OOC: Please try to keep quality in your posts, please. Also, remember that there is not a posting order, so if you aren't active, you may become left behind.

The sun gleamed overhead as Aralishia strolled along the streets of Lomedor, no set destination in mind, the overbearing thought of coming events weighing down on her. No light gleamed in her stunning blue eyes, rather, they were faded, dull, staring into Ara's mind, replaying her thoughts, her shameful mistakes, her destiny.

She had told herself in Calaring, no less than a few fortnights ago, that she was ready for what fate threw at her, or what threw her to fate. And an eternity ago it could have been. She considered those long days of Calaring thoughtfully. Her memories unclear, she tilted her head towards the sun, as if it would remember the memories better than she. The sun was consistant, never fading, always looming over the snowy scape.

Her actions weren't clear. She remebered that her mind had sharpened considerably, Geis continually questioning her, her morals, the reasons for her actions.

And now it was her turn to question herself.

She had sent away a visitor without a second thought. She realized with a choking feeling rising in her throat that she hadn't even learned his name. That he had prophesized Geis' death, and she hadn't bothered to question him further. She had been too busy worrying about what she would say next, what he thought about her, how she didn't want to talk to anyone. The thoughts spiraled in her head, an unstoppable chasmic whirlpool, a churning, painful agony.

The shame overwhelmed her. Next they had participated in a pebble hunt, of her own suggustion, and Ara had taken Arestu with her. Because he would make their team more efficient. His safety or tired paws didn't matter. The gold did. And why, why did she need the money? She knew the answer, but it seemed to get caught in her throat, as if unspeakable. Half of her fed this pain, told her that her own ambitions were shamefull to such a degree.The answers, locked in her mind. She tried to hide them, especially from herself. The answers leaked out her eyes. She couldn't keep things hidden forever.

Her heart continued to thump softly, ensuring her life, her pain, her shame. It whispered encouragingly, reminding her that her mission from BADI was coming, nd these reasons were pure. For the life of others, for the guild, it was assigned to you. It wasn't even your choice. And yet, Ara seemed to battle with her heart, arguing that her reasons weren't pure, that she was trying to manipulate Sartana, then her heart fought back, saying that becoming friends wasn't the same as manipulation. And her heart knew that Ara wasn't used to befriending people and was deeply, deeply confused.

She trekked on, the skies fresh blue, spring dawning, the streets bustling as usual, families enjoying each other. Freshly baked bread, cooling on a windowsill, a mother playing with her daughter. Ara bathed in the memories that the child was creating, the memories that Ara dreamed of. A childhood.

She glanced about, life still going on about her. She wasn't approachable to the Lomedorians. Her hood was hanging over her head, cloak casting light gray shadows, her eyes dull, searching, searching for truth. Life was going on. But Ara's life was paused. She had stopped it. She had decided not to continue forward, she had decided not to have a purpose. For she was not ready for what threw her to fate.

Her feet felt tired, as if the stroll was a voyage, a journey. As if her thoughts moving had created passage of time, and even if she hadn't traveled a block, her feet had been moving for an eternity. She glared about, looking for some sort of respite. The Drital Qu'ellar loomed to her left. A rowdy, overflooded crowd, filled with drunkards with no purpose more than to fight, shout, and create uncivilized messes. She hoped a pub commotion would distract her, and, slowly, she pushed in the doors. Each step offered to turn, to leave, to return back to a quiet appartment a block away. But she continued on carefully, and took a seat, two empty stools to her right, and none to her left. She glanced into a face, her blurred thoughts shadowing her sight. The face still looked unpleasant.

And here you are again…

These were thoughts not words; the true inhabitants of a mind and a soul, and not their pitifully artificial reflections. Even here, in the war-torn landscape of a mind barren of the simple, guiding lights they lived. Thrived. Argued. Spoke. Even the conscience. Especially the conscience.

Would it surprise mortals to learn that the Damned had souls? Had feelings? Had a code of honor, of morals, of ethics? Had a culture of sorts, even? Perhaps, but then again many would all too soon. Eternity was a long, long time.

For now Vex just let her thoughts flow into their familiar patterns that would no doubt confuse even the most talented people-person. Cuneiform carvings, Sanskrit inscriptions, illegible Hittite, the notable Common- all were present in a maelstrom of feeling and notice-me-nots that composed the extremely demented psyche of Annoyance. It was like communication that could not or wouldst not speak. There was poetry in there somewhere, a life that was worth recounting and retelling but buried as it was in the mire of bloody ukuleles, painful candies and agonizing laughter extracting it would no doubt be far more trouble than it was worth.

It was why she drank alcohol. She couldn't trust the shrinks and yet... she downed another glass of thick, slightly oak-tasting mead. It had a heady taste even if it had no kick, a necessary evil given that she didn't want to be drunk too quick today. She had to think. Had to worry. Had to pine.

Had to pine? Vex laughed sardonically.

And then she stewed. It felt kind of silly to be pining for the presence of a demon- and a demon fly at that. The personification of Ennui, boredom. And yet, even if he was boring, even if he was stupid and irritating and absolutely useless- he had managed to lay her mind at rest more times than she could count. Even if it was because the irritation he produced was ever so constant- like the refrain of a song she knew too well and could relate too just because she too had experienced Hel. Because she too had known evil and would perpetrate it ad infinitum even if she knew better.

No, because she knew better. When the moral compass was dead, evil and good became the holy scriptures of a different religion. The compass was necessary for there to be any guiding light whatsoever.

Vex looked up from her drink and realized someone was staring at her. She was pretty sure she wasn't drunk. Yet.

"Whatchoo lookin' at, huh?"

She felt dead for those moments.

While she sat upon the barstool, her mind eating slowly away at her vision, her ears whispering so softly, her body limp, as if in a different world; she felt dead.

Forever intertwined, life and death, slowly gnawing at the other, slowly glistening away, thriving, fading..Death was said to be life. Another life, perhaps life in another reality, perhaps life unseen, perhaps life known to mortals was actually death. And she didn't understand it. Ara felt belittled by life, by philosophy, by word craft. The weaving of words, with no correlations, twisting the mind. She couldn't understand life through death, life after death, or, for that matter, life and death so closely intertwined. One could only hope-not prove- that there was life after death. And Ara didn't hope.

And-forgo the confusion- Ara still felt dead. Drowned within the depths of her despair, choked with her own answers, rotting away, slowly burning from inside. Dead. And yet, her mind still continued to run these wretched thoughts, and her heat still beat softly, and her eyes still saw her hidden tears. Her mind's turmoil an abyss, arousing an austere thought- the effusive thought of death itself. The thought of bringing death to oneself, of ending agitatingly soft, placid heart beats. To allow her already dead body and mind to pass on, to stop bringing pain. The material death, not just the death that cannot be seen. She was living in an unseen death.

She realized she was still glaring at the half-seen, unpleasant face. Her eyes shifted, but the stranger's called her own back, a captivating moment where the eyes met. She couldn't see the color of the stranger's eyes. She couldn't even see the eyes themselves. But there was a certain feeling, a sudden connection, a sudden forage for the other's thoughts.

And then she spoke.

Ara thought. For several moments, not a brief one, not half of one. As if her mind could no longer think of a retort, an idea, as if it couldn't process what the stranger was saying.

She blinked once, then twice. Her vision did not return.

Her mind still had no retort. The stranger was still staring at her. She turned away, looking straight forward, her eyes searching for the bartender, pretending she actually wanted a drink. She thrust her jaw so slightly, as a sign of disrespect. As of that moment, she didn't care. Why should she? But she knew the stranger would speak again, the mere tone of her voice showed that she demanded respect. And Ara suddenly felt that toying with this stranger would take her mind of of her mind, of death. She already predicted what the stranger would do. And the ruffian wasn't educated enough to outwit her. Toying with people was a trick she often practiced, testing them, but she had never actually set out just to toy with them. They needed to have some worth to her. But in this case, getting toyed with was her worth.

Sometimes Nathaniel truly cursed his luck. Having left the Wilwarin during mid afternoon, he had taken the unusual route of shopping. Normally he was keen to buy whatever was hot at the pub, but a craving for raw fruit had stricken him, so off he had gone. Shopping on Lomedor was no easy task, especially when you were as picky as he. Nathaniel elbowed past many people in irritation, only to find none of the food satisfactory. If it wasn't half rotted or chewed on it bore the marks of having been burrowed into by insects. Once you make the mistake of biting into the home of a worm once, you never make it again. Many apples were lifted and placed back down with a wary grace.

Afternoon had passed to that crevice between evening and mid day, where the sky had whispers of pink as it foretold of the descent of the sun. Shadows were long and seemed to have a life of their own, and the air was somehow more colder. Having failed in his mission to find a large portion of fruit he had retreated to an in, hoping that they might sell some food. Rather than return to the Wilwarin, however, Nathaniel opted for Drital Queller. Normally he despised the place and would have gone elsewhere, but he was just angry enough to entertain the thought of stabbing a few cretins for approaching him. Besides, he could always order a cherry pie and satisfy his cravings.

Strutting in as if he owned the place (and not getting so much as a glance) he moved straight towards the counter, taking a seat three down from the wall, the two on his right occupied. Normally he wasn't keen on sitting beside anyone, especially not things that looked the way the one beside him did. But the place was overflowing with people, with more than a few drunks stumbling out into the streets with their friends. It was here or nowhere, and right now he needed a drink if nothing else. Nathaniel rolled his shoulders to slacken some of the tenseness, awaiting the bartender. It would be a while with all these people, but he was rather patient.

I wonder if anyone here can be of use... He mulled to himself, thoughts silent to even the sharpest of minds. Nathaniel was, after all, recruiting. Though most of the idiots here weren't his type, it would do well to listen in on certain conversations and gleam what information there was to be had. Perhaps a traveling swordsman was in town? Or a mage able to alter the tapestry of the fates? All of these things were ideal if he was to amass an army, and no hinges could be left to rust. Absolute care and control, along with perfectly loyal allies and men he could rely on. Nathaniel had difficulty trusting anyone, which made that last part difficult; regardless, he attempted it all the same.

For now, he needed to eye up the possible candidates while drawing as little attention as possible. How better than to open his ears to all walks of life?