Altion Cerilius's Story

Altion Cerilius [color=black]moved fluidly, with confidence literally oozing from him as if it were a physical substance. The fact that somewhere in the city a clock tower chimed midnight, and the fact he was about to enter a zone restricted to any but the most official of visitors did not deter him one bit from his purpose. Through dark and dusty hallways he trod, uncaring and unworried that he would be discovered. Through a maze designed to confuse would be intruders he glided, straight to his destination as if he'd been born there.

Presently, he found himself upon a tall and stout door which blocked entry to The Staircase which led down into the chambers he came to visit. He could feel rather than see the heavy magical wards upon the door, as easily as he could feel the breeze stir his robes. Magic was his blood, almost literally rather than figuratively of date. And tonight he hoped to be closer to being rid of that "almost" in the statement.

He placed his palm upon the door, and immediately felt the ancient wards course through him, almost as if they were sentient and invading his mind as they queried his presence there. It was but a simple feat for him to overpower them and command them to part for him. Soundlessly the ancient door opened, as if it's hinges had been cast yesterday and not thousands of years ago.

Once upon The Staircase he began to slowly descent, careful to probe the magical realm around him, and disable the wards as he went. Even more pitiful than the wards were the "tests" of wit and intelligence presented before him. He almost chuckled at their simplicity. How far beyond the other old men in this creaky old tower he was! They did not realize the power they literally sat upon! He obliterated the physical traps with more contempt that he held for the tests of wits and the wards. These were the lowest of the low. How could they expect such a thing to stop him?

Soon he found himself before a vast and dusty book filled chamber. The search

had begun.

Altion Cerilius stopped for a few moments of contemplative silence. Nothing save his breath stirred in the ancient chambers. With a snap of his fingers, the pendant around his neck ignited casting a bright cone of light before him. Somewhere within these labyrinthine passages, the next clue to a mystery he had sought for decades awaited him.

With loud and echoing footsteps Altion made his way down the nearest stack of shelves, his hands held out palm forward as faint tendrils of raw magical energy probed the air over the books, seeking his next clue.

Altion Cerilius shook his head as the air shimmered around him and another wall section disintegrated before him. So far he was making no progress in finding the locked heart of the ruins, where the next piece of the book awaited him. Seething rage rose within him as he absently ran his fingers around his reservoir crystal on his way back into the cool dusk air. "Useless bits of rubbish" he muttered as he snapped his fingers, unleashing an arcane blast wave which leveled the hut-like structure which was this particular entrance point to the main ruins. He decided to make another round around the perimeter he had designated as his camp, allowing his senses to pour outwards, seeking the presence of other beings within his circle.

Altion Cerilius strode into the Bar known as Gambit's with nary a look around him. His attention as so focused inward that for a few moments he stood on the threshold without even realizing where he had wandered into. He then gazed around him and realized where he had wandered in. A fight was taking place somewhere within, as was the usual fare. He decidedly ignored it and with deliberate grace and poise of one befitting his power moved into the establishment, his passing marked with the sound of his many charms clanking softly where they hung from his person.

Once inside he removed the hood of his robe, letting his dirty blond locks spread around him as he cast his eery mismatched gaze over the room. He could feel the quiet pulsation of the energy which had called to him somewhere in the large room, but could not discern it's location without actively probing with his own power, a feat he was loathe to do, lest another mangy upstart with something to prove forced him into action and murder once again. He was not fond of cremated bits on his robes after all. Altion decided to sit himself in one of the center tables near the booth area, and began to manipulate that curious technology so universally employed her to secure himself some refreshment. He would bide his time until his own power was silently felt. After all, it takes one mage to find another.

Altion Cerilius walked into the bar, and tripped over the bullet ridden body, dying instantly.

Altion Cerilius made his way into the den of iniquity known as Gambit's Bar, intent on finding something, or someone, to help him pass the time. Whether through camaraderie or violence did not matter much to him at the moment. He was furious, and not afraid to show it. His tall figure was held at a rigid posture, and his heterochromatic eyes were currently spouting a fine pair of localized lighting bolts as Altion's energy attempted to ooze out of him in his anger.

With a furious clanking of charms and chains, and with his robes sizzling softly where his focus crystal smoldered, he made his way across to the bar, not sparing a look towards any of the patron. Without bothering with the blasted ordering displays, he forced a bottle of rum to fly straight to his hand from the shelve, and slammed his money on the bar, for one of those damned robo-servers to pick up. He then proceeded to take a furious swig right from the bottle, the contents of which were beginning to boil in his hands.

"Thrice damned women. Can't live without them. Can't live with them. And sure as hell can't trust them." Muttered Altion angrily as he finally started to look around at the other patrons, the rum starting it's slow process of quenching his fury.

Altion Cerilius looked at the thing which had just assumed his form while in mid-sip from his bottle. With a narrowing of his eyes, he addressed it: "You've got to be damn kidding me. At least tell me you're not one of the hollow brained copy-cat things. Make me look bad, and I'll tear you asunder faster than you wonder what my eyebrows should look like. Here, have some rum" finished Altion, passing his now half empty bottle towards the doppelganger while summoning another towards himself.

"Careful, it burns on the way down." While outwardly and mentally calm, Altion was slowly gathering energy without intention into his focus crystal. He wasn't sure what the hell this thing wanted, and he would be civil in the meantime, but that was no reason not to get some passive preparation going.

Altion Cerilius left off a loud chuckle at the strange creature's reply. Probably more of a chuckle than the comment warranted. Which was probably none. "Well, more for me." replied Altion as he chugged the rest of his first bottle, threw it noisily at one of the serving robots, and begun on his second one.

"You're one strange puppy bud, I can't tell if there's one or more of you inside that slick thing you call a body. Nym you say? What are you, some sort of experiment gone wrong? Random sentience on a quest of understanding? The blue patron of angry drunks everywhere? I don't think you're qualified to understand a man's problems if you ain't even a man. But what the hell. Do you know about women?" queried Altion, as he tried to rotate some of the tension off his shoulder muscles, and caused a bright lance of lighting to strike the ceiling.

Altion Cerilius was just about to finish his second bottle of rum, when something in the creature's words hit home. In an instant, his drunken demeanor evaporated, and tremendous energy built up in a wild crescendo within him. His eyes flashed on as if a sun had dawned behind them, one blood red, the other ice blue. His focus crystal began to hum softly as the energy within it began to exceed it's holding capacity, and Altion's skin began to exude a fine steam. He leveled his gaze into the creatures eyes, and was about to unleash his full power when the creature finished speaking: "At least it isn't an anal probing". As quickly as it came, Altion's fury left him, and his power receded back within him. The creature truly had no idea it had done something wrong, which came within a hairsbreadth of getting it killed. No longer furious, but with nonetheless a severity in his voice, Altion replied: "A word of warning, Doppelganger. Not all humans are the same, and some are so far beyond the coils of mortality, they hardly qualify as men. Never tell another being in so many words that you 'Know now, as well as everything else' as most will not take kindly to this. You are forgiven. You are fortunate that my mind is not as simple as others, and you merely grasped at a fragment of my being. I'm not sure how you did this, and I shall have to review my wards at a later time to prevent it from happening again. Never do so again upon me without my permission."

Altion then took another sip of rum, and his good spirits seemed to return to him. "You're damn right though, at least it ain't an anal probing. As for the story behind my eyes, well...what you know is a lie. Y'see, I like to not let others know of me, so I lie to myself real deep, you follow? So deep, I can't even think about it without consciously unlocking it. Like a locked door. You know those? Doors? But, maybe I'll share that story with you sometime, like normal beings do. Talking." said Altion, his jovial tone once more affe

No one here. Just us furniture pieces.

Whoa. Deja Vu.

Altion Cerilius walked in into what seemed the classiest gathering place for freaks and blood-suckers that he had had the pleasure of visiting in his storied life. The flyer he had been handing demanded cocktail dress, and promised free wines. He was quite the fan of rare vintage, and so the trip seemed like a most welcome respite from all the killing and destroying he had been doing for the past few centuries.

Sharply dressed in his fine dress robes, and deadly staff grudgingly left outside with the porter, the power-hungry wizard made his way inside for some long overdue refreshment, taking a seat at one of the lavish bar-stools by the long bar area and waiting to be served.

Winne didn't bother waiting for a response, taking a seat specifically across the table from Awinita. She eyeballed the sharp dressed gentleman for a brief moment, raised a brow at the cat, before sticking an audio recorder on the table.

Kethyr Naethus sighed and went on his way, paying his tab and slinking into the night.

Winne Rineswurth loudly scootched her chair an inch closer to Awinita.

Ulrich Paternosta stepped into the warm interior of the tavern. He gave it a quick scan and grunted. She wasn't anywhere in sight; good. There was something off with Ms. Tauvyr as of late. More off than usual.

Stone and Boyle followed in shortly after. The pair of vampires sort of taking in the sights of a rather rich looking drinking hole. "Nice. Nice. Hey Stones! They got the nice chairs! Take a peep at them!" Boyles made his way over to a table. A chair with rich velvet cushions that he ran along his hand. "Look at that. Feel that. Good right?"

Stones followed in not even giving the chair a look.

"Ish fine." He said bluntly. He moved to the sight. Taking in a strong nostril fill of something. Hm.

"That one." he pointed to a bottle behind the counter. A cup? "No. That one." The whole bottle? Okay... He uncorked it and began to drink it very greedily.

Deliveries to the Tauvyr Tavern were more regular with the new ownership of Fantasma Vineyards. The bottles were stocked and varied though many of the labels familiar some a more threatening make. Labels with letters that squirm and images with unsettling angles. One such bottle festooned with the dual masks Sock and Buskin sported others etched into the glass. Though these of anguish and horror if one should peer closer. Perhaps a warning for its label 'Thousand-Faced Wine' that said little else of its make than bottled in Fantasma Vineyards. A cigarette alit behind the bar though the embers fell first out of memory than the light of one's eyes. A bit of red ash falling in life before the eyeless grin of Ebrabbos underneath her wide brim hat and thick cloak. Long hair pours from under her hat to float past her shoulders as locks snake around her shoulders as to threaten by rising there. Though the eyes obscured beneath her hat their ill-defined shape inviting one to stare too close as they stared back. The cigarette in her mouth flared but never burnt down as she unpacked a box of wine from behind the counter.

"Careful now, " the tone lost about some unclear sarcasm, "There are so very many faces of regret that deep in a bottle of wine."

Stone and Boyle were now separated. Boyle was now at the side of Ulrich beginning to get comfortable in this soft velvet chair. A wide grin as his shark like mouth slowly blended back into a row of normal teeth. "Blimey! This is delux ain't it!?" He asked the other vampire. Before he began to speak again. "Look. The two of us are on a hunt. But not to cause trouble. Stones can be a bit violent. He comes from a violent times you know?" He told the other. "We are looking for a criminal. Or someone close to that."

Stones was at the bar. He drank half of the bottle and was surprised that the alcohol actually had some affect on him. THe huge man now turned to the stranger. He looked to her fancy hat. He nodded. "Good fashion." He told her at first. "We both know this is not wine."

"I half think he's a bloody caveman sometimes. EH?" Boyle asked the other with a laugh.

Stones Acute hearing picked that up. And without even missing a beat CHUCKED a rather dull tankard right at his noggin. Knocking the other mercenary over the chair. "Ah! Sorry! Sorry Stones! Common! Just a bit of fun!" He uttered

Ulrich Paternosta hitched his pants and settled into a velvet chair himself. He listened close to Boyle. Ulrich asked, "Hunting who, or what? If'em any danger to the Hollow, best be on the hunt, too."

Ulrich Paternosta shook his head as the tankard bounced. If the lady of the house was here she'd shit a brick.

Stone and Boyle regathered back at the table. Stones standing there while Boyle got back up. Stones stood there as he handed the etching back to Boyle. The other vampire had been better at talking. Most times. Unless they wanted to frighten people. Stones was much better at that he felt.

Boyle handed the other a etching. An etching of a man done in charcoal. The likeness was very well done. Man in his forties, very long slant nose. Dark hair. Short cut. Very fierce looking eyes. "That is who we are looking for. And trust me he is dangerous anywhere we gather." He told the other Vampire.

"This shit gets powers. What does he do? Immediately what most shits start to do. Start to think he's a bloody god."

The visage was of a vampire in circles called Feastus. A Vampire that had started a sanguine cult installing him as their living deity. "But most of these shitheads don't try to bother the established covens... So we got the call."