The Midnight Sun

Alden stews over the new information Sail has provided or rather the lack of information. It was apparent that even if the creature knew more it had no intention of sharing. Sails potential obfuscation does not bother Alden everyone has secrets and the right to obscure them. Instead he says with his usual sincerity.

"Well if you don't know, you don't know. Still they must do something for someone!"

He pauses to grab a few honeyed nuts from his belt popping them into his mouth. Chewing on his sweet treat he says thoughtfully.

"I've never had a hobby myself. The way you talk about yours makes it sound like they are worth while endeavors. Maybe I will pick up a hobby of my own."

Alden swallows, before saying with a laugh.

"Though I think I will stay away from soul collecting. No offense but it does not sound like the right hobby for me!"

Alden still in the middle of his conversation with Sail turns his head as three armed men enter bar. He watches as one levels a crossbow at a boy seated at a table. Alden already knows that he won't be able to save the boy the are too far away for that but that doesn't stop old instincts from kicking in. Three threats one ranged dealing with that is the first step. Grabbing a near by mug Alden stands, turns, and throws all as part of one seamless action. The mug goes flying with startling accuracy and force at the head of the man with the crossbow.

"Need to close the gap."

Alden processes this thought into action almost instantaneously. As Alden begins to move he surveys the crowded bar. Moving through the crowd with any degree of speed would be difficult unless, there! Alden spots an empty chair next to a table between him and the men. With a burst of magically enhanced speed Alden hops onto the chair and from the chair to the table. In two steps he reaches the edge of the table and he launches himself into the air and across the room. Aldens aim is excellent and his mid air tackle will end with him atop one of the swordsmen unless they react.

The soul broker watches curiously as the bolts start flying. This is...interesting. Of course, nothing hits him. Nobody notices him. He's just not there. As the cook leaves the kitchen, he attracts the broker's attention.

"Hmm...that's a demon. I wonder if he'd be willing to part with a few souls."

He glides carefully through the chaos to Maelik, and extends a sort of hand to tap him on the shoulder. Maelik would notice him for the first time, and see that the limb looked rather like a hand covered in a sheet. Very odd.

"Excuse me, sir. Would you happen to have any souls to spare?"

As Alden had moved through the air he had spotted the corpse of the boy laying at the table. A spark of white hot fury races through his body. When Alden had leapt he had been intending to simply incapacitate the men a decision that changed as his fury over takes him. On some level he registers the magical residue coming off the boys corpse. The corpse was immaterial though there were three marks who were about to be visited by Wrath. The intended target of the tackle dodges out of the way of the assassin, not and unexpected occurrence. The assassin adjusts his fall hitting the ground palms first dispersing his momentum into a shoulder roll. As the assassin legs come over his head he pushes off of the ground allowing him to come back to his feet in a single fluid motion. One of the targets speaks to the assassin some pathetic attempt to intimidate the target is ignored.

What the assassin does not ignore is the magic he can see permeating the bar. Turning to face the targets the assassin searches for the source of the dark magic and he sees the dead boy stand. This is enough to temporarily jar the assassin's concentration and he does not have time to react as the dead boys magic seizes hold of him and the rest bar patrons. Of course there wasn't much the assassin could have done to a avoid the paralytic spell. The assassins armor had carried runes to ward off magical attacks but he didn't have his armor anymore. The assassin watches and waits his fury slowly rising. Of course the assassin is too controlled to allow the fury to show on his face. The assassin face is an emotionless mask the only hint of what he feels is in his eyes. Normally Alden's eyes sparkle with a barely contained mirth, a genuine joy at the world around him. The assassins eyes contain no joy they simply smolder with his controlled rage, violence waiting to be directed on a target.

He watches the dead boy as it disintegrates the three thugs one after the other. What the hell was this thing? How many powerful magical beings lived in this blasted city? These are the thoughts that run through the assassins mind as he waits to see what will happen next. The assassin sees tendrils of magic flow from the dead boy he feels them trying to enter his mind. The assassin can tell that the being behind this magic has considerable power perhaps enough to crush his mental defenses with a concentrated attack. This is not a concentrated attack and the assassin has been trained to fight against mental assaults. The assassin focuses on his fury allowing it to fill his mind to consume all other thoughts to fight all attempts to control him. The assassin focus's on a single thing, his title, his emotion, his purpose, his sin, his name.

"Wrath."

His absolute focus on his Wrath allows the assassin to withstand the dead boys attempts to wipe his memory. Finally the dead boy leaves and the assassin slowly relaxes letting out a deep breath. The assassin observes the other patrons of the bar as they shake of the effects of the mental assault. Slowly bit by bit Alden regains control of himself through deep calming breaths. The last vestiges of Alden's fury fade away and his customary grin returns to his face. Alden spots Sail who seems fine which is good he had no idea how the dead boys magic might have effected the strange creature. Alden also sees the chef who had strolled out of the kitchen to deal with the thugs. Smiling brightly he says to the chef.

"Oh you are the chef right! I didn't have a chance to say it last time, but you make the best sandwich I have ever had! Thank you very much for your work you are truly a master of your craft."

Alden gives the chef a little bow, deciding to tactfully omit the part where it was the only sandwich he had ever had. He then asks the chef curiously.

"I don't suppose you have any idea what that thing was? Or what is going on?"

Two hands rest themselves softly on the shoulders of the broker. They sharply steer the target around and out of the way of the conflict. Finally, one quick spin turns the broker around until they are facing a regal gentleman, dressed head to toe in a handsomely tailored suit. Polished jackboots shine like a buffed and chiseled lump of obsidian. Trousers fall perfectly to break at the ankle. Every piece of costume is in its place without error. A voice, as mellifluous as it is disarming, strikes up conversation.

"Excuse me, dear sir. I do believe we have yet to make out introductions. My moniker is Screwtape. If I may be so bold as to inquire, you are a Spirifer much as I am, are you not?"

Screwtape thrusts both hands into his trouser pockets and looks pensively up at the ceiling. He clucks his tongue several times and looks back at the broker.

"Except I am dearly afraid I am going to need to see some permits and registration on your part. The Trade of Souls is very, very lucrative, I know. And it is equally regulated in these parts. It would be the greatest of shames if you were to get caught out by someone more uncompassionate than yours truly. Especially if you did not have you papers on you."

Indigence, or is it malice?, creeps into Screwtape's voice. He taps his foot intently as the fellow speaks. It is here that Screwtape would usually introduce chairs into the conversation. He pointedly remains standing.

"Ignorance is no excuse in these matters, I am quite sorry to say. Our particular trade has been going on for eons and eons. The fact that the Lowerarchy hasn't heard of you, well. Only those embarrassed by their actions, or far too secretive for their own good, seek to avoid the gaze of Our Father Below."

A white gloved hand reaches into his breast pocket. Screwtape withdraws a finely folded piece of parchment.

"I can here offer you a deal, even with your uncountable and grievous oversights, that will remedy everything. Obviously, your collection of souls has gone far too long without proper regulation. And your methods of extraction! I daresay, one hesitates to ask as to the conditions to which your poor patients are subjected. I will simply lay claim to your collection for a limited time, go through the necessary and proper methods to insure your quality of operations, and you will be on your way again. If all is in order, you can expect a minor delay at the worst."

The paper that Screwtape now extends towards the broker is covered in handsome scrawls, both front and back. For having sat in a vest pocket and not producing a notable impression, the paper is quite large. There seem to actually be several pages here now. Screwtape continues to unfold as he nods towards his client.

"You can either go through with this, which is by far the easiest method to remedying such an undesirable string of circumstances, or we can go about this with rather less civility. The choice is entirely yours."

"Is that what happened? I was asleep in my room during all that." Skarlet was nearby listening to Kevin, she was sick during the attack of the giant loli and had no idea what had happened. She spins around a little on the bar stool she was sitting on. Skarlet had never seen Cyronin before but she assumed from his conversation with Kevin that they knew each other. "'Sup."

Her unusable arm remained resting in it's sling while she spun back and forth on the stool.

It is with Stygian indifference that Screwtape shoots his cuffs. He purses the lips and pulls a wry face.

"I think you are misunderstanding exactly who I am and what those like me represent. Just because I lack the stereotypical regalia and do not resort to blatant hellish activities does not preclude me from the higher ranks of those commonly called demons. Evil, as you may call it, is not new. It can hardly to say to have a birth date or a start. In the same way the forces of Good are eternal, so are we. Time doing an activity does not matter unless it was in service to some thing greater. A hobby offers no justification for escaping responsibility."

A shake of the head, a soulful snort. Screwtape presses both hands together, steepling his fingers and placing both hands against his lips.

"Times change, the laws of this world are hardly set in stone. It is not so much that what you have done is 'unappealing' to me as it is against the authority of the times. You have not claimed to be one of my ilk, nor do you present yourself as one of His followers."

That word, 'his', spits forth from Screwtape's mouth like a particularly disagreeable taste would exit the mouth.

"You ought to hand over your collection for review because it is simply what must be done if you wish to keep with the times and remain relevant. The Lowerarchy has always loved bureaucracy."

He pauses.

"I shall let slip that remark that I might be a scoundrel. My interests are most decidedly above the table and concerned with your own well being. If you truly desire to remain at odds with the rulers and authorities, so be it. ”