When T'zarkan spotted the large fountain of Moun scraping up towards the sky against the horizon a second wind burst through him. The pair had flown through the night and the storm to reach their destination. In the distance bright beams of light burst into sight from the morning sun. It was almost blinding to the demon and he shielded his eyes. He pondered to himself if this was the light he would find at the end of his life...or this worlds, a fire so radiant, so warm...his skin began to burn with anxiety.

They drew upon the city rapidly. The storm had long since subsided leaving a dull purple hue to the sky in this early morning stage, not a cloud to be seen. After that small encounter in the forest T'zarkan found himself questioning whether or not it was a wise decision to stick around the touched one. He glanced back over his shoulder to see the woman keeping pace with him. He wondered if it was true that this strain of virus would cause a vampire to hide from the sunlight.

Against his own will he found himself circling down like a carrion crow towards the ground a mile or so away from town in a small thicket. With his eyes and ears he could only spot vegetation and small animals scurrying.

He unequipped his collar of tortured souls and latched it to his belt strap. From the back side of his cloth T'zarkan slid out a folded rich black cloak. Unfurling it he wrapped it around his shoulders and slid his horns into the specially designed pockets, drawing the hood over him. All that was visible was his glowing white eyes.

Stepping out from the bushes coyly and clipping his collar back around his neck, fastening the cloak tightly to him, he let the shadowy arms grasp out for what they thought would be freedom. The road was empty save the occasional rabbit this early in the morning. A part of him could sense the half demons presence behind him following quietly. He had wondered how straining the flight had been on her small frame.

Only a few more minutes and they were in Moun.

((Freya's a character.))
((...Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha))
((...it's better in german.))

Flight wasn't something that required a whole lot of concentration, for Freya. Between the girth of her wings, and her general smallness of stature; it was more a matter of finding and keeping updrafts than anything else. Nonetheless, she'd made the migration quietly-- using the time offered to allow herself some form of rest. It wasn't enough to eliminate the need for some actual sleep, and the sun certainly wasn't helping matters any; but she was thinking clearly again and that was the part she was concerned with.

A vampire wasn't meant for daylight. Freya could bare it, but it made her weaker; and practically eliminated any chance of profitable feeding. Normally, it wasn't really an issue-- indeed, she'd spent many days in glaring sunlight during her time on Redemption; but it was a far cry from comfortable.

She landed lightly behind the demon, wings curling over her body as she let the remnant impact draw her to kneel; lessening the force of her touch-down and rendering it nearly silent. She held the position for a moment, eyes closed as she made a quick review. Uninjured still-- probably the longest she'd gone that way, come to think of it-- and the burn of energy had brought some of the life back to her muscles. She was in good enough condition to fight, at least; and that was all she needed.

The wings faded away as she rose, sunlight glinting over the spikes of her armor as she cracked her neck one way, and then the other.

She strode past him while he was working on the cloak, golden eyes narrowing as she looked upon the township in the distance, and stopped. For her, there was no need for costumery. If someone asked her what she was doing there, she'd just call it a check-up visit-- from the sounds of things at least, there weren't any members of the Sash present to dispute the claim.

Even if there were, she wasn't precisely opposed to simply making them shut up. Most of them knew well enough than to cross Lady Freya Hamilton outside of a practice ring. Hell, most of them didn't even want to do it -inside- the circle.

She looked over her shoulder, gaze flickering past Purebane's flame hilt to check the demon's progress, before she looked back to Moun, and shifted her weight to move again.

"Be careful what you say about the undead while you're here." She advised quietly, "There was a property dispute between a few vampires and the citizens, not more than a month ago. They're probably still tender." Looking forward again, she actually took the step. If he wanted to keep up, he would; otherwise, she wasn't particularly concerned with it.

"Hmmmm." He wondered aloud about the previous occupation of undead, what had sparked it and if indeed this village had been created by another race other than humans.

His first trek though the village was hasty given the time allotted to him from Tarrek. He still had another day to lounge about and knew his captain would not be in town for that period of time or so he said. The Demon fell into stride behind her keenly noticing that her demeanor had not changed regarding the sun. Along those lines she also marched into the town as if she owned the place, unafraid. That was a trait that could get her killed if what she said about all the people wanting her head was true.

Underneath his midnight cloak T'zarkan rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. In response to her warning he nodded. "I shall keep that in mind m'lady." His voice rung in the silent breeze like the deep gong of a church bell, reverberating against the walls of the city. He like the silence even though an air of comfort was naught to be found in his demeanor...although under his cloak it was hardly noticeable.

Keeping stride with the woman wasn't a hard task as she seemed to march with determination through the streets. Obviously she had been here before and was looking for someone or something. Simply following in her stead was enough for him, feeling as if a slew of questions at this point would only irritate her.

Silently they strode through the town. He recognized houses he had scoped out on his first visit. A silent tavern in the distance and the cliffs off to the north. It was pleasant to know that his memory wasn't failing him. Truthfully a Demon's memory wasn't a failing as they did not age like humans but the thought comforted him that he was so unlike most.

He continued to escort the lady step by step looking out in each direction in caution. The sun rose up above the roof tops and he could start to feel the town come to life. Near the center of the town, near the great fountain, a bell was heard. People began to immerse themselves from behind wooden doorways. It was all like clockwork. Even the streets began to hop to life with travelers. T'zarkan lowered his head to assume a less noticeable posture despite his size and girth but not losing sight of Freya.

She could almost see her spectre scaling the wall of the building closest to the opening of the gate; little more than a hazy hallucination of memory. She focused on it all the same, muscles remembering the perfect protocol filling her form as she slid, catlike, over the roof. Aiden had tailed her, a ratty, prattling mortal boy whose shadow somehow kept up, despite the various times he'd slipped, and fallen. Of course, she walked all the same-- eyes locked on on the hallucination on the roof as they might have been. She watched herself crouch low to the roofs peak, fingers grasping readily at the edge as she observed. Their eyes met.

Shivering, Freya looked forward, breaking eye contact with the illusion as the bells tolled and shifting her weight ever so slightly to avoid running in to any of the passerby's. She slid past them this way, but never once moved her gaze again. Processing. Three vampire leaders had been the only real survivors, unless you wanted to count the remaining ghouls which followed them; though the Sash had made their mark on them before the attack could be called off. She'd even gotten so far as to attack the master, in defense of their client, but the flames had been easily deflected by an undead child, spiraling out of the sky just as though she had somehow known...

But why was she remembering this?

She slowed in the center of the square, turning her head to look as the citizens scurried obliviously past her, just as though nothing had happened. The attack had barely made a mark on them. Not one of them thought to double think, or reconsider. The problem had been solved, and so they had moved on, but something still felt wrong. She was still missing something vital.

She turned to look behind, eyes catching on the shadowy sillouette of a memory kneeling before a familiar violin. The turning of her rings, so that the stones faced inwards, and she had grasped the instrument-- proven that Xanthe spoke only to the woman she wanted to talk to.

The pang of fear that had filled her in that moment, had been unfamiliar enough to commit the scene to memory. Word for word, step by step, barb for barb. Hundreds of undead had been murdered, that day, all around her. Ghouls too brainless to know that what they did was wrong, if it even was. Vampires too young to realize that the living world didn't want them back.

She'd done nothing.

Her hands balled in to fists at her sides as she brought herself back in to the moment and sped her pace again, eyes locking on to the door of the local tavern as she moved. Pissed. It emanated from every too-long stride as her golden eyes began to wander-- looking for the first contender or, graces willing, a damned map. Hundreds of ghouls had been murdered right before her very eyes-- she didn't want to think about what could happen to a vampire who looked thirteen and the little mortal boy who loved her, while she wasn't there to stop it.

Nobody even gave the large demon a second glance. Most of the villagers carried about their lives in a droll, unconcerned manner unbecoming of most humans. To T'zarkan it almost seemed as if death was already upon them. Against the blank faced crowd his companion stood out like a sore thumb. Fists clenched in anger, maybe fear or some other feeling, she strutted down the streets, golden eyes darting from left to right in search of something. Soon enough he was forced to adjust his pace to keep up with her.

Thoughts sparked in his mind of her sudden change in attitude. It wasn't concern that he exhibited but curiosity at the raw emotions displayed by this half demon. For him it was a matter of convenience that pushed him into displaying affection or desire. Time had show the eternal being that even some of the strongest of his kind could be manipulated by such emotions. To some it was a luxury...to him a weakness. His eyes narrowed and he began calculating the relationship he'd started with the woman.

On the horizon the sun rose into the sky. Above to the north milky clouds floated in towards the city along the southern wafting winds coming from the cliffs. A bitter chill passed through his body as if a specter had laid it's hand upon him. This soil of this place was ripe with the blood of many fallen beings. His demented soul could feel the tortured clutch of hundreds of dead spirits reaching out to him.

Perhaps it was Freya that had been the cause of all this death and that was what was bothering her. It was merely an insight but from what stories she had told and her current demeanor it was a likely guess.

Freya's eyes fixated themselves upon the local tavern soon enough. In her mood and with some time to kill perhaps it would be a good idea to take buy her a few drinks and maybe gather some information.

"I see you have your hearts set on the tavern miss. It would be a pleasure to have your company over a few drinks before your departure. Would you do this old Demon the honor of letting me treat you to a few drinks?" T'zarkan pointed off towards the tavern as he spoke, grinning his awkward grin.

Pausing by the door, Freya glanced skeptically over her shoulder toward the speaking demon, one brow arching as she took a moment just to let him see precisely how skeptical those golden eyes were. There were very few things demons could be said to have in common, but one of those things was a certain way of speaking. For most, it was a thing of eloquence-- an art form of it's own kind, which could trade truth for falsehood in an instant flat. T'zarkan, for what little speaking that he did, was following the trend quite nicely.

"Kay." She answered quite simply, continuing to stare at him for a longer moment before she finally reached for the door, and jerked it open.

The tavern was almost empty. A single tender leaned against the bar, wiping resentfully at some spilled beer as the vampire pivoted and stepped inside. He didn't even look up until she had neared the bar, and even then it was only because her gauntleted hand found itself in the way of his rag, and her eyes pointedly on his face.

"Can I help you?" The expression on his face was irritation for precisely three seconds, before he recognized the woman as the one who had attacked a vampire master right outside of pub. As though they had shared some secret message, both stood straight, and Freya glanced behind again.

But she didn't speak again. Instead, she kicked one of the stools out from under the bar, and took a seat, resting her elbows on the edge of the bar as her chin found the heels of her palms. Her legs began to sway from side to side, not quite long enough to make it to the floor.

Arched up so that it formed almost an upside down check his eyebrows portrayed his dumbfounded persona at Freya's response. Luckily his hood should have covered the greater portion of his facial expressions. Again the Demon simply tucked in his arms and followed her into the tavern, tucking his head down towards his chest so that he could fit through the door frame.

Inside warm air wafted against his face instantly drying his moistened skin from the long flight through the rain during the previous night. The tavern was actually truly empty this early in the morning. Deprived of rest but not tired, T'zarkan did not query such factors into his repertoire of factorials, he took a seat next to her. Casually he cocked his head to the side observing the bar tender's reaction to her appearance.

He smiled wide bringing his thick arms up to his hood and drawing it back to reveal his horns, his rocky skin and his brilliant white eyes hiding behind a pointedly toothy smile. "What would you have then my dear? I know I would like some of your mead good sir." He said keeping his smile wide.

The morning was barely beginning and he knew that this tavern stayed empty for a good portion of the morning while the keeper set up. There was a slim to nil chance that any commotion would be had by judging the manner of the bar keeper. He stiffened up straight as a stick as he looked into T'zarkans milky eyes. The man tried to stammer something out but the Demon held his hand up to stop him mid stutter.

"I assure you good man we are only here to relax after a long journey. We have good money and I, for one, am not looking for a brawl."

That awkwardly "too happy for a demon" smile stuck on his face through the entire conversation as he reverted his attention back to Freya as her legs wobbled back and forth. The crisp, cold morning air carried through one of the few windows in the tavern as silence set over the trio. Taking in a deep breath of the succulent flesh smelling air T'zarkan let his smile fade quickly and dropped his facade momentarily to relax. At least the man hadn't made any true alarm yet.

"Looking for a brawl, or not, it's not like you would find one here." Though she spoke to T'zarkan, she kept her eyes on the mortal tender before her. Uncertainly, the boy turned away to begin awkwardly filling the first of their pair of mugs.

"Whiskey." She answered the question flickering across his eyes before it could come again, and he turned sharply to grab the bottle as she picked at the belt-like clasps of her gauntlets. "Only half full."

Laying the gauntlet out on the counter before her, she leaned back ever so slightly as she watched the boy work. She cast a glance back over her shoulder, toward the door, and sniffed. Her original assessment wasn't exactly inaccurate, but there was no real way of telling what would or wouldn't come through. Moun was a quiet town, but also a pit-stop on far too many journeys to consider themselves truly shrouded in any kind of solid shadow.

She wasn't what one might have called concerned. Purebane stayed on her back, sheathed-- but ready for anything; her tip brushing nearer to the floor behind the vampire than her feet could reach. It was as wide as she was-- not that such was any kind of accomplishment for a weapon of her caliber, but mentionable thanks to the fact that it was acting as sort of a shield, for the moment. Edmunds blade dangled from her hip, half lifted by a leg which found it's way bent, and it's ankle looped in to the wrung of the stool. If combat was to come, she'd be ready for it. All she was missing were her rings.

She couldn't help but wonder, vaguely, whether or not Darshe had even received her message yet. Seeing as he hadn't teleported to somewhere directly over her head solely to prove her wrong, it was a relatively safe bet that he hadn't. Probably too busy with work; somewhere else entirely where he didn't have time for such paltry things as fairwells or humanities. He was quite possibly the only man she knew who could stay so busy for so long, and never get anything done.

All the same, the thought of him stung. The trial hadn't been for him, but she couldn't have expected him to have been found so very wanting. Xanthe had even seemed ready to attack him-- but had thought better of it, given the situation at hand. Freya's opinion hadn't wandered far from that of her niece. Still didn't. From this angle, slipping her balance off of the stool and on to one leg would have been a simple matter-- launching the wood like a projectile at a face, even easier.

The skin above her waistband, normally covered by a sash of golden silk, felt cold. Somehow more vulnorable without it. It left the thick, matted scar over her hip and side wide open for interpretation and question, though she paid little mind. It was of no more consequence than the thirteen crosses mottled across her chest, or the puncture wounds which dotted the crook of both sides of her neck. Still, putting down her guard wasn't going to be an option for a while.

"So what do you drink to, T'zarkan?" Her first attempt at conversation wasn't any more graceful than it was timely, as the requested mugs thudded against the counter in front of them. One hand swept over the bladed surface of her remaining gauntlet, leaving a series of small slices in her palm in the wake before she squeezed her fist over the drink, and filled another quarter of it with the blood. The world around her seemed to slow, to take a breath and steal a pulse as she brought her palm to her lips and licked the wounds away.

Whispers of the damned filled his ears in the moment of silence between the three only to be torn from his ears by the melodic ring of Freya's voice. If he'd thought there would be a brawl or that he would be the cause of it T'zarkan was sure it would already be underway. Something about the blathering reassurances of the people of these mortal realms dulled his sense. He relaxed his upright posture and leaned back into the creaking wooden chair letting his arms hang down at this sides, right next to his sword with one, and his legs stretch across the vastness of the underside of the table. The Demon let out a deep sigh.

She fiddled with her gauntlets tenderly working the clasps and taking a keen interest to the business end. As soon as the whiskey glass, half full as she'd ordered it, arrived with his flagon of mead for him she made small incisions in her free hand to let the blood drip into her drink. It was purely for taste as a vampire could not sustain themselves, as he'd found out, on their own blood.

One thing that he found fascinating about the creatures was their pulse. Blood readily pumped through their body at a heightened rate and, when one was...punctured..., they would release gushing flows of their ever so sought after sanguine serenity. The blood trickled into her cup and the Demon watched as she lavishly sipped it up, his keen senses seeing her pupils dilate with some sort of asphyxiation to the taste.

T'zarkan grinned once more. With lightning reflexes his hand shot out and clutched around the frightened boy who gasped at the heated touch. The Demon narrowed his eye sight into the boys own eyes, slowly tilting his head. He could feel the boy shaking, unable to move from pure shock. The increased heart rate he could feel at the boys wrist told him exactly what he was thinking.

"Steady now boy. Don't move and I wont hurt you...too bad."

The thumb of his attached to the hand gripping around the bar tender's arm drew an inch deep incision close to a vein. The boy gasped once more and tears began to well in his eyes though T'zarkan took no head. "Pleeeease...I don't want to die..." The boy said trembling with fear. He chuckled behind his devious grin, T'zarkan, and replied, "I assure you that you shall live to see the day through. I only require this little token." The blood welled up into a pool on top of the outstretched arm before he tightened his grip and twisted the boys arm over his own flagon.

Steadily he felt the heart beat of the boy drop and he released him, sliding his hand over the open wound. He brought the blood covered hand to his mouth and licked some on of his fingers. "Theeeere. Not so bad was it." T'zarkan said in a deep and maniacal tone. The bar keep flinched at the sight of him holding his wound and sobbing.

Dropping a few gold coins on the desk, very much more than the drinks were worth, and gesturing to the boy with the bloody hand he said, "For your services and your closed mouth. We shall not bother you again."

The Demon turned to Freya, grin faded into a smug face as he stretched out the bloody hand to her. "Perhaps you would like a taste dear? No biting." The corners of his lips twisted up as he spoke to her. The blood was fresh and warm against his skin, sweet as honey to his lips. "And as for what I'm drinking to...how about our good health."

A dark chuckle came from deep within his throat as the bartender swiftly grabbed the coins and rushed off behind the counter to wrap his wounds.

Eyes flickering toward T'zarkan, she watched him grab the kids arm in silence, though she did lift an eyebrow toward the words shared.

"A little dramatic, don't you think." She looked back toward her drink, swishing it around to mix the liquids, and shaking her head very slowly. It was one thing to feed for sustenance-- quite another to do it for recreation. Not that she was a stranger to either reason. She'd been on the giving end often enough to avoid venturing any particular pity for the the terror the boy felt, but that that didn't mean she wanted to be anywhere near the receiver. She knew just how far such things could go.

Comparatively, he was jumping at shadows.

The scent of the offering did bring a twitch to her nose, but she merely lifted an eyebrow toward him. He really expected her to lick his finger for a little human blood? Really?

"Jonus," She summoned as she turned to lean over the counter, voice patient despite the budding temper in her eyes. "One more thing, while you're still frazzled enough to just sort've answer me;" She took a sip from her drink, waiting for his head to peak before she went on, "In which direction is North Cliff?"

"T-t-t-t-th--" He didn't quite get the words out, but he lifted an arm to point.

Freya nodded deeply, lifting a hand to signal that he could stop. "Very good, thank you; you can go back in to hiding now."

She leaned back as he did, and sighed, shaking her head.

"You really are out of practice, aren't you, adventurer?" She mused, and sipped her whiskey. "Redemption doesn't like demons very much, you know." Or vampires, but she left the meaning of the words for interpretation.

T'zarkan shrugged unconcerned with her rejection to the offering. With a quick fling of his wrist the blood splattered against the floor and he reached over, taking a sip of his mead. It cooled his throat as it slid down to his stomach only to dissolve meaninglessly.

"Dramatic? I say that anyone that doesn't live their life with a bit of flare is simply holding themselves back, don't you agree?" The words came out like spilled blood, oozing with a dark and lively tone. The two of his momentary guests exchanged a few words before the boy, Jonas, gave her a direction to North Cliff. It must have been across the seas, the Recel Ocean as he had heard of it.


Bellowing out a deep throaty laugh at the mention of Redemption's hatred for Demons coming from a half demon was humorous to say the least. "To say that anyone likes a Demon in any world that my lungs have drawn in the putrid air of...quite obvious." He chuckled and continued after another sip of his mead. "I wouldn't say out of practice but simply plagued with a string of boredom."

T'zarkan tensed just the slightest and deviated from his speech as he felt he may let on to his intentions.

"Sooo, North cliff hmmm? I here that is quite the trek...or flight as you'd have it I believe. Shall you be heading there across the shoreline or over the ocean?" He pondered to himself of what he had traversed in the time. Yes, indeed he had been to that little smuggler hold. In fact that was where he had just been from and soon would be returning to with his new pirate captain, Tarrek. How the fates had played T'zarkan his cards. T'was there he'd been deigned the "Reaper of the Cliffs" though a face or a name to his title was naught amongst the village, much to his luck.

There were so many things that she could say. Either the demon was naive, or headful-- and with demons it could really go either way. From his so called 'flare' to his announcement of the apparently obvious, she could have torn him a new one. Every word he spoke on the matter went against every principle she had learned-- her ways of survival in subtlety. She always killed her prey, swept up the leftovers-- no witnesses. But Darshe had thought -she- was bad.

And she'd had too many close encounters to count. With that type of mindset, the demon wasn't going to make it too far in a world governed by the Aesir. Not without the proper education. She knew what it was like to step in to a world she didn't know, had been moved nearly to desperation with her inability to adapt. It was her reason behind adopting Aliciel-- though now, it wasn't a newly born vampire in need of her experience, it was a demon new to the lightened world.

Whatever his intentions, he had tried to defend her in the clearing. He had chosen to manifest his existence in her little world, benevolently-- which meant that there was some benevolence to him, despite his productions. She owed him that favor, at least.

She leaned back in her chair, shrugging ever so slightly as she let herself settle in to the idea of actually sitting there for more than the moment it would take to excuse herself politely.

"I'm going to fly that way," She answered, lifting a finger to point in the general direction that the boy had indicated. "What's on ground level while I do it, isn't really my concern."

Primarily because she was fairly sure that there would be something, she'd have had to grant him if he had asked-- particularly now that her visit to the only tavern in Moun had been made so memorable. Not that she minded, but it required a slight addition and reworking of her plans. The changes were already in motion.

She took another sip from her whiskey, and placed the glass on the table, watching the reddish amber of the liquid seem to become richer in color before her very eyes. Breath came easier to her now. Thoughts more fluid. Her own blood didn't actually add any sustenance to her body, but it did appease the thirst of her mind; and that was the part that was hard to control. Beyond that, it smoothed the whiskey's trekk in to her system. With each proper measurement, she decided her level of impairment before she took a sip.

"You said you needed information on the world." She flicked her eyes back up toward him, crossing her arms. "As I understand it, the Aesir rule the majority of Ardania, and are making moves for Iridia. I attacked one of them-- a professor, apparently, in Deep Forest, but I've also received word of a presence in Sanctuary, and Nazca." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"It doesn't look good. The Regent of Nazca got kicked out of his seat, and some Aesiran bastard took his place. I only heard about Sanctuary once-- and then it went silent again. Worse, something is happening in Tristan." She paused, and looked away. The light was spreading quickly over Redemption, cutting down on her hunting grounds. She had every intention of fighting back, but she had too many liabilities to take matters in to her own hands just yet. She could protect her children from angry townspeople and angry vampires, but Gods?

At the mention of the current events he straightened up, drawing his legs back in towards him and resting his head in his left hand, arm rested on the table before them. The half demon spoke of a war brought on by a god figure that wrestled for the control of the lands. What god fights his own creations for the land that he created... He thought to himself, eventually drawing a definitive conclusion that it was just a power drunk immortal with a hunger for control. He'd seen the type before.

Sharp nails drug their way across his chin as he pondered the situation at hand. "So it's the Aesir fighting...you of course and who else then? You've mentioned nary a breath of what other players are on the field." Hazy recollections of his journeys around the lands of Redemption flooded back to him as he formed his next sentences with care.

"I've come far and traveled many roads, dark lady, and have tried to commit them to my memories. From the Dark World to North Cliff, Ascantha and Nazca even, most major ports and back again...trying to stay out of trouble you see." That last part he added a grin to for effect. "On that note, if you are heading to North Cliff I'd suggest traveling by sea."

T'zarkan relaxed his body again but kept it tightly formed. Against his prideful nature he took Freya's hint and threw up his cloak once more around his head making sure to carefully hide away his horns. "If you'd like, I have the means to provide such transportation." He left it at that to judge her response before heading any further into his personal matters.

So he wanted to know who the other players on the field were? Freya could empathize. She hadn't even known that there was a field, much less players for it, until Xanthe had found her by the Well of Syn. How long had it been? Barely a week, but a week too long. There would be no rest for Freya, she knew.

Still, however lamely, she tried, "Well, there's my niece..." and trailed off, finishing her whiskey with one hearty gulp, and taking a moment to note the effects. She was thinking more clearly than she had in quite some time-- the whiskey serving as just enough momentum to keep her cheerful, the blood enough to refine her focus. "Over enemy lines. An Earth Alchemist... I don't know her name; and an assassin which used to work for them. I don't know who else."

She paused, letting him speak his piece on alternate modes of travel, and looked away. Her eyes glazed faintly as she considered his words, plans arranging and rearranging before her eyes as she fell silent. She'd had every intention of making a stand shortly before reaching North Cliff, but if what the demon said was true... it might not have been necessary.

She paused, and glanced over her shoulder, back toward the bar. It would fit, but trying to keep a crew alive when she finally let go wasn't necessarily her idea of a good time. Then again, if the crew was related to the very same demon she'd just watch terrify poor Jonus... it was almost a guarantee that they'd seen worse.

"Alright." She agreed finally, seeming to return from a trance as her eyes moved toward him, and she leaned back in her chair. Did he really think traveling further with her would yield any good? Did he really think he could handle her presence? Alright. "These means of yours going to be pissed off if I start killing people?"

An evil grin tempted to form at the corners of his pressed lips as she agreed to come along with him and his ship. Finally. Things are starting to move along. I grow weary of the countless fools on this planet. He though to himself as he stood from his seat, finishing the last sip of his mead in a large gulp. The drink dissolved like water in an arid desert in his stomach like everything else and the demon was none the more impaired than he was when he entered the place...but his thirst for blood was indeed quenched for now.

"No M'lady, I do not think killing will be necessary but I...well I do not think that among a crew of pirates that your drive to spill blood will be neglected. Tarrek would like to see his crew in one piece I would only assume yet we do tend to make a few...side stops if you catch my drift?"

T'zarkan wrapped his large, talon like fingers around the top of his iron cast mug, looking over at the boy cowering in the distance, and set it down with a *thump*. The boy jumped and slid back to the wall as the demon continued to stare him down. Letting go of the mug he slowly turned back to his companion.

"Get some rest then, if indeed you rest, and do feed won't you? No need for sickness on the high seas." His legs began to work autonomously of his body, leading him towards the door and out into the crowd of the city. Pulling his cloak tight around his head T'zarkan pushed against the door turning only for a second to speak with Freya.

"Tomorrow. Meet at the docks and we shall be underway. I shall arrange passage aboard the ship...my friend."

He turned without another word and vanished into the crowd.

She tried not to grin at the assumption that her thirst for blood would be the hindering factor in her presence on a ship; and leaned back to listen to the rest of the spiel, in silence. He suggested that she feed, and in some distant corner of her mind, she agreed-- though perhaps not for the same reasons. She'd have no problems with controlling herself, she just wasn't particularly looking forward to another temporary diet of rats. She remembered full well, the results of the last.

As he vanished through the door, she sighed, and didn't move for another full moment. Even then, it was merely to let her head fall back, and release a sigh.

"Jonus," She called, and bit down hard on her lower lip. "Another whiskey. Just fill it up this time."

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Not until night fell and the tavern was beginning to fill, did Freya move from her seat. As though called to life again by the silvery rays of the moon, she took to the shadows she had abandoned so very long ago. At first, her practice was a bit sloppy-- restless; devoid of the discipline her clan had given her, but she adjusted quickly. Only twice did she lose sight of her prey, cast away in to shadows by the lamp-lights of their homes. The third, she followed for quite some time.

A farmer. A drunkard. She trailed him back and forth across the village five times, heard the thud of his battered wife against the wall not far from the window in to which she peered. Had caught him mere steps from his front door, in the beginning of his sixth trip back to the bar, and plucked him from the street like the parasite that he was.

His death wasn't quick, but it was quiet. In the shadows of his own barn, she severed his vocal cords to drink her fill, never once moving again until she had drained from him every last drop.

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As the sun began to rise, Freya tore through the bloodless dead flesh of the man's neck and stood, letting the corpse fall from her lap however it would. Not a drop spilled, not a drop wasted-- she brushed herself off nevertheless as she spat out the chunk of flesh she'd earned, nose crinkling with disgust. It had never really been her favorite method of kill, but it was a handy trick for the vampire-on-the-go-- make the proper wound, and suspicious townspeople suspected supernatural animals before her presence or her identity even crossed their mind. She'd be gone before her prey was even found, of course, but one could never be too careful.

Brushing hair from her face, she sighed and stepped around the corpse as she lifted her fingers to pick at the bits of skin that clung between her teeth as she made her way toward the docks. She was still going to need some rest, but the blood would keep her awake for just a little while longer-- long enough to get her on a ship which might have offered her just a moment of moving rest; at least.

T'zarkan had mad his way around town throughout the day listening for quips of information from the passer by. To everyone else he was just another dark robed traveler passing through their dreary town. It was all nods and short replies for him and the sense of distance grew ever the more present on him among the throngs of mortals.

After the town had settled he found a cozy little alley and rested against the wall for some peace and quiet. There he rested until the morning. Perhaps he would see action soon with his new comrade.

The morning sun sparkled against his open eyes as the first rays of light grazed across the horizon. How long had he been in this world? To him the time spent in solitude was infinitely more enjoyable though watching a man die by his hands had its own...gratifying sense about it. He rose to his feet, pressing his right arm against the building he rested against to balance himself quickly, shook his head of cloudiness and made his way to the docks.

As expected, Captain Tarrek was waiting on the pier shouting orders at his crew. Without even turning to face T'zarkan the wizened old captain barked, "Bout time you got your grimy cahoots out this way. Now hop aboard and get ur lazy arse ta work. Maybe we'll even see about letting ya do some real mans work may that we drift on past a helpless vessel on our waters."

The Demon tilted his head to the right as he considered cutting down the man right then and there. It wasn't wise, the man had taken him on his crew even after knowing of his true identity and promised the thrills of battle whenever possible. Truly he used him for transportation and an easy means of information gathering but he'd act out his blood lust in the mean time. "Yes Captain. I've stumbled across a rare treasure sir and would like to take it aboard if you have no qualms." He said in his typical deeper than deep voice.

Finally the captain turned to face T'zarkan. It looked as if his eyes had all the sudden doubled in size. "A treasure thou says do ye? Sparkly in essence maybe? Care to share a little peak with an old man like me?" Tarrek said, eyes afire with a lust for gold and riches like none he'd ever seen before. Mad, the man was truly truly mad.

"Well...Captain." T'zarkan returned, glaring beneath his cloak at the greedy pirate. "It's less of a sparkly item and more of a soft one I think. A person, as it be."

All the excitement and wonder in the Captain's eyes faded quickly and was replaced with a scowl. Chipped yellow teeth gnarled against each other behind the mans fiery red beard. "Bah. We'll be taken' enough stow away's as it is you filthy creature. I hadn't the clue that a creature such as yourself would be the friend makin' type anyways." He took another step forward, squinting his eyes to peer underneath the cloak. "What's yer game Demon...?"

Before he could try him any further T'zarkan spun around towards the city and gazed off in the distance to see if Freya was near. Now would be the time if ever there was one. The Demons patience was growing thin with the loony captain barking around.

She heard the captain before she met him. An insufferable git, if she'd ever had the great misfortune of coming across one-- the typical fare for the aid of a pirate. She didn't exactly have room to complain, but she didn't remove her spiked armor before she came within the mortal's eyeshot, either. The sun did sparkle from each deadly arc, blade, and obsidian spike; but the vampire had a feeling it wasn't the type of golden gleam the captain had hoped for with her initial introduction.

"My name is Purebane." She made her own, chin lifting ever so slightly as her eyes glinted, and long, haste driven strides brought her closer to the ship with every passing moment. She shifted ever so slightly, her name-sake blade clanging against the metal of spiked shoulder guards as she pulled it's leather strap tighter under the breastplate; as though she needed the extra noise to make her statement. Newly fed, her skin maintained it's flushed hue, moving the simple momentum of her muscles to a focused, pinpricked drive. She very nearly didn't stop beside the demon, eyes focused impatiently further for a moment, before finally they rolled to rest on the puny human captain.

If he really, -really- wanted to deny her, she had no qualms with simply killing him and taking his ship; but as long as her invitation was open, she was stuck with the tedious business of playing nice. The fact was proudly displayed in everything from her stance, to her facial expression, and the lethal glint of her golden eyes.

"Unless you're looking forward to a slow and painful death, I think you'll find my amiable presence to be well worth the cost of... space, that I might require."

She looked back toward T'zarkan, for a moment, before she looked forward again, gauntleted hands dropping to rest on her hips.

"I can be very helpful, after all." And very persuasive, when blood could well have been her reward.