the lineage until he was forced to watch it. It was waiting for this moment, this single act.

Drawn forward by the dream, he walks to the mirror. The knife splits his flesh cleanly, providing paint for an artist. He still sleeps.

The boy draws sigils in his blood on the mirror, weakening the gateway between places. He creates the threshold. The wood in the floor absorbs the blood hungrily, not allowing a single drop to be wasted. It courses through the veins of the floorboards, up into the mirror stand.

The sigils are complete.

THe boy collapses, never to wake.

July 2072//Los Angeles, PCC

A light layer of smoke hung lazily in the air around Uetzcayotl’s sparsely decorated room. A bed, a desk and a dresser stood against the walls not occupied by the door. Various flowers, ferns and succulents hung in pots suspended from the ceiling, seemingly swaying with the slow diffusion of the smoke through the room. The midday sun poured through the room’s several windows, scattering a thick, hazy light all about. In the center of the room sat Uetzcayotl and his two best friends, Etaín and Rene. Quauhtli stood perched upon the chair by the desk, her avian face somehow displaying disappointment.

You are wasting your time with these cretins, Uetzcayotl’s animal spirit twin chided him. The golden eagle spirit flapped her ephemeral wings in order to punctuate her point. However, long draws of deepweed and proximity to the impossibly potent Etaín had all but blocked Quauhtli’s words of wisdom from the young man’s attention. Instead, he sat with one hand holding a joint, the other interlaced with the dryad’s, and all eyes on the troll.

Rene leaned against the bed with two upturned trash cans tucked between his legs. The troll fancied himself a talented percussionist and a poignant poet. Unfortunately, his goblinesque appearance and his love of all things 1950s made him look like a Saturday morning kids’ trid comic relief instead of a dignified beatnik. The poorly fitted beret and his desperate attempt at a goatee also worked against him. However, the cannabis inspired courage, and Rene was in full percussive poetry mode.

“Rotunda, rotunda, cubic zircona,” Rene cleanly enunciated, emphasizing each syllable with a rap on his makeshift drums. “Riki Tiki Tavi, impromptu persona.”

“He’s SO GOOD,” gushed Etaín, squeezing Uetzcayotl’s hand. Uetzcayotl looked over towards the self-proclaimed “flower-punk shaman,” and became ensnared by the dryad’s mythical beauty. Pure, aqua blue eyes decorated a finely featured face with full lips, a toy nose and dimpled cheeks. Long, straight, flaxen hair flowed over Etaín’s shoulders, which were bare but for a few centimeters where hung the straps of her pink and yellow polka-dot summer dress. The dress left little to the imagination-very much by her design-and her bare legs were coyly tucked around to her side. At first glance, she was perfect. Once she spoke, it was clear as to where Providence hid her imperfections.

“He should TOTALLY have his own trid show!” the dryad continued, “It could be called ‘Rapping with Rene’ or something else more percuso-percussi-poe.”

“Percussapoetic,” offered Rene, still speaking to the sound of his own beat.

“YES! It would definitely brighten up the Matrix! He could start out by playing here! Maybe Argent or Papa Smurf could put a plug for him on PITO. Maybe it would put a smile on D’Zan’s sourpuss face or something, ugh, that pixie needs to stop dressing so dark. That’s, like, soooo 2060s.”

Uetzcayotl could not help but smile as he listened to Etaín jump from topic to topic. Deepweed had a calming effect on almost everyone he knew, but not Etaín. She kept running full speed no matter how wasted, plastered, tired, or snookered.

“And don’t even get me started about that tiger your weird friends just picked up. SO VIOLENT. You know what we should totally do? I mean, totally, TOTALLY do??? We should teach her to eat tofu! Tofu tiger! Tofga…tof…to…”

“Tofiger,” Rene said, again adding percussion.

“YES!” she shrieked, clapping triumphantly.

I keep trying to tell you, Quauhtli started, but even the eagle seemed to grin. As much as Quauhtli disapproved of her human twin wasting his time with these two freeloaders, even she was not immune to the comedic display of the bombastic dryad and the dignified troll.

Uetzcayotl just leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to his friends go. The smoky light slowly melted into a dazzling array of darkness and colors behind his eyelids, and he simply allowed himself to enjoy the moment. Deep down in his consciousness, he felt Quauhtli do the same thing.

The last lingering wisps of deepweed smoke worked its way past the plants and into the small loft built near the ceiling for the smallest occupants. Inside the large room was something that looked like a fully furnished chic apartment for a larger than normal Barbie doll. A low modern bed with the forms of two bodies intertwined underneath. A scattering of pillows littler the floor near the bed suggesting a night of romantic pursuits. The irregular beats from the trash drum echo through the space.

"I will not kill the troll..........I will not kill the troll..............I will not kill the troll...."

A slim pale arm throws the blankets back and D'zan stumbles to the bathroom off the main room. The sound of water running and movement comes through the door.

"They are harmless and keep him from sinking into a funk - you want them around more than you want to see Uetzcayotl depressed. Trust me."

Leo props himself on his elbows - his tan skin a sharp contrast to the ivory of his bed mate's. He looks around the room and smiles sweetly at the signs of their last date littered around the room.

"Anyway it's better to live with a eco-shaman than a mundane cyber jock and you know it."

The door opens and D'zan exits and enters a large closet and begins to get dressed. The interior is again a portrait of opposites. Amidst piles of gothic black and unfriendly leather there is warm linens and soft brushed leathers.

"Fine, you're right but I am only agreeing because you paid your "rent" last night." A smile wicked grin covers his face at the obvious inside joke between them. Leo's face takes on a vaguely disgusted look.

"Yes dear, no love here just good old impersonal fucking. You are so bitchy in the morning." Leo swings his legs over and brushes past D'zan and begins to get dressed as well. They both seem to enjoy the silence between them as they make their way to a small living room area.

Leo flops onto a couch and smiles up at his partner from under his hair. D'zan makes a rude face as he walks through to a small kitchenette and begins to make something to eat. Further sounds of drumming and indistinct poetry make their way into the loft.

"I think he might be getting better." A single pillow arcs through the space and strikes D'zan squarely in the head. "Or not but either way we need to go over the days activities. I think we need to head for the Troll Market later this morning. I want to get a better idea of what's going on in the Court of Stars and see if there's any opportunities to get more juice with the Courts." As he talks he deftly cuts several pieces of fruit and tosses them in a bowl. Picking up the bowl he makes his way to the couch and offers some to Leo before setting the bowl on his lap and starting to eat.

"You need to be careful. They are some who dislike new players and a shift in the current power structure. New players means a smaller piece of the pie for everyone. I'll go too but I'm going to hang back and see if anyone notices you poking around." He reaches for fruit and chews thoughtfully.

"True but all of this assumes that Argent doesn't have work already lined up. After we done eating why don't you head down and see if we are in the clear while I gather up what I need to summon Knockers? If we're not working then Troll Market we go if the fox has a job then work hats on." D'zan places the bowl in Leo's lap and makes his way to a large worked wood cabinet. He opens it and begins to collect a series of objects from the eclectic collection stored there.

Leo finishes the last of the fruit, stands and places the bowl in the sink in the kitchenette. He walks to door that appears to be a front door though when opened it just reveals open air and the ceiling.

"I'll be back."

Grimacing, Argent tossed the small blackened case into the trash. It had gotten a bit too close to the pixie the night before, and was completely useless now. Thankfully, it wasn't the first time, and Argent had gotten into the habit of keeping spares and backing up regularly.

"Another victim of D'zan's?" Leo asked with a grin as he alighted on the tabletop. Argent shot the pixie's companion a sincere grin, and shrugged.

"Null sheen." He whistles as he runs his eyes up and down the custom tailored clothing.

"Where do you get those fabulous outfits?" he half-jokes. "Trying to find someone willing to tailor something around the tail is a pain in the ass."

He twirls the new commlink across the backs of his fingers while he waits for the system to finish loading from the backup. With a sigh of relief, his custom HUD pops into AR, PiTO feeds he was tracking scrolling across the bottom tied to score charts and a dashboard tracking his own distance from the nexus of social power in Los Angeles.

"Anything up and coming in terms of work?" Leo asks politely.

"Ahh...just a sec, things are still spinning up." Leaning back in his chair, he blinks once to accustom his eyes to the modifications as the comm link connects to the trode link, and suddenly things are moving a bit quicker. He dials up feeds on his normal fixer, tracking public runs she's sponsored on behalf of Horizon lately. Eyeing the time chart, he grins and triggers the call to her.

"I think I might have a lead...give me a few minutes to shake the trees, as they used to say, and I'll let you guys know. SAHIBA!" the fox-shifter shouts, a series of feeds obstructing most of his actual view as he pulled up info on the busier runners on PiTO in the LA area. Annoyed, he shuffled all the visual cues off to one side to look around for the tiger shifter. They were supposed to go over more about how to use the new comm link he'd helped her buy. It was fairly identical to his own, though he'd set the interface to simpler iconography and stuck most of the advanced options off in a node somewhere on the phone.

Tuesday -- July 12, 2072
Argent
Running through the various feeds, you are able to see who the previous day's winners and losers were, as popularity ticks up and down. Overall, feeds are up several points, with the introduction of five thousand new users from the refugee zone. Niaomi's feed itself has risen to almost one percent view rate.

The fixer sends the call to her automated system, where an agent is waiting to accept messages.

All

The doorbell rings.

“What was that?” Etaín exclaims, snapping her head around and searching for the source of the sound.

“Just the doorbell,” grumbles Rene. He glances down pensively at his makeshift drums trying to find out where he had left off in his freestyle flow.

Someone is at the door. One of your roommates might answer it, but I would like to see who it is. Besides, in your present state of mind you might miss some details if they try to fill you in later, says Quauhtli. She flies off of the chair and onto Uetzcayotl’s shoulder.

Uetzcayotl gets up walking towards the door, when he feels Etaín pull him back towards her.

“You can’t leave us here,” she whispers, “Not with psycho-pixie and the terrible tiger roaming about.”

“I can protect you,” Rene offers tentatively, unsure of his ability to actually back up his words.

“Do not worry,” Uetzcayotl says, “I will be back soon. I can call Tlacelel if you like.”

Etaín frowns, obviously remembering the ferocity of Uetzcayotl’s guardian spirit in battle. She smiles and settles herself next to Rene, wrapping her arms around the large troll.

“That’s okay, Rene will protect me…right?” She looks at the troll.

“Right.”

“Right,” she replies contentedly.

Uetzcayotl shrugs, and grabs his totems off of his dresser. He walks out of his room towards the door with Quauhtli on his shoulder. As he closes the door, he hears Rene whisper something to Etaín.

“I have a most brilliant idea.”

July 2072//Los Angeles, PCC

The sun shining in the window finally become too annoying. Papa Smurf opened his eyes allowing the light of the mid-morning to spill into his eyes. He rolled his massive head side-to-side, surveying the room. Cheap motel. Looking around the room, he saw that his companion of the previous night had long since left. The headache and taste in his mouth confirmed that the night had been once filled with debauchery.

Sitting up, he accesses his com while looking around for his clothes. The clothes are found scattered around the room. On his com he quickly scrolls through the alerts from hacking attempts clearing all but one: Darklord. He makes a note to follow up there. While he dresses, he checks the security logs at home as well as the team coms and vehicles. He grimaces, taking a moment to clean the worm that nested on D'Zan's com before considering his morning now underway.

Breakfast! is his driving thought now. He reaches out across the matrix for several auto-cabs to which he had installed back doors. Finding the closest one, he inserts a maintenance request to the controller. Once acknowledged, he then spoofs the cab headed for maintenance while actually summoning it to his location. He also inserts a scheduled job into the master maintenance system to log the car in.

He slides his Ingram into the holster on his back, under his jacket before heading out. His fly-spies leading the way, providing advanced recon. Stepping out into the street, he walks down the block before the cab arrives. He inserts orders for the nearest IHOP and leans back immersing himself into full VR, his fly-spies providing a video feed of his body and the cab interior. As he travels, he edits the footage of himself and the two pros from the night before and uploads to his P2.0 feed, rating it appropriately.

------

After brunch, he spent the early morning at the skate park, pulling some more good footage. These he fed near live time with just delays to run the filters to obscure identities. In the cab ride over to see the team, he takes a moment to deal with the hacker he recognized from earlier. Half-assed amateur. He'd warned Darklord once before not to mess with him. He doesn't warn twice. Accessing the kitchen inventory, he placed orders for the cleaning supplies and otherwise innocuous items he needed for the next step. He slipped out, cleaning up after himself and setting an alert for the expected arriving time.

The dead snake and blown run from last month weighed heavy and kept thorn in his side for Argent and D'zan. He tried to keep from focusing on them as he rode towards their place, but he couldn't let it go. They better come through this time...

Since he maintains the security on the house, he used his access codes to enter. Everyone elsewhere when he arrived, he sat back in the large chair in the front room and slipped into full VR.

------

Sometime later, he heard the doorbell from the video feed from his fly-spies. Returning to the flesh world he pings the team as he sits up.
<<@team [Papa Smurf] Anyone expecting company?>>

Of course, he doesn't really expect a response from most of the non-techie, magical types, but he does it anyway.

<<@Poppa S. [Argent] Nadda.>>

He swings out from around the counter, heading towards the living room and the front door, offering a ride to Leo as he went. Of course the pixie could fly, but people could run everywhere, too...they just didn't.

He favors Uetzcayotl with a grin and a pair of razed eyebrows as he passes the druid coming out of his room, nose wrinkling up instinctively at the scent of deep weed. Too many bad memories and a synthetic allergy were wrapped up in the drug, but he shrugged it free, like he always did most of his less pleasant memories, and gave the ex-Aztlaner his best wide toothed smile, nodding his head towards the front room as he walked past.

"Sounds like someone may have found us...SAHIBA! D'ZAN!" he shouts again for the absent members of the team. Frankly, if someone was going to start trouble at their front door, he wanted to have the tiger standing in front of him and the pixie's magic covering his back.

With a last glance back at Papa Smurf for the go-ahead, he pulled open the door, those members of the team that had deigned to show up arrayed behind him in his best soon-to-be-on-PiTO pose.

“Sounds like someone may have found us…SAHIBA! D’ZAN!”

Argent’s shouting shakes Uetzcayotl out of his deep weed haze. He had never considered the possibility of danger, and the fact that the afternoon caller could belong to the Chimalli suddenly crosses his mind.

Unlikely, but not impossible, Quauhtli muses. Uetzcayotl does not like his twin’s indecisive tone, as it indicates that she had not considered the possibility either. An irrational paranoia starts to take hold of him, but Quauhtli notices her twin’s fear.

Very unlikely, she says calmly. Remember, Tlacelel stands at the ready if we need him. The Greatest of Our Heroes is more than a match for the minions of Huitzilopochtli.

Should I summon him? Uetzcayotl asks Quauhtli. She pauses for a moment, scowling in disgust at one of Papa Smurf’s mechanical fly-spies that zooms through her spectral body before answering.

I would wait. Should our unexpected guest not belong to our enemies, I doubt Tlacelel would serve as a generous host. As much as I hate to say it…we may have to rely on the potential brutality of the Tiger.

Uetzcayotl smiles softly to himself. Quauhtli could not stand Sahiba, as her reputation as a “man-eater” stood against the pacifistic teachings of the Serpent’s Feathers. Fortunately for both, they could not “discuss” their differences of opinion.

Perhaps you should stand back, Quauhtli says, pulling Uetzcayotl’s focus back into the present. She thrusts a wing towards Argent as the shifter reaches towards the door. Uetzcayotl steps back away from the door, tightly gripping the foci anxiously.

With a light jog and a leap D'zan propels himself through the air as he moves through the door of his loft he feels his thoughts intertwine with Leo's.

Ok time to earn our sugar water. Let's slide from sight and keep them covered in case there's mojo in the air.

He feels the assent flow back through the link as he gathers the mana in his blood cloaks himself in a fine layer of glamor - a suggestion to let your eyes flow past him. He watches as he spirals down to the apartment below as Leo also slips from view. He smiles as he sees the delicate strands of magic woven around the other runners - the way Leo works mana is artistic and conservative, the protection looks like a fine wrought brocade around the others. He settles in a spot several feet just above the door.

Shaking himself from the sweet moment he drinks deep and gathers as much magic into himself as he can. He feels the light headiness and the rush of power - the sweet song of violence and pain thrums in him as he weaves the mana out like thorny vines encircling the group. He is dimly aware of the disapproving look that Leo shoots at him before returning his attention to the door. He allows the sting of Leo's objection to cut deep - every sensation is life and he intends to drink deep.

Sitting in the easy chair as the occupants of the house seem to rejoin the living, or at least awaken, Papa Smurf raises an eyebrow at the defensive nature of the responses. He accesses the door security camera and feeds it over TeamNet.

Team-Net
Video feeds pop up in your vision as Papa Smurf begins relaying the security system into your HUD. The primary feed is from the front door, with a wide angle camera placed beyond reach of most trolls. It shows a hideous, aging gnome woman leaning heavily on a gnarled branch. Behind her, covered in rags is a hunchbacked form carrying a small white box. From beneath the hunchbacked's hood you see the hint of tusks and a porcine nose.

Secondary feeds show other angles of the house with no sign of ambushers moving around the side or back.

Argent
With the feed pouring through your AR connection, you quickly shift your stance to make the best of the perspective of someone who barely reaches your midsection. Swinging open the door with a slight debonair charm, all the better to get more viewers, you smile down at the woman.

The gnome looks once at you and spits at the ground to her side, nearly hitting the hunchback. Her mouth curls into a rictus sneer and then she begins talking.

"E waz zimt by tli cuiim wetl a dob for you. Taki tli box amj aqqipt tli dob."

When she is done, the hunchback moves forward and holds out the box. It steps uncomfortably close to you and your nose is assaulted with odors of rotten meat and incense. Looking closely, you can see the skin beneath the rags is leprous. The hunchback stops just barely outside the threshold of the door, box held at an odd angle until you realize that the creatures arms don't rise all the way.

D'zan/Leo

From your vantage point near the door, you can see broad glows in the astral space all around the hunchbacked, shredded through with lines of black. The box seems completely mundane and unscarred by the astral form of its bearer.

Upon seeing the hunchback, Uetzcayotl is struck with burning desire to heal the poor creature. After all, the Serpent's Feathers are dedicated towards restoring the Sixth World and all of its inhabitants. He can feel that Quauhtli is of a similar mindset.

It is probably best if we ask its permission first, Quauhtli suggests.

Ignoring the box for the moment, Uetzcayotl says, "You are suffering. May I heal your wounds?"

<<@TeamNet [Papa Smurf] Damn. Now that's the f-ugly.>>

The old woman and the hunchback being far from threatening, Papa begins spooling a hacked feed of an urban brawl game in London, thinking Even if she's highly magical, she's got the same lead allergy as all other mages.

Otherwise bored, he smirks when Uetzcayotl makes his offer. A dozen snide comments run through his mind, but he keeps them to himself. Rather, he comments on the box, "Is that a box of cubans?"

Uetzcayotl

"Jada"

The gnome shouts and shakes her head vigorously at you, shaking the gnarled branch in your direction. There is a momentary flare at the edges of your vision of a briar patch and the tinkling of tiny bells. You see the tip of the stick that the old gnome is carrying dragged across the door jamb.

She recoils fiercely and there are small cuts along her hand--as if bit by thorns.

All

As the Aztlaner pushes past Argent, you can see the crone focuses on him.

"Taki tli box amj aqqipt tli dob!"

The hunchback tries to reach higher with the box, offering it up to anyone at the door. You can hear groaning as it tries to lift its arms further above its head, obviously in pain.

"Take the box already!" D'zan releases the glamor obscuring him from sight. "Can't you see it's hurting the poor thing.'

He flys to hover over the shoulder of Argent and addresses the gnome directly.

"No one here is going to understand the tongue of the Sluagh Mama Fortuna so switch it to something a little less exotic." D'zan continues to glare at Argent with a pointed nod towards the box.

Hearing D'zan and seeing the Hunchback's pain, Uetzcayotl looks over to where Quauhtli is hovering.

Take the box if it will end its suffering, Quauhtli suggests, and have faith that the Feathered Serpent will protect us.

Uetzcayotl nods and takes the box...

Fully returned to AR, Papa Smurf sits up, watching the pixies fly about while Uetzcayotl and D'zan stand in the doorway. Mild curiosity about the box aside, he waits for some good video for his PITO feed.....

Argent recoils slightly as the woman's hand sprouts the multiple small cuts, cutting a quick glance towards D'zan, recognizing the pixie's distinct form of magical defense. A twitch of his tail being the equivalent of the shifter shaking his shoulders to resettle himself, he smiles towards them both.

He rattles off a conciliatory statement in a couple of languages, watching for a flicker of understanding to flash across the old crones face.

"Mother, we could help you better if we found a common speech."

Uetzcayotl

Taking the box, it seems to only weigh a few ounces. As you bring it closer to you, it steadily gains in weight until it weighs nearly two pounds.

All
With the box out of his hands, the hunchback pulls its arms down quickly. It nurses the shoulders, and the scent of blood and rot grows faintly stronger as the bandages abrade the skin. The hunchback shuffles back behind the gnome.

"It is done." The crone's English is heavily accented as she over states each consonant. "The Lord of Unending Darkness accepts you in his service. As with all gifts, there comes a price."

She turns and begins to herd the hunchback away from the door. Yelling at it in the same strange tongue, occasionally hitting it with the stick. Three drops of her blood remain on the porch from the cuts to her hand.

Uetzcayotl frowns at the crone's words and feels Quauhtli grow incensed at the possibility of the group being hoodwinked.

"What is this..." Uetzcayotl mumbles to himself in Spanish, focusing on the strange box and allowing himself to drift into the astral plane.

Shaking his head to himself with the discovery that the box has no astral presence, Uetzcayotl looks to the rest of the group.

"Should I open it? It seems to have gotten heavier..."

Papa Smurf gets up and stands to his full height, his face twists a little as he tries to decipher her parting words. ""The Lord of Unending Darkness? What? My rear end." He hollers at the departing witch, "Yo. Pinta. I ain't working for no Lord of Any-Kind-Of Darkness, much less the Unending one!" He looks around to his team mates for support, thinking to himself. I may be the big, bad-ass troll but this mojo curse Lord of Darkness crap's gotta go.

All

Mama Fortuna stops as Papa Smurf yells at her.

"Et ez mot wezi..." She stops, the foreign words catching in her throat, and switches to English. "It is not wise to take a gift from such as he and not meet the obligation. There can be many consequences; his servitors are why your kind learned to fear the dark. Do as you wish, my duty is complete and my shadow will rest no further upon your land."

The crone turns back and hits the hunchback. There is a wet, tearing sound, like a knife through carrion, as the hunchback separates the boundary between this world and the next. Staring at the gateway, your mind translates it as an open sore, oozing and dripping. New wounds spread across the creature's back, as blood seeps through the bandages. With a shove of her stick, Mama forces it through the gateway and then steps through herself.

The pustulent wound torn in the air, and the box in Uetzcayotl's hands are all that remain as evidence of her presence.

D'zan flies down to the threshold and his face shows visible pain at the gateway hanging in the air.

"Chill the fuck out - she's just the messenger. Do we have some way to collect that blood without touching it directly but still leaving it clean? I would not open that box just yet. It's a hostess gift from the King of the Sluagh. I've been hearing whispers and rumors of him approaching the Court of Stars for help against something that threatens everyone who shops the Troll Market."

Leo steps out from behind the magical veil concealing him from view and flies near the box but taking great care not to touch it.

"What Mr. I Have No Manners is trying to convey is this being is on par with some of the most powerful Free Spirits out there. In fact, some magicians worship him as the Dark King and parts of his army can be likened to the Wild Hunt - though I suspect they are one and the same. The weird part is he is suppose to have most of his power bound to his demesne but if this is something of his power it means a lot - he is limited to what he can bring into the Sixth World."

D'zan makes a rude gesture at Leo's mention of his lack of social graces but keeps his eyes glued on the gateway.

"Anyone know if that's going to close up on it's own?"

Uetzcayotl shrugs, and places the box gingerly on the ground while making sure not to bump Leo with it. He takes a long look at the blood from the hunchback.

I'll focus on remembering the details regarding the 'Lord of Unending Darkness' for now, Quauhtli offers, while you concentrate on gathering the evidence of its minions' visit.

"I have an assaying kit back in my room. I usually use it to gather reagents, but it might have the necessary tools to take samples of the blood. Should I get it?" Uetzcayotl looks to the rest of the group, the deepweed fog still weighing heavily on his mind.

As the other enters the conversation and the witch steps into the mist, Papa Smurf does his best to make sense of the mumbo-jumbo. Simultaneously recording the conversation for posterity, he assigns a search frame to look for several of the terms. At this point he was feeling like an iron worker at tupper ware party so he simply moved to the side to make room for the magic types to move through.

Papa Smurf

For the first few minutes, you watch the search frame process through the matrix the readout clearly showing "0 Hits Found." Then a few small bits of information trickle through from a neo-anarchist group that you know specializes in the freedom of information. The data appears to be snippets of journal entries from a qabalist mage. Most of it appears to be the writings of a mad man, but the earlier entries are more cogent.

//012520671430
Found a guide who can take me into the Troll Market. Bound the creature to a circle of the seventh order to compel it. Leave tonight at the hour when blood first touches the moon.

//020420672317
It was glorious, must return. Compelled the creature to return on the next full moon to take me there. It is an enchanters dream to find all of these things together, and many of them have no use for money, trading in blood, breath, tears, and dreams. A woman dressed in starlight and nothing else offered me a ruby heart the size of my thumb, just for telling her a secret.

//021320670330
The woman came to me in my dreams and gave me everything. All she asked for was for me to take her, as if a man would say no to that in his dreams. It was more real than a dream for when I awoke, my breath crystallized in a circle of stars and my seed was gone.

The entries continue through three visits to the Market that are in his journals. Each time more wondrous than the one before, taking further abuses of the natives, and followed by more vivid dreams and nightmares.

Deciding to take initiative, Uetzcayotl goes back to his room to pick up his assaying kit. He picks his way through the room, carefully avoiding Etain and Rene---who are sitting perfectly still with trash cans on their heads in what is likely an "it can't hurt me if I can't see it" maneuver---as he collects the kit.

Quietly closing the door, he goes back down to the front porch. He pulls out a few vials and begins carefully collecting the blood...

All

Uetzcayotl gingerly gathers two of the drops of the crone's blood. The third is marred with unswept dirt from the porch and is unviable. Beyond him, the wound slowly contracts. Guessing at how slowly it is closing, the rift will probably seal itself within the next ten minutes. Unless something stops it...

Papa Smurf watches the results trickle in, while also streaming in the local episode of The Cyber Outlaw. As Uetzcayotl gathers blood, he also looks to the still open portal. "Since the Troll Market is in the Nether Realms, you imagine that goes there?" At first a journey to where ever was not at the top of his list, at least not until he thought of the hits to his P2.0 rating if he uploaded video.

He steps around Uetzcayotl and the blood to take a better look at the circle, a big smile having grown on his face.

D'zan follows in the wake of Papa Smurf and draws closer to the tear in reality. He feels the mana rippling off of it - it would be so easy to push the troll through and see what happens. The want of it sings alongs his nerves as he opens himself to the gateway and drinks deep its essence. His small form wavers and ripples in time with the portal and his eyes go completely black. He speaks but his voice sounds hollow and distant.

"This leads to a deep metaplane and it feels different then other rifts I have used in the past. I think it's safe to travel there since the hag went in but I'll be honest I have no idea where it leads."

As he speaks the shadows deepen and draw around the area. Shapes can be seen in the edges of your vision. There are sounds of claws scraping against the walls and floors. Small voices whisper of delights and wonders for the taking. The reality around you begins to recede into the gathering gloom.

"ENOUGH!"

A small star flares into existence at D'zan's side and pushes the shades and phantoms back. Their wails and screams scrape across your skin and you taste their naked desperation for you in the air. The hallway is once again present and the light dies to show Leo shaking D'zan out of the trance. His body pulses with a soft radiance and his eyes spill forth with gentle light of the sun. D'zan's face flushes with heat and embarrassment as he looks around himself his eyes once again normal and clear. He avoids looking at anyone while muttering.

"Sorry."

Leo lets him go with one last look of reproach as he turns towards the portal and begins to sing in a fluid tonal tongue. The song seems to tug at the edges of your memories - something from sleep and your dreams or childhood. The nagging feeling of the familiar washes over you as the memory slips away. The song pulls small flows of mana from the gateway and gathers before him as his looks intently at the weaves.

Standing dumbfounded through most of the exchange, Argent actually cringes away from the hunchback, letting Uetzcayotl take the box.

What the fuck?...some face I'm turning out to be...

By the time he's regained the nerve to speak, Papa Smurf is out on the porch looking at the slowly closing festering wound, and Uetzcayotl is scraping samples of the crones blood.

He steps out next to the large troll, head titled slightly as neurons flash, searches about metaplane recordings in PiTO and associated connection ratings tickles across his image link. A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, strangely mirroring the expression on his teammates face as they look at the astral gateway.

"So, uh, what do you think? Full footage from that's gotta be worth at least what, fifteen, maybe twenty thousand subscriptions? Might even be worth a C-point. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Papa Smurf nods to Argent, unaware of D'zan's inner turmoil. "I figure at least that.... and ten fold the subs if we had some actual footage from beyond - surely someone would pick me up then who'd bump me a c-point." The troll is nearly salivating at the thought.

"D'zan?" Argent calls back in his best "nice-guy-face" tone.

"You could get us back from there, right?"

All

D'zan's companion sings for a moment, plucking out chords of mana from the wound in the air before you. As his voice quiets, you hear a swelling echo return from the void. Where there had been just one voice singing, a choir echoes back, their voices a complex melody carrying hunger, lust, and need. The twisted song works into your skin causing a shiver down your spine and a quickening of your pulse.

Leo
There is no immediate danger visible in the strands of mana working out of the gaping maw. Every world has it's dangers and the team's care will determine their safety.

D'zan smiles and his sharp pointy teeth spread in a mockery of a reassuring smile.

"Of course I can. Easy peasy."

Leo shakes himself free from the divination to shoot D'zan a complicated look before speaking loudly over him.

"What he means to say is yes but there will be complications. We would need to bargain with a spirit or entity to return us here or to the Troll Market where we can get a way home with relative ease. I need to point out that while I sensed nothing immediately dangerous about the gateway and what lies beyond, you would be traveling there body and soul. That carries risk - things done to you there would follow you back here."

Leo strains to impress upon the others the seriousness of what they suggest doing.

Unbelievable. The DRYAD has more sense than these ones, quips a disapproving Quauhtli. Prepare yourself. I doubt that this venture will end without complication.

Uetzcayotl nods in agreement, and prepares to cast protection spells when he remembers about the box.

"What about the box. Should we not take it?" he asks the group.

Papa Smurf watches the shimmering portal, dreaming of the sky high levels his P2.0 subscription would climb with footage from beyond. The only thing currently keeping him in check from actually stepping through is the lingering question from Leo about how to get back. One of his fly-spy camera fixated on the gateway, he turns back to the team pulling a bath towel from his backpack. "Never, ever go anywhere without a towel."

He then steps forward, intent on wrapping the box in the box and scooping it up.

"Grab the box, my good Smurf, and let us see what heights our ratings can rise to!"

He glances to Leo, the wide grin disappearing in a sober glance for just a moment, letting the pixie know he'd heard and understand.

"Frankly, if we're talking about something called the Dark King and the Wild Hunt, I'd rather be on the offensive." He turned back to the portal, hesitating for just a brief minute before grinning, shrugging, and leaping from the porch into the portal.

At Argent's urging, Papa Smurf scoops up the box with the towel and grabs all four corners like a makeshift sack. Seeing the leap out of the corner of his eye, the troll tracks his teammate leaping into the shimmering portal and all remaining inhibitions in regards to said portal melt away. With a "Whoop" and "Hell Yes!" he jumps through the portal on Argent's heels.

The House

There is a wet, tearing sound as Argent leaps through the portal. You see a sudden loosening of his clothes and one shoe falls off. The last thing you see is a fox tail falling through the tear.

With the shout of Papa Smurf, the massive troll leaps through the gnome sized tear. His shoulders rip the gap open further and the smell of gangrenous flesh pervades the front walk. There is a crack of thunder and you hear the distant baying of wolves as the towel-wrapped package crosses over into the void.

D'zan's face lights up at the impulsive behavior of his teammates and locks eyes with Leo.

"You know they're better off with us than without and they'll have no idea what to do or where to go. We have to follow them."

Leo's face snarled with sourness at his speech of concern and care for the others.

"I agree but I seriously doubt all of your motivation is wrapped up in their welfare. Let's go and make sure they get through this in the best shape possible."

WIth that agreement they loop and fly through the air before diving through the small tear one after the other.

Shaking his head, Uetzcayotl takes the kit and blood samples, and follows the pixies into the gate...

All
There is a long moment of nothingness, thoughts exist without substance--there is no feeling, no breath, and no light. It feels like the instant between life and death, pulled longer into time.

Then weight reasserts itself, blood pounds in your ears, emotions spike and you begin to exist again.

Argent
Coming through the portal, the hair along your back and neck stands up as you hear the baying of wolves and large dogs. It's impossible to discern the distance as the sound echoes and reverberates all around you. You see a mouse scurry across the tunnel and the pouncing instinct learned before conscious thought ever set in nearly overtakes you. Just before you pounce, you recognize the odd texture and smell of the ground around you as fabric and detergent. Instincts push back slightly as willpower and control reassert themselves in your mind.

Then a massive weight drops bodily on to you...

Papa Smurf
You feel the snap of matrix connection severing in your brain as you stumble, landing face and horns into wet dirt. Mold and grit slides into your mouth and you find yourself laying at a contorted angle with your backpack tried high, and something moving beneath your tailbone. Around you, the tunnel is cold and damp, with spikes of heat moving in and out of the walls as mice and large worms creep through the dirt.

D'Zan
Your wings keep you aloft over the pile of adventurous jumpers before you. A deep sense of wrongness pervades your being, knowing that at the most basic part of your soul, you do not belong here. With each breath, you see frost creeping through the air, anathema to anyone else that breathes. Beside you, Leo appears as a radiant flame, his presence burning your skin when you get too close.

Uetzcayotl
Stepping through gently, the assaying kit slips from your fingers at the sudden shift of condition, but you are able to keep a firm grip on the vials. You nearly trip over the sprawled out legs of Papa Smurf but catch yourself and step off to the side. In the air near your head, you can see the pixies have become a study of contrasts made physical--dark blue and brilliant red flames, pulsing with heat and bone-numbing chill.

All
You appear to be underground in a long tunnel made of loose dirt. Bits of moss glow dimly, but otherwise there is no light except that provided by Leo illuminating the tangle of bodies. The air is clean, suggesting some kind of ventilation or opening nearby.

Uetzcayotl

You reach out into the aether around you and find that rather than reshaping the astral and breathing a spark of life into it, the world around you is truly alive. A small shard of consciousness builds up in the palm of your hand. An ear splitting pain builds up in your mind and you grit your teeth. Shaking your head the pain subsides and you feel tired but unscathed.

Then your stomach roils, and you empty your breakfast onto the pile of bodies in front of you.

"Oh hell. We need to find an uplink." He snaps as he pushes up from the dirt. "And there are critters... and bugs" He grunts, half serious, half joking. When the puke flies, he jumps to his feet. "Oh hell, control your spew dude!"

D'zan quickly flies a distance away from the others to prevent any accidental harm from his very being. A narrowed look of alertness comes over his face as he surveys the tunnel.

"You all need to keep some distance from me till we figure out where we are and why we're expressing inner selves this way. I know this much this place does not like me all too much"

Leo looks himself over and slowly takes in the area around himself. A wave of concern washes over his face at Uetzcayotl as he attempts magic and then loses his breakfast over Argent and Papa Smurf. When he speaks the clear ring of sympathy carries through his voice.

"Please refrain from magic until we know where we are. The rules here will change depending on what governs this place. We must all take care."

Looking at the chunks on his jumpsuit, Papa Smurf frowns. He pulls out a Fly-Spy and lights it up, establishing a link to the drone. Time to scout..

As the waves of nausea slam against his throbbing skull, Uetzcayotl staggers back and attempts to utter sorry until his stomach decides to continue throwing up. He can feel Quauhtli suffering a similar affect, and their entwined minds resonate in dizzying harmony. He turns away from the group and indulges his stomach until his body stops throbbing from queasiness.

"Sorry," he sputters, slipping back to his native tongue. "Sorry. I think we will need the extra set of eyes, though. This little one should help us spot incoming beings."

I am beginning to wonder if maintaining this armor spell is a worthwhile use of my energies, he thinks to himself.