[Suzerain of Sheol]

Shealtiel exits the APC with the others, making sure to bring his cane for what surely will be a long trek across the island. He is unsure what to expect ahead, though from his time studying in Greece, he knows that Thasos was once a rich town of high culture, renowned for its vineyards. They should be able to find something to sustain them left behind, assuming others haven't already plundered the island, or claimed it as their home. Unlikely, though, given how close this region lies to the Infernal Sea.

He senses more than hears or sees Kasdeja walk past him, the Nephilim staring into the distant ruins without regard for his companions. And then, without a word, he sets off, unmindful of whether any of the others follow him, his alien eyes searching the landscape ahead in a constant survey. Something has apparently awoken his interest.

[Serra Britt]

Feenai just watched from the driver's seat as everyone else prepared and left the vehicle. She was emotionally and physically drained from the prior events and was not prepared to deal with what she felt from this city. Regardless, she slid out of her seat, slung the laser over her shoulder, and took one each of her grenades. Tired or not, I'd better stay with the others.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

They set off for the ruins, climbing the rubble of what were once tiered heights housing marvels of stone and civilization. It is quiet, the air cool for the Mediterranean climate.

As they go deeper, they begin to find intact structures, old homes on the high hills, the remains of lavish manses fallen into apocalyptic disrepair.

They stop in the dust-blanketed remnants of a square, a dried-up fountain sitting cracked and eroded in the center. On all sides, balconied villas stand abandoned, high walls surrounding desiccated vineyards that were once the pride and richness of Thasos. As far as they can tell, the homes are intact within, beaten down by the weather, but spared the ransacking that befell so many havens of civilization in the wake of the Calamity.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Out of breath from the walk, leaning heavily on his cane, Shealtiel stands with the others -- the lack of food any time in the past month, and his refusal to rely on capsules is beginning tax even his Sheol-granted resistance to hunger. Not to mention, he still has not quite recovered from his exertions in exorcising Mithaias' Dybbuk, and a deep weariness has set into his bones. If some new threat rears its head on this isle, there is little Shealtiel will be able to do to assist.

"These buildings look mostly preserved," he says, glancing around the square through half-shut eyes. "We may be able to find supplies, but we should be wary. I'm far too weary even to sense for hostile spirits. Feenai, Michael, can you detect anything?"

[Salone]

Na'lsa walked beside the old man, slowing his pace to stay with him. His eyes scanned the dusty buildings before them, catching the dried and cracked fountain for a moment before looking onward. The place was deserted as far as he could tell, dust settling in to what was now less traveled doorways and alleys. He smirked, speaking mostly to himself as he took in the place as a whole.

"A sad little town for a sad little king, the dust from whence he came being his only subjects until he rejoins them. Makes one wonder if someone is mad enough to occupy these ruins."

He paused, as if listening to Lev's voice inside his head. He nodded, speaking a bit louder the second time around.

"Watch the rooftops. Watch the doorways. Watch everything. If there's something in this town, they're watching...always watching."

[Serra Britt]

Feenai answers Shealtiel's inquiry quickly. "If they are watching, like Na'lsa says," answering also to his statement, "they are doing so while asleep. I can sense several people but they all seem to be asleep, or at least very sedated."

[Espy]

"Are you sure that's 'very sedated'?" asked Dante, gesturing in the general direction of a brighter aura that could be seem even through the red haze emanating from Kasdeja. Besides that strange aura, he saw several wavering lights, scattered here and there. Spirits still too attached to this world?

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Shealtiel looks around the square nervously, taking note of the many, many places an enemy could be hiding. Whatever is living here seems to be mostly terrestrial if none of the others can sense it, but humans can be just as dangerous as demons, and perhaps more cruel.

"I don't like this," he grunts, starting to stalk off toward one of the buildings, leaning heavily on his cane. "We're too exposed out here. Let's get what we came for." He is far weaker than he cares to admit, and terribly hungry, too, now that the prospect of food is so near.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

A little away from where the rest of the group were gathered, Dara was already working on the search for food and supplies, skirting around around the sides of houses and forest edges, looking for tended gardens or other signs that people still lived here. Farmed plants gone wild and still surviving were a ready source of food she's taken advantage of in the past around her rural home.

[Funkduder]

Michael contacted the Aether Satellite in the first time in apparently a longer time than he originally thought. Time flew by in the confines of the APC.
"A map of the area suggests that there shouldn't be people here. The life that you sense might be anything from raiders to reapers." He drew the incendiary laser. The other gun in his coat was safely off, and due to his grudging behavior against the Nephilim, he hadn't looked at it thoroughly, yet.

[Salone]

"I don't care what's here."

Na'lsa muttered under his breath as he approached one of the dwellings, sizing up the door. A quick feel of the door knob told him that it was locked. Frowning, he turned away from the door...

And a second later his leg went crashing through as the heavy wood was thrown from its hinges. It was a childish display of the raw power he had acquired, but under his skin he brimmed with a power begging to be used, like a racehorse demanding to run. He surveyed the dusty entrance way for only a moment before shouting towards the sky.

"Is someone here?! Does someone occupy this hovel?!"

He took a moment to breathe, reigning himself in. The heart he had consumed had granted him an immense surge of raw power and might, but the energy of it was changing him, begging him to execute the power he had been bestowed. Like the mad Priest before him, what he had been granted should be used, lest it not be wasted by time itself.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

A moment passes...

Another.

The silence seems fraught, charged with potentials of violence. The darkness of the villa beckons, taunting the demon...

After what seems an unbearable expanse of time, a woman appears from the shadows within, her form relaxed and nonthreatening. Her hair is shorn, like some ancient penitent's, and she wears a simple, homespun robe. In her eyes, 'Na'lsa can see as she draws near to the doorway, is a distant, almost chilling calm.

[Espy]

...And of course Na'lsa would take the privilege of announcing their presence to the world.

Dante turned around at the sudden shattering of silence. A smaller light was half blotted out by an inky darkness streaked red with bloodlust, what he assumed was Na'lsa.

Would that be a lesser spirit? Dante slowly walked closer. It certainly didn't seem...too...dangerous.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Shealtiel leans over toward Dante, speaking softly in hopes of not being heard by the stranger.

"I don't like this," he says. "Stop him, if you can. I'm too weak. We don't know what else lurks on this isle. Inciting a bloodbath could be disastrous. We need succor, not slaughter."

[Salone]

"Ha! There you are! Displayed for the whole...world..."

Na'lsa had raised his hands in mock greeting when the figured appeared. Now he trailed off, finding her presence rather...anti climactic. Dropping his hands, he let loose a sigh of disappointment. He began pacing around her, puzzled by her calm demeanor. After a minute he placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing close and smelling her skin. A sickeningly sweet smell of serenity rose up through his nostrils, his mind clouded for just one moment with tranquility. For the moment...

He was old. Wrinkled. His joints ached. It felt good to sit in his rocking chair. Springtime had come in full bloom. The daffodils had flowered nicely this year, and their bright yellow petals shown wondrously as the evening sun showered them in light. He smiled as he took in the small garden he had cultivated with the love and devotion of someone with all the time in the world. He took a peppermint candy from his pocket and fiddled with the wrapper. The candy wrapper finally gave way, and his creased old hand met his mouth as he tasted the little mint. It was strong, what a peppermint should be. He closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the evening. Mint on his tongue, the smell of daffodils (his favorite), and the soft sun warming his skin. He was at peace with the world.

For the moment...

He recoiled in full horror, arm hiding his face. That memory had not been one of his. He had shared lives with hundreds, but never had he seen anything like that. Nothing so calm, so innocent, so...at peace with the world. Not one of his.

Na'lsa cleared his throat, speaking in a shaking tone.

"You're not one of my brethren. You reek of...something else. What the devil are you?"

[Suzerain of Sheol]

The woman looks up into Na'lsa's eyes, unafraid, blinking perhaps once every minute. Clearly seen now, a pewter pendants hangs from her throat, the image of an incredibly-complex symbol that seems at once to invite endless gazing into its labyrinthine depths, and forbid the unwary eye that falls upon it. She speaks.

"There is... something unearthly about you." Her words are rose-petals. "Did He send you? Our great master? We have waited so long for a sign."

She takes a single step back, entirely unperturbed by the demon's proximity, and addresses them all. "I am Mehetabel."

From among the surrounding buildings, other are appearing now, slowly, all of them possessed of the same unfailing air of calm. They are barefoot, wearing homespun robes, and for all their isolation, looking well-fed and healthy. None of them speak, or move beyond a safe distance from the group.