[Quiet Man Cometh]

Seeing the approach of the local folk towards the group, Dara stops her exploring and moves back to where the others stand, but remains on the edge of the woods, instinctively unobtrusive, and watches the encounter play out between her latest travelling company and the newcomers.

[Serra Britt]

Feenai tentatively senses the people. They...still seem asleep! Something is terribly wrong here... She spoke up, "I'm not sure what's going on, they seem very sedated." She paused, then continued, "I'm not very sure what to do about this."

[Espy]

Twisted. Twisted, twisted, twi-- Dante shook his head rather violently, perhaps in part hoping to unhinge it and clear out his apparently-cloudy vision.

I'm either in desperate need of a cleaning service, or something is utterly messed up here... He could sense the anxiety in a few people in his group, but the overall calmness...it was unnerving. Unnervingly quiet and slow. But the sense of foreboding...Maybe it's just us.

[Salone]

Na'lsa nodded in a solemn gesture, suddenly taking on the somberness of someone mourning for a loss.

"Our lord Father who thou art in Heaven, who is no longer with us, has not sent me. I have however, risen beyond my station in life to answer a much higher call."

He stepped back a bit, speaking louder for those nearby to hear him. Clearly basking in the limelight, he spoke in such enraptured conviction that every word carried his own power behind them.

"I am Na'lsa. I am the opposite of what should stand before you. I am a demon of Gluttony. Hunger incarnate. The physical embodiment of the urge to consume and waste all. But no more! I have thrown off that which shackled me! No more am I a slave to that which sired me! For I have looked to the Heavens and chosen a new Father. And that Father is the very Lord that created this Earth. And in choosing to accept him, I have taken the charge to gather all that is needed for me to ascend...and throw open once again the gates to Heaven itself!"

He threw his arms open wide, going on in his fanatical tone as he continued preaching.

"For I imagine a world where in death those who have done well receive their just reward. I see no pain or misery. Bountiful harvests in all eternity, where loved ones are already waiting. Where your very soul is free from the torment of this life and the very Beast himself. Of everything that has plagued us! With the gates thrown open, we can restore balance! Will you help me build this world?"

He panted, eyes ablaze with a light that he could feel deep within him, raw power pulsing in his body. Even he was not entirely safe from his own propaganda.

[Funkduder]

Micheal followed Lev more cautiously towards the doorway. He knew that even if Lev wanted to die kicking down doors, he would not. But at the first words he heard, he paused, enchanted by something so...beautiful in nature. Without seeing the woman who's voice it had came from, he immediately dropped gaurd. There was a sense of joy beyond the normal feelings that he could gain from other people. Was this love, or simple bliss that floated into his mind and excited his heart so?

And then Na'lsa's preaching brought it all crashing down, for Michael knew the nature of the demon already, and it enraged his enchanted mind. "NO. HE IS NOT!" he shouted, storming into the household.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Mehetabel stares up at Na'lsa for a moment, considering, perhaps somewhat puzzled. Her fingers briefly reach up to touch her medallion, as though seeking an answer.

"Forgive me," she begins in answer. "My great master is, as yet, not quite so lofty, nor so great in might that we, nor he, could name him God." She lifts the pendant to show it more closely to the demon. "Behold, the sacred magen of Metatron, our Lord Synthronos. Too long has the throne of Heaven sat empty, and we believe, we know, that the greatest of the angels has not succumbed. He merely waits for us to prove our faith, that we our worthy to be ruled, for him to ascend to the...."

Her voice fails as Michael comes bursting inside. She raises a hand to him, looking into the young Artificer with her serene gaze. "Peace," she says softly, the words an extension of her eyes. "There is no cause for fear. Metatron protects."

Outside, the other cultists (as they appear to be) begin to edge closer to the group, as one beginning to murmur in a low, barely-audible chant or mantra as they draw near. They all carry the same hauntingly-vacant expression.

[Salone]

"I don't think you quite understand. I will acquire the power needed to reopen Heaven, if from willing volunteers or broken spirits."

He stretched his arms, loosening himself up as He felt tension building. Inside, he felt an old instinct rising to the surface of his mind - hunger. The distraction from Michael only Allowed him to drop his act quicker, his more savage side beginning to show.

"I am Hunger. I consume the very power woven to your flesh. Those who stand against me will be consumed, their flesh fuel and their very soul repurposed for the glory of a Heaven reborn!"

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Shealtiel, ignoring the others and their meaningless gibbering, hobbles off toward where Na'lsa stands ready to erupt into violence. Wheezing for the effort, he hastens as fast as he can, hoping to intervene before the demon destroys their chances of getting aid here.

Will an appeal to the creature's mad delusion work...?

"My lord. Na'lsa," Shealtiel says between coughs as he passes into the building. "Think of your frail flock. Look at me! We fail, we falter. You are strong, strong beyond mortal ken, but we are weak, frail and human. Remember why we came here."

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he adds, "And besides, it may be that these are allies in your cause you are threatening. Perhaps wisdom would dictate patience, here?"

He has never heard of this Cult of the Synthronos before, but knowledge of Metatron was certainly part of his studies in... in his life before. More than just the chief of the angels, Metatron was more a lesser God, empowered with absolute authority to judge. His disappearance in the wake of the Almighty's suicide has never been explained or explored, what with the gates of Heaven sealed, but could it be that he survived?

Shealtiel briefly entertains the horrifying thought of Metatron taking up the Sariel's black mantle, but no... surely he would have heard of such a thing. Surely all the world would have perished by now...

[Funkduder]

Although Michael was calmed, slightly by the words of Mehetabel, he raised his gun at the threat made by Na'lsa. "You will not desecrate the peace made by these people of good will!" he said, resolved to protect the girl more than the actual group. As much as he wished to trust in fate, enchanted by the voice of the woman, his mind wrapped rationality around the infatuation. He was a breaker of faith in his past profession, and those who remained in trust would die, and without a god of any sort to justly govern the souls of the departed, dying quickly became an even more unfortunate fate than was feared.

[Salone]

Na'lsa tilted his head, listening to the voice of reason that was Shealtiel. Unfortunately for the hunger building inside him, the old man made valid points. With a shrug his aggression disappeared.

"Forgive me, brethren. My last meal didn't exactly agree with me. You are what you eat, and the last one was a bit...mad."

His eyes found Michael and his gun, giving him a look of amusement. He turned to face him, presenting an easy target for him.

"Go on. Silly man with your silly weapon. I am woven to this flesh, and this flesh bends to my will. All flesh does, with enough persuasion. Pull the trigger. You will waste a single bullet, and then I will make sure you never waste another."

[Serra Britt]

Not sure if it was the calming peace of the crowd or her own will of not wishing to see more fighting between her companions, Feenai stepped directly between Michael and Na'lsa. Many things ran through her mind, of things to say to de-escalate the confrontation, but her throat closed on all of them, afraid to have them turn their ire on herself.

Instead she gazed upon the pendant that the woman had shown to Na'lsa. It was beautifully made but even with all her journeys through Network databanks, she had never seen such a thing before. As she opened her mind to check, now that she had a visual, an enormous burst of psychic energy dropped her to her knees. She screamed in agonized pain, it was horrible, far more horrible than even when Rue had forcibly invaded her mind before. Clutching her head, Feenai tried desperately to shield herself, but was only partially successful and collapsed to the ground.

Just when she thought all was well, her makeshift mental shields suffered another assault. She could only imagine what was going on, as this was not the same source as the first one. She had no idea what this would do if it was directed at her, and she screamed in wretched agony again, then fainted with her eyes closed tightly.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

"What..." Shealtiel lurches over to Feenai, a look of shocked fright on his weary features. "What. Was. That?" He stares almost madly into the young girl's eyes, demanding an answer.

Though he could not sense the no-doubt godlike psychic force that just struck the isle, the after-effects are impossible to ignore -- the quaking ground, the shuddering trees, ceramic roof-tiles rattling in their decades-old brackets.

Was that... the Nephilim? Or something else?

[Asasiah]

A Year Ago on the Island of Thasos...

Mehetabel wore a dark, intricate robe walking forward to the altar, the cavernous room filled with the chanting of those around her. They sought Metatron, and for this she knew they needed a being who had power outside the understanding of humans. They had tried summoning others, their efforts leading to dead ends. She was losing hope. Having no choice, she tried again. Her soft words drowned in the chanting of the others as she held her arm over a makeshift altar. Taking a moment to ready herself she swiftly sliced a down the length of her arm with the dull knife, red blood welling to the surface then dripping down onto the altar. She did not expect the ground suddenly shaking beneath her, or the candle flames suddenly flaring. The heat in the room was growing and she felt sweat forming on her brow. She felt nervous...what had she done?

Flames began to swirl above the altar and Mehetabel backed away, swiftly the heat too much to stay close, but her eyes could not look away. A ball of flames formed above the altar before slamming down, sending debris in all directions, the ground cracking and dust filling the air in the room. Quickly shielding her eyes, it would be several moments before she would see the monster she summoned before them.

As the dust settled to the ground, there was only one being still pristine within the room. Standing atop the destroyed altar, darkness and light swirling around her. Her eyes slowly opened as she looked up.

"What is this, this can not be great Uriel" A priest spoke. The mysterious woman looked at him, her eyes narrowing a bit but then slowly looked away, she could handle him later.

"Perhaps we have been deceived, we follow Metatron without question, yet we can not even summon a proper being to help us find him" a wayward follower said from within the crowd of people who'd been chanting. This prompted the woman to look at him and she walked forward. He would regret that.

"What did you say about my daddy..." came her voice. It was young and beautiful, but the ancient power commanded by it was undeniable. Looking angry, she continued her approach toward the man and within moments was in front of him. Her fingers slowly touched his cheek and she laughed with a sick joy as fingers slid down his flesh blazing with fire. "Mmm... maybe I should eat you well done," she whispered to the 'blasphemer', an eerie smile crossing her beautiful face. They had called her to bear light upon the path they sought, but before him stood a monster. "Yes, May. I do think this will be a good first meal."

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Dara had left the group to their dealings with the locals. Doubtful that any of them had noticed her, though if they had, none had deemed her worth following. If the isle had any natural produce worth scavenging, she'd find it -- she liked to have her own stores, even if the locals *did* prove accommodating, which was seeming less likely by the minute.

She followed a less densely-vegetated path down toward the seaside, pausing to examine the various bushes and shrubs as she passed, gathering those berries and roots she knew were safe. As she came down to the shore, something caught her eye, a shape drifting limply against the shore, carried by the tide.

A seal? she wondered. No... something else.

(Rebuilt by Sheol. Yay!)

[Rainbowfox Ari]

The bright light of day didn't make the scene before Dara any less tragic. Before her lay a face-down child, probably not much more than sixteen or seventeen. There were drenched wings on the pale-skinned back, and a tail sprouting from the tailbone, easy enough to see since the child was completely naked. From the dimensions of the body, the slightly wide shoulders, and the general height, it was easy to tell the child was male. The feet appeared to end in small hooves, red in color. The tip of the tail was also red. Soaked hair pressed to the scalp, a red-brown in color and dark - although that was probably the fact that it was drenched.

The boy made no motion, which wasn't all that surprising considering he was face down and, to all casual observation, not breathing. The water was in the process from running from his skin, hair, wings, and tail in rivulets, drying quickly in the sun. It did nothing for the general state of the boy, however, who remained stubbornly unconscious and/or dead. The child did not appear to have been armed in any way when he went into the river. No weapons on his person or near him at all. Then again, there wasn't a stitch on him, so that could have burned up with the rest of his clothing. There was a pressing question to be asked, though. How had he not burned to a crisp along with what he was wearing?

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Dara looked the boy over, pausing briefly at the unusual features he displayed. She shook them out of her head. Keeping company with a canniball who could reshape his body hadn't said much for the merits of appearance. She definately couldn't call herself "normal" either.

The first thing she did was drag his body further up the banks and away from the acidic water. He's probably the same age as I am. On the bank she flopped him over on his back with as much care as her strength allowed. She immediately set to work on getting him breathing again, barely pausing in her CPR to spit out the dirt that caked his face.