Meanderings of Prescient Fate

Zenas a'Celaeno

2008-06-06T19:17:06Z

THE BASICS
[name] Zenas
[nicknames] Z, Zen
[birthday] February 18th, 179 B.C.
[age] 152
[ethnicity] Mediterranean (Greek)
[occupation] Philosopher, Scholar

THE FAMILY
[hometown] Scandea
[mother] Celaeno
[father] Niko Torkattulos
[siblings] None
[pet] None

THE ACADEMICS
[school] Self-Educated, Apprenticeships

[positions] None

[best subject] History, Philosophy
[worst subject] Epic Poetry

THE PERSONALITY
[first impression] Most people who meet Zenas initially expect something very different - Harpies are known for being feral, bestial, cruel creatures, neither bright nor civil. Zenas, on the other hand, is very polite, keenly intelligent, and gracious. His gaze is piercing and predatory and often makes others uncomfortable, but his manner is always courteous and he is soft-spoken, with a dry sense of humor and a steady, unflappable demeanor.

[personality] Zenas is a philosopher and scholar. He has yet to declare allegiance to either the gods or the titans, preferring to stay out of their over-arcing conflict, but his life-long pursuit of wisdom has won him friends and mentors in both groups. He has studied astronomy, natural sciences, and history with centaurs, epic poetry and music with tritons, rhetoric, mathematics, and formal logic with famous human sages, and theology with demigods. On one hand, he is open-minded, always interested in new points of view and ways of thinking, preferring to test each new theory to determine its virtue rather than dismiss anything out of hand. On the other hand, he has a deeply traditional side which prompts him to closely observe the ancient rites and rituals of Greek/Olympian society.

Zenas is the product of a drunken night of ecstasy on the part of his mother, the Harpy Celaeno. In her inebriated state, she half-raped an unfortunate human farmer, then sated her hunger for blood on his body, never thinking there might have been long-term consequences to the act. A month and a half later, she was infuriated by the laying of her egg, and promptly abandoned the gestating chick in a refuse pile. According to her, this was a mistake, because she did not realize the heat of a decomposing pile of trash would successfully incubate her young, but whether she intended it or not, Zenas hatched a few months later. He survived on insects and small animals until he was found by the human family who farmed the land where he had been hatched - they cleaned him up and took him in as a pet, naming him as a 'gift from Zeus' due to his obviously supernormal origins. His intelligence soon asserted itself, and he lived with them quite contentedly for some time, until the neighbors learned of his existence and became afraid of him. When he was twelve, he was told to seek his fortune elsewhere, and set off on a quest to find his mother. He succeeded, but Celaeno was feral, barely sentient, and wanted nothing to do with him, so from that point on he traveled the world studying with mentors wherever he could find them, experimenting with the philosophies he discovered along the way, growing in wisdom and experience.

[goals] Zenas wants to take up the study of magic someday. At the moment, he wants to find a nice villa somewhere and settle down - someplace he can begin collecting books and objects of art and history in earnest, and be surrounded by his collection at all times. The owning of a home would necessitate an apprentice, since Zenas has no hands with which to clean or keep things in order, and he has been toying with he idea of taking a young man in the eros tradition to be his protege and lover.

[fears] Zenas tends to view fear from a clinical standpoint. He fears something happening to his cousin, for whom he cares deeply, and he fears being targeted by a hero for elimination. He fears the gods, as any wise man would, and pays reverence to the greater forces outside his command.

[quirks] None atm... most people who know of Harpies understand that Zenas is quite odd for a member of that species.

[likes] Books, logic, debating, fine wines, raw meat, historical artifacts, art, politics, history, heights

[dislikes] boorishness, clumsiness, angry mobs, divine arrogance,

THE APPEARANCE
[height] 6'3"
[weight] 170
[hair] Jet Black, full of feathers, the upper part worn back so it spills in a spiky cascade down his back, length to shoulderblades
[eyes] Gold
[build] Skinny side of medium, long and lean with beautifully cut muscles
[gait] Walking, he tends to move sedately, seldom in a hurry, and with a bobbing kind of grace. In the air, he flies much the same way.
[dress] A navy loincloth that matches the iridescent blue of his feathers, a pair of matching gold armbands, gold ear cuff, and gold beads laced in amongst his hair and feathers. A gold band holds back a clump of said hair and feathers.

[other] Zenas is a harpy, so he has wings and feathers as a bird. His arms are human in appearence down to his bicep. Feathers jut from the backs of his arms, and just before his elbow, his arms melt into large, silken-feathered wings. The pattern of his feathers is that of a magpie (see picture below). Jet black feathers mix with his hair, trail down his spine, and flare into long tail feathers at his tailbone. From the knee down, he has legs like a bird's, with scaly skin and wicked talons.

THE RELATIONSHIPS
[friends] Calill (cousin), Circe,
[sexuality] Bisexual
[status] single
[crushes] None ATM
[turn ons] Zenas is fairly open-minded, and has had many lovers of wildly varying personality types.
[turn offs] Boorishness.

THE OOC

[mun] Sonneillon
[pb] None

[disclaimer] N/A

Drow, random

2007-12-16T20:01:33Z

Azzrik busied himself with the ties on his boots, tugging woven cords through holes in the leather worn soft where the laces had rubbed through the polish. Compared to his fidgeting, Razzat, sitting on the sill of the window with one foot braced against the frame, seemed like an immovable mountain. Each bullet made a soft 'click' as he slid it into its chamber, but he was taking his time, movements ponderous and deliberate as a ritual. His face was turned toward the glass, eyes staring out over the ruined glory of Ched Nesad, what had once been the City of Shimmering Webs. Now it was a vast chasm full of rubble, pieces of calcified webbing and sections of collapsed homes and businesses still clinging to the walls in places. This inn had been built into the cliff face itself and thus had survived mostly intact, though there was no way to reach it on Ched Nesad's spider-spun streets. They had levitated to the second-floor balcony, the entry-way being collapsed, and Azzrik was fairly certain they were secure here from most underdark threats.

Of course, 'fairly certain' was not 'completely certain' which was why he had made a point of searching the rest of the inn for squatters. Finding nothing but a few bats and a colony of fungus growing where the inn's pantry had once been (once dispatched, it cleared the way to the wine cellar, where Azzrik had found a few bottles of very acceptable vintage still intact and taken them), he'd put a few standard traps around the room to help safeguard it while they went into Reverie, though they'd take it in shifts for added safety.

Razzat's turn first. Azzrik wouldn't have been surprised if he was halfway into Reverie already, hands caressing the ivory grips of his guns with loving familiarity. Quiet now, as usual. Only his weapons were loud.

"You should go ahead and take your ease," Azzrik said finally, anticipation growing into impatience. "We should rest and get moving."

Razzat tilted his head, turning to meet his eyes. "There's no hurry," he said softly. "It would be prudent to stay a while and regain strength before pushing on." His eyes returned to the window as he added thoughtfully, "It was an empire of tannaruks before The War. Who knows what lives there now."

Azzrik frowned. He itched to move, but his companion's logic was sound. He was still in pain from the bad sting he'd gotten from a lariat fungus two days ago. Thanks to Razzat's skill, the poison had been drawn from the wound and the swelling had gone down, but his side was still very tender in two spots. Better to stay and heal. Their prize wasn't going anywhere, so far as they knew.

He nodded once, a bit sullenly, and threw himself on a nearby couch, stretching out and wincing as those wounds twinged. If he was honest with himself, he could admit that was what he was really worried about - someone finding their treasure before they could and making off with it. It was paranoia. No one else had a reason to be interested in it. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, letting it hiss out between his teeth as his body sank into the slightly moldy cushions.

No one else knows. If they knew, they wouldn't care. It's there, waiting for us, forgotten by time... it's waited a thousand years, and it will wait a little longer.

The cool reason of his mental voice helped chase away some of the jitters, and he groaned. "What I wouldn't give for a deep-stroke right about now," he muttered.

He heard a soft snort from Razzat's direction and cracked an eye open. "Believe whatever you want," he drawled, "I know what's worth spending money on.

Razzat's mouth quirked up at the corner and he shrugged amiably, holstering his guns and sliding down off the windowsill. He pulled the curtains across the window and dropped the privacy screen. "I'll rest now," he told Azzrik flatly. "Maybe you'd feel better if you found a way to make the baths work."

Azzrik shook his head. "I'm all for a long, hot soak," he said wistfully, "but the baths were heated by magic. Probably some drop-out wizard making ends meet. If there are controls, I haven't seen them."

"Look," Razzat suggested. "It's something to do. And if you find them, it should be worth the work."

Azzrik considered it, then stood, lean frame unfolding gracefully from the couch. "You'll be all right while I'm exploring." It wasn't really a question.

In response, he received a familiar slightly bitter half-smile. "We'll have calm apiece," Razzat said with the flat tones of one who knows. He stretched out on the other couch, pushing the pillows away and lacing his fingers together through his short-cropped hair. One knee drawn up, he settled in and let his eyes close. "Our troubles can afford to be patient."

Rolling his eyes at the odd phrases, Azzrik slipped out of the room.

ATTENTION...

2006-08-07T23:44:44Z

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prescient_fate @ 2006-07-15T18:58:00

2006-07-15T23:56:08Z

Griss was flipping through SuperStreet when the phone began to ring. It was eight-o-clock in the evening, and his business was closed, but he only had one phone for the shop and his home, so he got up anyway and put the TV on mute. He wasn't sure who would be calling him at this time in the evening, but he reasoned that it might be Joriel for some reason or another. While he wasn't particularly in the mood to chat with the ever-cheerful Asharu (he was never in that mood), occassionally he had something important to say regarding their case load, so on the fourth ring, Griss picked up the phone.

He slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter, heavy eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement when an automated voice informed him that this was a collect call, but he twigged half an instant before Lethiel's drawling tones reached him over the line. "You know who this is," he murmured. "Accept the damned call."

Breaking out into a grin, Griss didn't wait, but punched a key to accept the call.

"Well, look who it is," he chuckled into the phone. "What's wrong, sunshine, ya miss me or somethin'?"

"Something," Lethe replied dryly, but Griss could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Y'know, if you wanted to talk that bad, you coulda just given me a yell," Griss pointed out. "Instead o'costin' me an arm and a leg to talk to you in England."

"You've got Vonage," Lethe pointed out. "You get free international calling to England."

Griss snickered and lit a cigarette. "S'true. So, how's it goin' over there? You arright? Those bleedin' hearts takin' good care of ya?"

"Fantastic," Lethe replied. "Just peachy. They're a real piece of work, this bunch you got me involved with. I'd thank you if I wasn't so eager to break your neck." Despite his harsh words, Griss could hear the smile in his voice, and that made him smile.

"Yeah, yeah, quit whinin'," he said gruffly. "So, what's up?"

"Nothing, really," Lethe admitted. "I'm know how you hate the phone, so consider this my form of revenge. I just wanted to talk." His voice softened near the end, and Griss understood.

"Homesick?" he inquired more gently.

Lethe scoffed. "For that shithole you call a house?" he wondered incredulously, but his voice cracked.

Griss chuckled. "Yeah, well... I was thinkin' maybe you missed L.A."

"Well, it's nicer out here," Lethe sighed. "Fewer people, cleaner air, better water, bigger sky. Speaking of people, I'm really sorry about what I put you through," he said somewhat bitterly.

Griss blinked. "Huh? What're you talkin' about?"

"With the suicidalness and the whining and the bitching and so on and so forth," Lethe told him darkly. "I just got a good example of what I looked like through your eyes and it wasn't pretty. I wanted to smack the guy. I don't know how you were so patient with me, so...."

"Shut up," Griss told him. "Don't thank me for that shit, I didn't do nothin'."

"The good news is," Lethe told him, "I found myself thinking, things aren't as bad as all that. To just give up and wait for the end to come is idiotic and pathetic. It isn't over until it's over. And when I thought that, I realized that I'm not IN that pit anymore, which is why I feel disdain for anyone else who's in it. And I suppose that's the closest thing to a real miracle that I've been privvy to in a few millenia."

"Well, that's good to hear," Griss told him, feeling something inside him relax in relief.

"Are you kidding? It's good to FEEL. It's like I can suddenly breathe. If I was an optimist I'd say that I ALMOST feel like myself again. As it is, I have a little more hope."

"So it works, then," Griss said thoughtfully. "Maybe we oughtta send more people to that place."

"That depends, how badly do you hate them?" Lethe wondered drly, smirking. "The people here remind me of a dog that had its spine run-over on the freeway. They've been broken, but they're still trying to limp along with their tails wagging. Optimistic, but not very strong. I could probably corrupt most of them to suicide in a week if I wanted, but that wouldn't be very constructive and we're trying to be constructive these days."

His sarcasm made Griss laugh. "Yeah, well, say what you want, but you sound better'n you've sounded in... fuck, I dunno, since before The Fall, actually. Not that I knew ya too well then."

"No, of course not. Why would I associate with a lowly, borish Annunaki?" Lethe smiled. "Ah, well. I was very young. Don't hold it against me."

"Eh, gimme a few more months and I may forgive ya," Griss returned. "So, what do they got you doin'?"

"Oh, general odd jobs. I spend most of the day elbows-deep in dirt. You want to know something really wierd?"

"Yeah, hit me."

"It's kind of nice."

"S'what I been tryin' to tell you fuckin' snobs since the beginnin' o'time," Griss snorted. He tapped ash off the end of his cigarette. "Anybody get on your case?"

"Some of them look like they'd like to, but Miss Susan's a proper matron," Lethe joked. "Runs this place with an iron fist. They're more afraid of her than of me, I think, but I sympathize - if I act up, she won't hesitate to send me to my room without supper." He fidgited with something that rustled, then said, "I haven't really tried to talk to anyone yet. Well, there's one girl. Did you ever see Legally Blonde?"

"Fuck no. Bein' stuck in a guy's body and likin' guys is bad enough, but if I watch that shit, I'm fuckin' GAY."

Lethe grinned. "I thought not. Well, if you had, you'd know what I meant when I said that this girl is exactly like Elle Woods. Blonde, perky, beautiful, chattery, and bearing the universal Valley Girl accent. Why the loyalists would Imbue someone like this is utterly beyond me, but she couldn't engineer guile to save her life, so at the moment I prefer her to everyone else here. Which is good, I suppose, because she won't fucking leave me alone and if she wasn't somewhat charming, I'd have strangled her with her own sorority necklace by now."

Something heavy settled in the pit of Griss's stomach, but he tried to disregard it. "Charmin', huh? Sounds like she's sweet on ya."

"Oh, Maker no. Please. She's a sweet girl and everything, but if you want the truth, I think I've acquired a taste for unshaven misanthropes." There was affection in his tone. "Under other circumstances, I might have just screwed her for the release, and she's really quite lovely, but somehow I think I'd wind up regretting it in this case."

"Zat your conscience talking?" Griss wondered.

"No." He laughed, but it was slightly unsteady. "Something a bit more potent than that, I think. So, what's new in the city of angels?"

"Nothin'," Griss told him with a grunt. "And I mean nothin'. Same old shit, different day. We got some Rabisu activity in some o'the poorer areas... fuckers're puttin' together a real nasty cult, like to skin their victims. We had some little kids turnin' up disected and shit. Jori's in a real state over it."

Lethe snorted. "He would be. Any leads?"

"We're trackin' some thralls. S'slow goin'. Truth is, I'm kinda sick of it. S'nothin' to do with what we do, but ya gotta wonder..."

"Why?" Lethe sighed. "Who knows why. If you're looking for insight from me, I've barely got any. Only that people who've been powerless are determined for it to never, ever happen again. And when you've been hurt as badly as we were, and you can't hurt the person who hurt you... sometimes the only way you can let out all those feelings is to hurt someone else. But really, it all goes back to power. Reminding yourself that you're strong. Trying to conquer the fear that you'll feel all that pain all over again."

"S'more than barely any," Griss told him. "I said sorta the same thing to Jori. I feel the same way, right? But I ain't never had the urge to rip the skin off little kids. Well, actually, not since The War. Then I woulda done it just to occupy some time."

"Oh, me too," Lethe assured him wryly. "But you're right, I've lost my taste for it. Ever since I got back, most of what I've done, I've done out of habit. I'm so used to being evil, I didn't know how to stop. But I think I'm learning. Do you think it's possible that, left alone long enough, all our compatriots would experience this?"

"Hmph. I dunno. Humans are real different. Some of 'em are as bad as us. Worse'n some of us. 'Sides, turn everybody into sheep and the wolves that're left get fatter."

"You got a point. Like I said, if I had a mind to, I'd have everybody here dead in a week." Lethe chuckled quietly.

"Yeah. Look, s'pointless to worry about it at all." Griss wedged the phone between his ear and his shoulder and leaned against the counter. "I didn't make all this for myself by givin' a shit about anybody else. You take care o'Lethiel and let the rest go fuck itself. And when you get your shit sorted out..." he faltered, suddenly realizing what he'd been about to say, and cast about wildly for something else to put in its place. "... Then you can figure out what to do with yourself," was all he could come up with.

Lethe's voice was soft. "Yeah, I'll look you up," he murmured. "I need to come back that way anyway. I've still got your jacket."

"Is that where that went?" Griss tried to sound surprised, but he didn't manage it entirely, and they both laughed. "You thieving son of a bitch. You'll give me back my fuckin' jacket, all right. Or I could skin you to replace it."

Lethe laughed, really laughed, for a full several seconds until it dissolved into something like giggling. It felt good to make him laugh, and Griss was glad no one was around to see him grinning like a fool. He just listened to the sound and leaned on his elbows and wished it could just keep going.

"As long as you got someone respectable to design it," Lethe told him, still giggling. "Like Versace or Gucchi. Or maybe Prada. That's the only way to wear a Lammassu."

"Fuck that shit," Griss shot back. "I'll get a pattern from Walmart and put the pieces together with duct tape. That'll teach you."

"Nooooo!" Lethe groaned, dissolving into laughter again. "Not Walmart. Jesus, Griss, you're going to kill me here. Listen, we'll meet in the middle. Abercrombie?"

"I'd rather take Versace," Griss growled. "Stupid fuckin' prick kids and their fuckin' prep clothes..."

"Right, Versace it is, then. You know, a designer could have a lot of fun with you. You're this whole new mileau they haven't exploited before. Imagine if you took excellant fashion taste and applied it to normal people, not just skinny metrosexuals."

"I'm tryin' not to. But while you're writin' that letter, write one to Nissan and ask 'em why every car can't be a GT-R."

Lethe laughed. "Hey, how's that going by the way? Did you finalize the design for it yet?"

"Nah, I'm still workin' on it. I got a few parts I'm mullin' over."

"Well, I'll give you the address here," Lethe told him. "Send me your design specs?"

Griss chuckled and reached for a pen and a scrap of notebook paper. "Yeah, okay, but don't go tryin' to change anything. S'my car."

"Oh, heaven forbid," Lethe assured him. "I wouldn't dream of even making a suggestion in regards to your car. I'm sure it will have the same aggressive masculinity and soot-blackened charm that you do."

"Fuck you," Griss shot back, chuckling. "Arright, I got paper. What's the address?"

Lethe read it to him. "You know, I might go to a car show up here next week. I've been getting the newspaper and there's going to be one pretty close. I'll send you something."

"Sure, that'd be cool," Griss agreed, knowing that Lethe really had no appreciation for cars, but touched that he was going to make an effort to do something nice for him.

"Right," Lethe agreed, shifting in his chair and sighing. "Well anyway, it's like four am here and I wanna get another hour or two of sleep in before I start work. Goodnight?"

Griss nodded. "Good morning. Take care o'yourself, okay?"

"I will," Lethe promised. "You do the same."

"Always have."

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end of the line, and then Lethe blurted out, "bye!" and immedietly hung up.

Griss slowly put the phone down in its cradle, then lowered his head to the counter. "Bye," he muttered quietly, sighing deeply.

Continuation...

2006-05-22T08:59:38Z

The next few weeks passed in a blank sort of haze for Lethiel, who was accustomed to living on his own and looking after his own affairs. Instead, he found himself acting as a sort of appendage for Griss, who went about his daily business with only minor changes to accommodate Lethe into his routine. Lethe found himself numbly going through the motions of life, feeling calmer and more centered than he had since he'd returned to earth, and not sure of the reason for it. Perhaps it was Griss - the Annunaki was like a mountain made flesh; immovable, imperturbable, irresistible. The fiercest storms of his life broke themselves upon him and he was not moved. Lethiel watched from the shadows as mortal customers screamed insults and expletives in his face, obviously not realizing A: that their problems were not Griss's fault, B: that in terms of service, they got what they paid for, and if they wanted the best they had to pay for the best, and C: that Griss could have disemboweled and diced them to bits in a heartbeat had he wished. Lethe couldn't fathom why proud, arrogant Griss suffered their barbs, but he came to realize, watching the bored expression on Griss's face as angry humans ranted, that Griss simply didn't care about anything they said. He had said his piece, and they were raging impotently, never recognizing that he was simply letting them blow themselves out. Invariably, they all bowed before his crossed arms and ironically-hiked pierced eyebrow. You got what you paid for, and Griss was the best there was.

He wasn't sure why Griss bothered to narrate his routine, but the Annunaki was a puzzle in many ways. Still, he nodded and absorbed without really listening as Griss explained about this muffler and that transmission, and why this engine was better than that engine in a certain car for the purposes of street racing, even though it had less horsepower, and the importance of air intake valves. He didn't understand an iota of it, but Griss's rough, gravelly tones and his constant, syllabant cursing was soothing to Lethiel's ears. He never used Enochian, only human tongue, which was good because Lethiel didn't particularly want to be reminded of the old times anymore. He forgot about shirts and coats and went about like Griss, in jeans and little else. He sat huddled in the corner, watching in silence as Griss worked his forge, dipping bare hands into the molten metal and hammering sparks out of the syir. They flashed briefly in darkness and then went out, and Lethiel was captivated by them, and by the motion of muscle under golden skin as Erlissan plied his trade.

In the evenings, they sat on the couch with chilled beer and watched TV. Lethe had never been much of a fan, and he didn't pay much attention to the programs, lost in his own thoughts as his eyes rested on the flickering screen. Griss didn't watch theatrical wrestling, as Lethe had supposed. Instead, he had a liking for soccer, the UFC, and more car shows than Lethe could possibly keep straight. He saw some of the artistry of the Annunaki in the minds of some of the humans on the shows - whenever Griss grunted his approval of one of their creations, Lethiel looked, and though he knew nothing about cars save that they were status symbols, he could see the beauty in the design. And he thought perhaps that Griss didn't watch these shows to learn - after all, what could a fallen angel who had helped invent the laws of physics have to learn from human mechanics? - but to catch glimpses of the remnants of the gift he had once tried to give them, the potential they were all capable of reaching. He found himself incapable of minding that he followed Griss around like a puppy during this time. Griss never mentioned it, and treated him as if he had always been there. He had moved the other cot from the guest room to his room and placed them close together, spreading the blankets over both of them and tying the legs together so they wouldn't shift apart in the night. Lethe spent his evenings curled up against Griss's side under the warm weight of his arm, and his nights with his head on Griss's shoulder. They copulated fairly often, always in bed, starting out slowly and ending in quiet ferocity. Lethe never tried to take top and Griss never offered.

Half the time, Lethiel instigated their activities. The other half, Griss did. Lethe found it strange to simply ask for what he wanted rather than tempting with games and teasing, but Griss had no patience for such things. Several times, he had pinned Lethe's hands by the wrists, and Lethe had let him, because being owned by this silent power made him feel strangely secure. But most of the time, he didn't try anything, simply dug in his nails and buried his face in Griss's neck and rocked beneath him. With anyone else, he would have thought this a sign that he meant nothing more than a convenient fuck, with the trappings of anything deeper stripped away. With Griss, he knew better - Griss was an essential creature. He disliked complications, mind games, and manipulation. He forced Lethiel to stay honest, something he was not good at, but it seemed easy in those few weeks. He just avoided saying or doing much at all, and there was no need for games or lies. He was like a shadow, but he was content with this, because it was restful and peaceful. Griss demanded nothing more from Lethiel than he was willing to give, and seemed to instinctively know when the Lammasu needed space.

It was all shattered one night when Griss got a phone call. He went to answer it while Lethiel remained tucked against the arm of the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was dull brown and smelled of cigarette smoke, and he'd grown quite fond of it. He heard Griss muttering into the phone, heard the handset beep off, and straightened to give the other demon his seat back, tucking himself comfortably back where he belonged. Griss settled his arm around him, calloused fingertips stroking his cheek. Sensing something strange in that touch, Lethe stiffened and looked up, on guard.

"It was Dragon," Griss explained. "She has things all arranged at New Hope. So we're gonna arrange for you and her to fly out there this week."

For a long moment, Lethiel couldn't summon any words. When he found one, it seemed pathetic. "Already?"

"You gotta go," Griss said softly. "This won't work forever. For now, it's good for you, but pretty soon it's gonna chafe."

Lethe paused, but Griss, as usual, was right and truthful. As much as he wanted to stay in this shelter forever, he wasn't a whole person at the moment, and if he didn't break out on his own, he never would be. He would languish in safety until he had only a half-life, one he clung to pathetically because he was too afraid to seize one of his own. "I'm going," he told Griss sullenly. "But is it really that fucking wrong of me to not want this to end?" Normally, he considered foul language to be coarse and vulgar, but with Griss, it was like taking on an accent.

"Depends why you don't want it to end," Griss told him.

Lethe thought that over in silence for a long time before finally murmuring, "I know I'm just getting in your way here. I don't know why you've been as patient with me as you have, but I'm betting the sex has nothing to do with it."

"Not necessarily," Griss said gruffly. "What's behind the sex, maybe."

"Erlissan, I'm not enough of a fool to think you could feel anything for me. Not in the long-term, not like that."

"Not like you are now, but that's not what I see when I'm lookin' at you," Griss told him. "You could be more'n this, you just need to go take it. When you get that shit figured out, we'll see what happens, but 'till then, don't worry about it."

"If you don't want me to worry," Lethe pointed out, "You should tell me how you really feel."

Griss pulled him close and pressed roughened lips against his forehead. "I really think there's somethin' to you behind that act you put on for everybody. I think if you can get it back, and get some confidence with it... if you can harden up some... you'd be better off than you ever were, even before The War. I think you got a lotta potential that never actually happened. I think it's time for you to grow up. When ya do, we'll work things out between us however it's gotta happen. But I think if you succeed, we'll be friends at least."

"Friends," Lethe repeated, turning it over in his head. "I think... I could do that. But there's something you ought to know."

"I already know," Griss told him. "But if you gotta say it, don't talk."

Lethe smiled wryly. "Words lie," he murmured against Griss's stubble-roughened chin.

"Skin don't," Griss replied, tipping his head down to kiss him.

Lethe arched up and met him, fingers clenching on Griss's short-cropped black hair. He felt those big, knotted hands on his hips and followed their urging, shifting so he could slip up into Griss's lap and grind down against him. The kiss broke and he nuzzled into the crook of Griss's neck, tasting soot, metal, and heat in his skin. They moved together, Griss's hand on Lethiel's back pressing him tightly to the hardness of his body. Lethiel snuggled down against him and unzipped his jeans, hands seeking the thick, hot length he knew was held captive under them. Griss growled in his ear when Lethe's hands closed around his shaft, lifted Lethe from his lap, and pushed him down on the couch to loom over him. He worried at a nipple with his teeth, causing Lethe to twist and keen, and slowly, roughly, stripped Lethe's jeans from his hips. He fisted the smaller demon's erection and Lethe bucked into his hand with a pleading groan. Lethe's hands worked with graceful efficiency at Griss's jeans and he kicked them off willingly, pulling Lethiel's legs apart and settling between them to grind their cocks together. It hurt in a delicious sort of way, and Lethiel gasped, back forming a perfect arch as he rose up to meet Griss's weight. Lethiel dug his nails into Griss's lower back and made soft, aroused noises in his ear which turned sharp when two fingers slipped between them and found his entrance.

He relaxed as much as he could, head tucked against Griss's shoulder as those two fingers breached him and twisted inside him. The thin lubrication he recognized as spit. He moaned softly and nibbled Griss's throat, thrusting up into his hand and delighting in the slow burn of being stretched. He felt sharp teeth dig into his shoulder and cried out, clutching at Griss when the Annunaki reared back to spit in his hand and slick his own cock. This would be the first time they'd fucked without actual lubrication, which meant it was going to hurt exponentially more, and Lethiel couldn't possibly have cared less. He opened himself to Griss as the blunt head of his erection nudged at him, fingers lacing together behind Griss's neck. "Don't be careful," he growled.

Griss didn't ask him if he was sure. Lethiel liked that.

Griss's hips thrust powerfully forward and Lethe felt something tear and then bruise inside him as he was abruptly and forcibly filled. A pained cry twisted its way loose from his throat and he struggled, but Griss's hands held him firmly where he was as the other demon pulled back and slammed into him again. He stopped resisting quickly as the sharp pain subsided to a dull ache, clinging to Griss with everything he had as he was impaled over and over, ruthlessly used by the strong hands gripping his ass and holding him off the couch cushions. He dragged his nails desperately down that muscular back, incoherent pleas escaping his lips.

"Please," he rasped hoarsely. "Please, Griss, fuck me, fuck me..."

Rigid abdominal muscles ground against his erection, hurting the soft skin and filling his groin with an effervescent energy that spiralled into itself, growing exponentially with each thrust. He squirmed and writhed, meeting Griss's thrusts with his own hips, bucking desperately in the search for the release he needed. Griss wasn't feeling mischievous tonight, and he didn't prolong the torment, driving hard into Lethiel until Lethe spasmed uncontrollably and screamed his fulfillment, splattering their stomachs with hot, sticky fluid. He tightened around Griss as he came, and the Annunaki took advantage of it, fucking him brutally into the cushions and then snarling as he climaxed hard under the tight, hot grip of Lethiel's body. He kept going, Lethe's cries in his ear egging him on, until he finally released a second time and sank down onto his elbows, holding his weight off of his dazed partner. Lethiel collapsed, panting, staring blankly at the ceiling and shuddering in pleasure each time Griss shifted on top of him.

Ten minutes later, Griss pushed himself up off of Lethiel to get paper towels from the kitchen. He said nothing about the blood, and Lethe didn't mention it. They cleaned themselves up, and the couch the best they could, collecting their clothes and climbing the stairs. Lethe reached Griss's bed and turned, only to be caught up by Griss's hands on his hips and drawn into a fierce and possessive kiss. He melted into it, and when Griss pushed him down on the bed and nipped sharply at his inner thigh, Lethe marveled privately at his stamina and let his head fall back to moan in pleasure.

This time, it was slow and gentle, deep kisses and admiring caresses. Lethe had never had someone take the time to explore him as thoroughly as Griss did and he luxuriated in it, thrilling at the texture of his smithy's hands. His own fingers mapped the curvature of Griss's spine and the little bundles of muscle that surrounded it, the contours of his shoulders, and the unexpected softness of his inner thighs. Griss rolled over and moved Lethe on top of him, and Lethe settled down onto him, hips shifting as he ground Griss's cock against the best spots inside of him and arched back, stomach rippling as Griss's hands slid over his body.

They both came soft and long, shuddering, writhing, and groaning together until Lethe sank with a sigh onto Griss's chest and Griss settled a hand in the small of his back. There was no need to shift, as Lethe's weight wasn't enough to trouble Griss, and Griss pulled a blanket over both of them before settling in contentedly with his nose buried in the softness of Lethe's hair. Lethe knew separating would be a sticky affair in the morning, but he was wrung-out and sated and didn't want to move any more than Griss did, so he accepted it. The slow, circular, kneading motion of Griss's hands on his back made him moan softly and fairly purr into Griss's shoulder, and despite his apprehensions about New Hope, he was swallowed by sleep before he saw it coming. His dreams were no different, but the nightmares were shorter, as every time he began to writhe anxiously, Griss tightened his arms around him and rumbled in his ear, and the memory of complete isolation faded away.

WARNING:

2006-05-18T08:02:19Z

This bit is rated NC-17 and NOT APPROPRIATE for those under the age of consent in their state or country. Also, it's Yaoi, which for those of you who don't know, means copious gay sex.

Actually, if you're under the age of consent, what in the world are you doing here anyway?

Griss had settled in the chair and pushed it back onto its rear two legs, feet up on his work table. He had pushed the graph papers aside into a disorderly pile. His feet were bare and he'd stripped off the shirt Lethe had been crying into. Thus far, he hadn't replaced it, and Lethe didn't bother hiding the fact that he was raking his eyes over Griss's chest. Clean-cut muscle and a single, beaten steel ring through the right nipple, a thin trail of coarse hair leading invitingly down into the waistband of his grease-blackened and worn jeans. With his head tilted back and his thumbs hooked in the waist of his jeans, just the sight of him sent flickers of electricity to Lethe's groin. When Griss cracked his eyes open and saw him, he let the chair and his feet down and eyed him steadily. Lethe took a moment to decide what to do, with those smoldering black eyes boring straight into his, and then a current flashed, and never one to deny the urge of the moment, Lethiel stepped in and swung a leg over, straddling Griss's lap. He started to wiggle his hips sensuously, but Griss's hands settled firmly on them and stopped it, pulling him roughly close. They were still staring at each other. Lethiel made an attempt at a sexy smirk, but Griss's eyes flashed and he realized quickly that his usual games would only get him into trouble here.

Which meant that he was about to let Griss take him his way... in rough and brutal honesty, devoid of protective niceties and shielding dramatics. Nothing between him and the other Elohim when those eyes saw right through him. He was playing with fire this time. Griss was going to burn him. But he had a feeling that the burn would, in fact, cauterize a few of his still-open wounds, however much it might hurt. But, he realized with a gasp as Griss ground him down forcefully into his lap, it was going to be a good hurt. He bent his head and was quickly caught up in an aggressive kiss, teeth scraping lips, mouths fusing together. He dug his fingers into Griss's shoulders.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist and he was lifted, arms and legs wrapping around Griss as he was carried across the room and tumbled onto the bed. Springs creaked. His hips tilted upward to receive Griss and he groaned from the sudden weight of him. Fuck, but the man's body temperature was... well, probably right in line for an Annunaki. They were demons of earth and flame. He could feel it even through his t-shirt. The shirt which was quickly vanquished, torn from his body by Griss's hands which were... gods... were sliding up his body, callous-roughened but remarkably gentle. He helped the shirt off and threw it aside, reaching out blindly and finding Griss, and suddenly being kissed again as those powerful arms slid under the arch of his back and pulled him tight up against that hard and warm weight. He moaned helplessly against Griss's mouth. He tasted of tobacco, alcohol, and iron, essential things, earthy and warm things.

His hands slid down that broad and muscular back, finding the thick band of denim and tracing it around. He wiggled free of Griss's grip. The Annunaki took his meaning and loosened his hold, and Lethiel quickly opened the button of his jeans and dragged the zipper down. Between their two sets of hands, they worked the jeans down. Lethe hooked the boxers underneath them too, and the corner of his mouth quirked up when Griss hiked an eyebrow at him. Griss kicked off his pants and straightened on his knees. His hands now stroked down Lethe's chest and Lethe couldn't help arching into him, his own hands exploring the firm muscles of Griss's stomach and the heat that emanated from it. He plucked the nipple ring and received a pleasured grunt. Rising up into Griss's hands and admiring the gorgeously thick cock that rose from the dark curls at his groin, he moaned as those hands traced his chest, thrilling to the roughness of them as he took the ring into his mouth and wrapped his tongue around it. The taste of metal exploded across his tongue, as well as sweat and the dusky taste of Griss's skin. Griss rumbled approvingly and dug nails into Lethiel's back, causing him to groan and arch in response. His mouth descended to Lethe's neck and found a spot that made Lethiel cry out sharply.

Lethe's nails scrabbled at Griss's back as he pressed madly up against him. One hand slid down and cupped that glorious hardness, fingers wrapping around it and stroking it. It was even hotter than the rest of Griss's body and Lethe knew already that he was hungry to have it inside him. Normally, he was eager to use, not to be used, but he wanted Griss pounding away at him, ravaging him. He took Griss's hands and guided them to his own waistband, lifting his hips in silent consent. Griss cooperatively stripped the pants from him, and kissed Lethiel firmly as one hand slid tantalizingly up his thigh before lightly stroking his erection. Lethe bucked unashamedly into his hand, gasping harshly through his teeth and biting down on Griss's lower lip. He let out a wavering cry when Griss's hand slipped down, rubbing at his entrance with a single finger. Lethe felt a thread of fear, wondering if Griss was planning to penetrate him dry, but that fear was allayed when Griss broke the kiss in order to grope under the mattress for a small plastic tube. Lethe had a single moment of wondering why on earth Griss kept lube within arms reach, then remembered that Griss had up until recently had a boyfriend. Some human. Not a thrall. He chose not to mention it, merely spreading his thighs and pulling his knees to his chest as Griss slicked two fingers and plunged them deep inside him.

The sudden penetration took him by surprise, and hurt for an instant, but Griss dug his fingers into the upper wall of Lethiel's body and thought it wasn't the prostate, it still felt delicious and Lethiel spasmed hard, lurching on the bed and thrusting up onto Griss's hand wantonly for more. Griss gave it to him, dragging him into another soul-stealing kiss as he twisted and thrust his fingers into the tight, hot cavity in Lethiel's body, teasing him as much as stretching him. Lethiel writhed and twisted, scrabbling at his back and kissing Griss as fiercely as he was being kissed. They clutched at each other and pressed against each other, and then Griss pulled back to slick his cock. Lethiel felt he wasn't completely loosened, but was willing to forego it, as he was as desperate to have Griss inside him as Griss was apparently hungry to be inside him. He fell back onto the mattress, releasing Griss and hooking his hands under his knees, tilting his hips up. Griss wrapped his hands around Lethe's hips, lifting him and positioning him carefully. Lethe felt the blunt head of Griss's cock nudging at him, and he groaned, head dropping back to the mattress. Griss rolled his shoulders and Lethe cooperatively hooked his legs over them, inwardly thrilling that Griss was going to take him deep.

He wasn't mistaken. Griss's roughened cheek rubbed against his, and then he was pulled sharply forward and Griss's cock breached him, stretching and burning deep into him until he could almost feel it nudging against the base of his spine. His ass pressed against Griss's hips tightly, and he screamed, fingers knotting in Griss's short-cropped hair. He kept screaming, low, guttural cries, as Griss pulled back and began to fuck him brutally into the mattress. They melded together, abusing the ancient bed frame, hands exploring and mouths fusing. Lethiel was soon aching from the bruising thrusts against his insides,but he tightened anyway, whimpering as Griss's cock scraped over his prostate and reveling in the throaty groan Griss released. The tighter he squeezed, the harder Griss fucked him, so he bent every ounce of his will toward contracting those muscles. He whined, wiggling and trying to get more contact between his cock and Griss's stomach, but Griss held him still and thrust deeply, tormenting him into plaintive groans and nail-digging. He kept it up until Lethe forgot pride and begged against Griss's mouth for relief, pleading with him in their mutual language, the only words that would come to him.

Griss nuzzled him and whispered soothing words in his ear as he panted and squirmed, and after far too long in Lethe's opinion, finally shrugged Lethiel's legs off his shoulders. Lethe was quick to wrap them around his waist and press his cock against Griss's belly, letting out a hissing breath at the contact. Griss was searingly hot against him, and within a few hard thrusts, Lethe was crying out in blinding pleasure as he climaxed, tightening impossibly further around Griss's cock. Griss's teeth bit down on his shoulder hard enough that Lethiel knew it would leave a mark, and he dug his nails in sharply to Griss's lower back, thrusting up against him with his own hips and screaming his pleasure to the ceiling as Griss pounded brutally into him and climaxed, swamping him with hot stickiness that trickled between his thighs and cooled the mattress underneath him. Griss groaned and continued to fuck him until the strength shuddered out of both of them, and Lethe collapsed against the mattress with Griss on top of him, sweat-slicked and smelling of heat and security.

He didn't protest for about ten minutes, when it became truly difficult for him to breathe. He was about to open his mouth to say something when Griss pushed himself up on his forearms and slowly separated them, skin parting reluctantly as sweat and semen stuck them together. He rolled into the very small amount of space left between Lethiel and the wall, and Lethe obligingly scooted over. He waited until Griss gave him an arm, then pillowed his head on it, tucking himself somewhat shyly up against the more powerful demon's side. He wasn't really sure what to say, if anything. That had been... abrupt, but strangely fulfilling. He felt wrung dry, pleasantly aching and empty. He was half worried that Griss would expel him from the bed, cramped as it was, more a cot than a bed. After all, he couldn't possibly really mean anything to the Annunaki. What had happened was just... a fluke, a one-time thing. And he wasn't a very trustworthy bed partner.

But Griss did not make him leave. He curled his arm around Lethe's shoulders and pillowed his head on his other hand, settling down with a quiet sigh that Lethiel took for contentment. He felt strangely off-center. The few times he'd indulged in sex since returning to this plane, he hadn't stuck around afterward. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore.

"If you want me to go," he murmured, and was rewarded with a headlock.

"You're too fuckin' suspicious," Griss grumbled, sounding half-asleep already. "I ain't gonna kick you out. You're gonna stay right here where I can see you until I know you're in good hands, just in case you get any ideas about killin' yourself again."

Lethiel sighed. "I don't think you need to worry about that, Erlissan. I'll give this ridiculous idea of yours a try, and if it kills me, it kills me, and we're in the same spot we were before."

Griss made a spluttering noise. "Shut up," he muttered, reaching over and pulling a startled Lethe into another rough and searing kiss. "I ain't gonna abandon you. I ain't God. You're stayin' 'till I can see you off and that's fuckin' final, and if you wanna argue, so help me, I'll knock you out."

"You almost did, already," Lethe said with a wry smirk. He relaxed somewhat, tucking himself against Griss's side. Griss used one foot to pull the blankets up over them. He threw one edge over Lethe, who shifted to tuck it in, and settled down again. The blanket was rough wool, but Lethe, who was accustomed to silk sheets and satin covers, somehow didn't much mind. He realized suddenly that he was completely exhausted, and sank down against Griss's shoulder. He was asleep before he knew it, drifting in dreams. The Abyss haunted them, as usual, but this time, every time he half-woke from the nightmares, he knew from Griss's uneasy shifting that even in his nightmares he wasn't alone.

If things had been different...

2006-05-17T23:51:40Z

The roof was a barren, urban desert, devoid even of trash and leaves. Bits of gravel lay scattered across the cement, and a pair of faded lawn chairs sat facing west with a battered plastic table between them. They overlooked the dingy sprawl of one of Los Angeles's lesser neighborhoods, chipped and sagging buildings huddled together against the horizon. But it wasn't the horizon Griss was interested in as he sprawled in the rusty, reclining chair with a cold beer in easy reach of his hand. His eyes were on the stars, which shone unusually clear tonight, as the stiff wind from the ocean was doing a decent job clearing away the famous L.A. fog.

A cooler full of ice and more beer sat on the plastic table and the other chair was empty. He was expecting someone.

Down at street level, the ocean breeze blew fresh air in from the sea, scattering paper across the broken asphalt and up against the crumbling curbs. A dust devil played kittenishly about Lethiel's feet as he made his way up the gravel driveway toward the garage. Two bay doors looked like gigantic teeth, and the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the junk yard behind the building gave off a hostile and mildly threatening air. He shoved his hands deeper in the pockets of his trench coat. It was of exceptional cut and quality, but had seen better days, and like him, it was frayed around the edges. He hadn't been keeping up with his appearance as much as he would have liked - his dark hair had grown into his eyes and the ends were split and straggly, his blue-green eyes, the startling color of sunstruck tropical waters, had dark circles under them, and his normally pearlescent skin was now merely pallid. A slender and graceful body structure had become gaunt, and the sensual smirk that always hung in the corners of his mouth was bitter, speaking volumes for regrets and missed opportunities that he would never admit to out loud. He approached the rusted screen door. Taped to the punctured screen was a piece of yellow paper. It bore an arrow pointing up, and a single word in Griss's forceful, no-nonsense handwriting: "Roof".

The door was unlocked. Lethiel was kind enough to lock it behind him as he stepped into the other demon's home and work place. Directly ahead was a small kitchen with peeling tiles. Filing cabinets stood in front of the breakfast bar, containing Griss's client records, both mundane and infernal, Lethiel assumed. To the right, a threadbare couch and recliner nestled on brown shag carpet in front of a coffee table made of scrap metal and plywood and an old TV with speaker wire wrapped around the antennas. Slightly to the right of the kitchen, running behind the living room, was a set of stairs that led to the second story, and to Lethiel's left, the sturdy fire door that led out to the garage.

He climbed the stairs, turning sideways in the narrow hallway until he reached the second floor. The trapdoor that led up to the roof sat in the ceiling, but he bypassed it, going straight down the hall past the bathroom and another room, to the room at the end of the hall. He stood in the doorway for a long time, taking in the faux-wood panelling, the thin mattress on a cheap cot frame scattered with thermal blankets, the neatly framed posters of various metal bands, and the metal work table scattered with sheets of graph paper on which Griss had sketched out plans for current and future projects. He lived spartanly, much moreso than Lethiel could ever have conceived for himself. But then, Griss had always been a creature of simplicity. He brushed his fingers over the battered leather jacket that hung over the back of a straight-backed wooden chair, then returned to the trap door and pulled it down, ascending into the attic and then climbing through another trap door up onto the roof.

Griss, as usual, looked entirely relaxed. He looked relaxed even when he was shredding his enemies limb from limb, Lethiel remembered. Perhaps that was simply an aspect of the most gifted warriors. To flow like water, like in the old kung-fu movies, never tense and always be loose and ready to react. Lethiel kicked the trap door shut and studied Griss even as Griss tilted his head back to study him.

When Griss had taken over this body, Lethe remembered, it had mostly gone to seed. A relatively small bone structure and ruggedly handsome features wasted under the influence of drugs, alcohol, and laziness. Having no patience for such weakness, Griss had burned away the fat and built up pounds of muscle mass and now cut an impressive figure, every muscle cleanly defined and cut, without a single unnecessary ounce. His skin had darkened attractively from hours spent in the sun and in front of the forge, and he'd cropped his hair haphazardly short, which was oddly very attractive on him. Abruptly, Lethiel chuckled at himself. He'd sunk a long way if he was sizing up Erlissan, he told himself. The Rage of the Ever-Burning Forge was not the type for idle dalliances.

"Yo, Lethe," Griss called in his gruff, gravelly tones. "Come on over here. Siddown, have a beer."

Lethiel nodded and complied, sauntering over to the empty recliner and sitting on the plastic straps. He opened the small cooler and withdrew a chilled beer, glancing at the label. Thankfully, it was of a good brand, but it figured that of all things, Griss would be picky about his beer. And his cigarettes, Lethe added mentally, scenting sweet tobacco on the air. He was proved right when Griss plucked a foil packet from his shirt pocket and offered it to Lethe, who politely refused. "You told me to give you time," Lethiel said when Griss settled back down with his beer and a fresh cigarette. "I've given you time. What, exactly, was it for, pray tell?"

"Listen to you," Griss snorted. "What was it for?' You need a reason to live a few more weeks? You can make all the money in the world, spend it all, and make it all back, but it ain't gonna give ya one more minute of time."

"We," Lethiel said dryly, "are immortal. We have all the time in the world. Isn't that the crux of the problem?"

"I got in touch with some friends," Griss said, changing the subject. "They got in touch with some friends o'theirs. Turns out they know some people who might be able to help."

Lethiel's laugh was short and despairing. "Help? Help what? I'm TIRED, Griss," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm worn out. There's nothing left for me here, nothing I can do, nothing I can change. What's the point of staying when we've already lost? I don't know how to do what you've done," he said harshly. "I don't know how to forget. And I don't know how you could either. Untold eons in the Abyss, all for THEM, and what have they ever done for us?" His voice was rising. "Did they stand up for us against Heaven? NO. Did they keep the faith for us when left to their own devices? NO. Did they beseech their oh-so-loving Creator for lenience on our behalf?"

"He wouldn't o'listened," Griss told him.

"That's beside the point!" Lethiel snapped.

"And your lil' cult DID keep the faith. They summoned you back."

"To serve them," Lethiel said bitterly. "They tried to BIND me to give THEM power. We were cast out of HEAVEN for them, we gave up everything just so they could have a better life, and what are we now? Villains!"

"You ain't exactly goin' against that stereotype," Griss said with remarkable patience, letting out a breath of smoke.

Lethiel sat back sullenly. "I was twisted before the Abyss. You were too. The War, His wrath, being denied His love and His presence... I'm not claiming it as an excuse. I know what I am, and what I became, and I know how much I still hate Him for it."

"You an' me, we don't deserve another chance," Griss told him quietly. "We did way too much, against The Lord and against humanity, to ever be forgiven. When He casts judgment, we're gonna be destroyed. Lake o'fire and all that."

"Oh, splendid," Lethe snarled. "More suffering, because that's really what we deserve for trying to DO THE RIGHT THING!"

"That's a selfish person's attitude," Griss pointed out. "You know the world ain't just. What'd you think you were gonna get, a reward? Worship? Did you wanna be like God? Why'd you rebel? Seriously. I never knew."

Lethiel seemed somewhat taken-aback by the question and looked down, delicate hands lacing together as he pondered it. "Their love," he said finally, after a long silence. "I wanted their love. I wanted to give them the sea like... an unwrapped gift, show them things they'd never seen. And yes, I wanted their praise. But mostly, I just wanted...." He trailed off, eyes flicking up to Griss's impassive face. When the other man didn't stir, he stumbled on. "They had something between them that we didn't have. They mated and had children, and the way they treated each other was different from anything I'd ever seen before about love. It wasn't the love we lived in when we were favored. It wasn't what we felt for them. And it was worlds away from anything we felt for each other. It was more raw, tougher, more... visceral. More real, somehow, even though it really doesn't compare in intensity. I don't know what it was."

"Family," Griss suggested.

"Maybe. Anyway, I wanted that. I wanted someone to... love me personally, not just... as an archtype or an angel."

"Did it ever happen?" Griss wondered.

Lethiel snorted. "If it had, do you think I would have been warped? No. No one had any of that in their hearts for me. I probably would have tried harder, but then The War started and so many things happened and before I knew it, I'd forgotten all about that, and the only thing I wanted was to kill them, and kill them, and kill them some more. Make them suffer and hurt, make them pay, make them feel what I felt, the jaggedness, the separation. Except they never did," he said quietly, turning the beer bottle between his hands. "They couldn't, really. They lived in His love and His favor. They would never know 'alone' or 'despair'. No matter how much I hurt them. Against Him, I couldn't do anything." His jaw clenched, then he threw back his head and drank deeply. The carbonation curdled in his throat and he stifled the reflex to expel it.

"Y'know, you never were alone," Griss told him. "I think maybe you were concentratin' on the wrong people. 'Cause plenty of us woulda stood by you, 'specially your own House. Hell, Jori woulda done it if you hadn't killed his charges."

"I was afraid," Lethiel said flatly. "Terrified. Everything was ending. I knew they were going to take us, and I remember thinking, I don't know what's going to happen, just that it's going to be bad. And it was. I remember....." He pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead, breath hissing in through his teeth. "Fuck, I remember."

"Y'know, even Jori goes pale when you talk about The Abyss," Griss said. "It hurt the social ones most of all. Cut off from love, or in your case, admiration, you and he went insane. But he got lucky with Aaron... the human whose body he took... and you, not so much." He took another swig of beer and leaned back, contemplating the stars.

"And you?" Lethiel wondered, sliding back and putting his feet up, lying back on the lawn chair and sipping his beer more slowly now. "You're the most antisocial jackass I know. It can't have been that bad, stewing in your own juices for eons. You never seemed that bothered by the separation."

"I didn't want anything from The Almighty," Griss agreed. "Or from humans really. I was more about the others."

"Mm," Lethe said, holding the silence until he could swallow the drink he'd just taken. "Rumor has it that you and Lucifer had something going?"

Griss snorted. "Sure, for two minutes. I don't even know why he bothered, sonuva bitch. But he forgot about it fast."

"You're still angry at him," Lethiel surmised.

"If I see him, I'll kill him. Well," he amended, tapping the ash off his cigarette, "If I see him, I'll die tryin' to kill him. 'Cause fuck knows he prolly remembers my Name and would just destroy me before lookin' at me."

"You ever think he might have had a reason?" Lethe inquired.

"I don't give a shit about his reasons. I don't give a shit about anyone's reasons, not his, not God's, not man's. Only thing that matters is results. I can live now 'cause I don't care about any o'them. But you can't do that, 'cause you can't isolate yourself, so I got an offer for ya, gettin' back to the reason why I called ya up here."

"An offer," Lethiel said dryly. "This should be interesting. Go on."

"Like I said, I know some people who know some people. They're puttin' together sort of a... a thing. Call it New Hope."

"Sounds sacharine."

Griss growled at him. "Lemme finish. They'll take in anybody who doesn't wanna fight anymore. Humans, vampires, weres, imbued, even elohim. They're tryin' to teach 'em how to live again. I think they could help you."

"By what?" Lethe sneered. "Hugging me?"

"You could use a motherfuckin' hug," Griss shot back. "They'll CARE about you, that's the important part. They'll give a shit whether you live or die, and they'll help you figure out where to go from here. Give you a safe place to be where nobody knows about the shit you've done. That's what you wanted, right? I mean, correct me if I heard wrong."

Lethiel looked mutinous. "I doubt anyone has it in them to really give a damn about something like me anymore," he told Griss. "Especially not bloody idealists who don't know what true torment is. The wounds we've suffered can't be healed."

"That's real fuckin' emo, and you know it's not true. Truth is, you're still angry and you're still fuckin' PROUD, and you don't want to admit you need anybody's help. But you need to get over it, 'cause somewhere in you, there's a Lammasu who still fuckin' wants their love and attention. You wouldn't be talkin' about destroyin' yourself if somethin' in you wasn't cryin'. You didn't come and tell me 'goodbye' 'cause you actually like me. You came 'cause you thought I was the only one who might give enough of a shit to come rescue you. And that's what I'm doin'."

"Shut up," Lethiel snapped.

Griss swung himself upright and jabbed a finger at Lethiel. "GO THERE. Don't tell 'em anythin' they don't ask to know. Let 'em care about you. Try to give a fuck about them in return. Plant flowers, paint, run around half naked in thunderstorms, do whatever the fuckin' artist in you wants to do. Give that part of you that's huddled up inside, cryin', a chance to come out and see that things really ain't that bad anymore. You want it to be easy? Tough shit. Nothin' worthwhile is easy. You ain't in Hell anymore. You got a second chance. If you're really too stupid to take it, I'll beat the shit outta you myself and you can ponder non-existence in my gut, you got me? Or are you that scared to go back to carin'? Are you that weak on the inside that it's gonna destroy you again?"

"YES!" Lethiel screamed in his face. "YES, I am, all right? I am! They'll talk big about their high and lofty ideals of harmony and love, but when it comes down to something like me, they'll turn up their noses and you KNOW it, and I don't get how you can still be so naive. YOU, of all people! And if I try and I fail, I've got nothing left. NOTHING."

"You've got nothin' left now," Griss told him. "Which means you ain't actually got somethin' to lose."

Lethiel's jaw trembled and he sat down, hard, causing the chair to shriek in protest. "It already hurts," he said softly, fingers running through his hair. "If I open up, it'll just hurt more. I don't know how anybody can hurt this much and not die. But I don't want to show my belly, not to THEM."

"Katerina has some confidence in these people. She's offered to take you over there. It's in England, so you'd be on the other side o'the world from anyone who knows ya. You can start over totally. Leave all this behind and just be clean." He reached out and took Lethe's hands, which were wringing each other, in one of his big, knotted, calloused ones. Lethiel shuddered deeply, but Griss didn't feel it was in revulsion. "Come on, Lethe," he said quietly. "Give 'em a chance. They can't make it worse, not like you're afraid of. You ain't got nothin' better to do, and if you COULD start over... if they COULD help... it'd be worth it, ya think?"

"Fuck you, Griss," Lethe breathed, not pulling his hands away. "Fuck you, you cruel, cruel, bastard. I swear to... to... fuck, there's nothing left to swear by. If you fuck me over, I'll kill you and everyone you care about."

Griss's other hand cupped Lethe's head and pulled him into the aforementioned hug. He knew by the sudden hitch of Lethe's thin shoulders... dammit, hadn't he been eating at all? Human bodies had different needs than an Elohim's... that if he looked down, they'd both be extremely embarassed. But he really didn't care if Lethiel wept on his shirt. After all, it was the twentieth century and washing machines were only a dollar to use. He wasn't good at offering comfort, but Lethe didn't seem to need him to do anything except keep a tight grip on him so he didn't crumple. After a long moment, he bent his head and began whispering rapidly in Enochian, which still rolled off his tongue as easily as ever despite his rough speech. This seemed to calm the other demon down, and the sobs faded a bit and eventually stopped. Griss knotted his fingers in Lethe's hair, which was as soft as a kitten's fur, impossibly so. He kept whispering the language of truth, truth in its unadulterated form, the only thing he figured Lethe might ever believe.

"Come on," he said eventually when Lethiel had finally gone quiet. "You ain't met Katerina yet, but she's solid. You'll know when you see her. She's gonna go with ya, if you wanna go."

"Somebody I don't know," Lethe muttered. "You want me to fly overseas to these people with someone I don't know."

"The REASON I'm sendin' you with Katerina," Griss said, "Is 'cause Katerina ain't got it in her to pity nobody. She's a gentlewoman from a noble family, and she won't treat you any way but the polite way. She won't look down her nose at ya, and she won't ever, EVER tell a secret she's been trusted with. She's been workin' with Slip these past few years. She's a real smart girl. And she thinks the folks at New Hope are naive idealists too."

Lethe chuckled wryly. "Does she?" He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "She pretty?"

"Like an ice sculpture," Griss assured him. "Perfect and cold. You'd like her." He pulled Lethe to his feet and ruffled his hair. "So, how 'bout it? You in?"

Lethe brushed at the droplets clinging to his long eyelashes. "I'm in," he sighed. "I've got no other choice. I'll do whatever you want me to."

"Damned straight," Griss muttered, arms folded across his chest. "You gonna cover your own plane ticket? 'Cause if you can't, I got the cash to get ya to England."

"Why are you doing this for me," Lethe wondered dully, but not mistrustfully. "There's nothing I can give you."

"I'm happy," Griss told him. "That whole thing wit' Jay aside, I've got it pretty good now. And God ain't got no part of it. See no reason why you can't have that for yourself now. It ain't easy pullin' it together for yourself, but you can do it. You're smart enough, you just ain't got the strength right now. But these guys ain't gonna need ya to have strength. They just want you to give 'em the same chance they're givin' you. S'not so hard, right? Everybody's gotta meet halfway. Come on, you look like shit. Bathroom's downstairs."

"I do look like shit, don't I?" Lethe agreed wryly. "Okay, yeah, let's go downstairs. Hey, Griss...."

"You ain't gotta say it," Griss told him, finishing off his beer and picking up the cooler. "You don't ever haveta say it."

"I know," Lethe murmured. "Thanks anyway."

"Welcome," Griss said gruffly. "Get downstairs 'fore you turn me into a diabetic." He wrenched up the trap door and descended, footsteps loud on the rickety iron bars.

Lethe paused after Griss had vanished, sniffling sharply to stop the hitching of his breath and rubbing his nose. He glanced upward and paused, transfixed by the heavens laid out in clarity and splendor, unchanged since the birth of the world. Once, he had been able to cavort amongst those stars, but had disdained them in favor of the magnificence of the deeps in the early days, when the earth was void and the spirit of God hovered over the waters. So long ago. So pristine. Infinite possibility in infinite form. So much potential in the palm of their hands.

It was still there, waiting to be explored. There were still worlds that hadn't been conquered. "I don't deserve this," he murmured, slipping his hands back in his pockets and rubbing the toe of his boot against the gritty roof. "But they didn't deserve it any more, did they? You moved heaven and earth for them... literally. You died for them. But not for us. For us, you gave nothing but censure and disdain. You... you abandoned us. You made us and then you abandoned us and we did no more than they did! You hypocrite. I'll never forgive you. Which is fair play, I suppose, since you'd never even consider forgiving me. But they might. And how would that be," he wondered, "if they were more good at heart than you?" He turned and descended into the attic, then down into the building, closing the doors behind him. Griss wasn't in sight, but Lethiel heard movement in his bedroom. He went for the bathroom. Though aged, it was scrupulously clean and everything was in its place. Griss was only sloppy to a point, but Lethe had the feeling that the Annunaki knew where everything was. He washed up and shrugged off his coat, carrying it back out to the hall, and out of curiosity to see the beast in its own habitat, wandered into Griss's bedroom.

New Chibi, New Class... Goodies All Around!

2006-03-25T23:27:19Z

Gunslinger
Rare in all the realms, but present in any realm that has the technology to make guns, gunslingers turn the flash of smoke and crack of thunder into a deadly art. Focused, intelligent, and (some argue) not entirely sane, they move outside the spheres of convention, leaving an eternal impression on those who encounter them.

Adventures: Gunslingers are transient, moving from place to place like the coming and going of the morning fog. They adventure to break monotony, to challenge themselves, to hone their skills further, and sometimes simply because they have nothing better to do. Gunslingers often develope a mild addiction to their art, and actively seek opportunities to defeat opponants if such opportunities don't simply fall into their laps. Some gunslingers are devoted to justice and protecting the weak, and adventure for this reason. Evil gunslingers lust for the thrill of killing, and the heartstopping moment before the trigger is pulled, an eternal zen existence that only a gunslinger or an archer can understand.

Characteristics: Gunslingers are narrowly focused on their trademark weapons, to the exclusion of most others. They are only profficient in the most basic weaponry besides their firearms, and most of them use other weapons only as a back-up in cases of extreme need. A gunslinger's guns are precious to him beyond words or cost - they are literally instruments of his soul. Because of their transitory lifestyles, gunslingers often become jacks-of-all-trades, which is reflected by their skills. They tend to be dangerously intelligent and tough as boiled owl. As they gain experience, they also gain a better understanding of the philosophy behind their firearms, and a high-level gunslinger becomes a thing of awe and terror.

Alignment: Gunslingers may be of any alignment, though they tend toward lawful and neutral, as chaotic alignments generally don't possess the discipline required to pursue the gunslinger class. Lawful gunslingers may serve as justicars, enforcing the law and protecting the people, while neutral ones will kill whatever threatens them or gets in their way. Chaotic gunslingers most often kill for the fun of it, and seek new and exciting ways to stake their lives on a single bullet.

Religion: A gunslinger may follow any diety. Some adhere to gods of justice, others to patrons of the wild hunt, others to deities of trickery and underhanded tactics. A gunslinger's alignment, race, and homeland will determine his diety choice.

Background: Even in societies with the potential to create guns, such firearms are very rarely made. Gunslingers most often come to their calling if they are descended from a line of gunslingers. Some individuals find their guns later in life and are captivated by them, but without doubt, those who grow up with their pistols in their hands make the sharpest and deadliest gunslingers. A pair of guns is a great relic, imbued with the soul of those who use them, and very few smiths make them lightly. This contributes to the mystique surrounding most gunslingers and their origins.

Races: Humans are the most likely to become gunslingers, as their ready acceptance and easy adaptation to new technology makes picking up the necessary skills an easy process. Human gunslingers are usually seekers of law and order or hunters of men. Dwarven gunslingers are commonly smiths who seek to improve the technology of firearms by learning better how they function. Elven gunslingers are rare, as elves prefer archery and the noise created by the discharge of a gun is offensive to them. Half-orc gunslingers prefer big guns that discharge lots of smoke, but often carry supplemental weapons. Gnomes and halflings can become curious about guns, but rarely adopt them as a way of life, and seldom actually take levels in the gunslinger class. Half-elves are about as likely as humans and half-orcs to take up firearms, as they are often already isolated.

Among the monstrous humanoids, very few have the ability to create guns, let alone become gunslingers. Such individuals would be extremely rare.

Other Classes: A gunslinger is a great ranged fighter. His abilities make it possible for him to rely on melee fighters for support, as his precision lowers the chance of friendly fire. He gets along well with fighters, who share his focus, and with rangers, with whom gunslingers have a great deal in common. He has a difficult time understanding the arcane ways of most spellcasters, and his self-sufficiency makes it a fifty-fifty chance whether he will accept relying on a cleric for healing. They tend to be loners in a party.

Role: In most adventuring parties, a gunslinger is the lone wolf, scout, tactician, and heavy ranged hitter of the group. He works best when supported by melee fighters, whom he can back-up with his precise ranged attacks and his gunslinger abilities.

Game Rule Information
Gunslingers have the following game statistics.

Abilities: Dexterity is the most important ability for a gunslinger, since nearly all of their attacks will be ranged attacks and they cannot wear any armor heavier than light. Intelligence gives a gunslinger more skill points and, at higher levels, bonuses to his firearm damage. Constitution is always a good choice for gunslingers, as the extra hit points come in handy during their early levels.

Alignment: Any
Hit Die: d8

Class Skills
The gunslinger's class skills (and the key ability for each skill) are Climb (Str), Craft - Alchemy (Int), Craft (Int), Disable Device (Int), Gather Information (Cha), Hide (Dex), Jump (Str), Knowledge - Engineering (Int), Profession (Wis), Ride (Dex), Search (Int), Sense Motive (Wis), Spot (Wis), Swim (Str), and Tumble (Dex).
Skill Points at 1st Level: (6 + Int modifier) x 4
Skill Points at Each Additional Level: 6 + Int modifier

Class Features
All of the following are class features of the gunslinger.

Weapon and Armor Proficiencies: A gunslinger is proficient with all simple weapons, guns, and the hand crossbow. They are proficient in light armor, but not with medium or heavy armor or with shields. When wearing armor heavier than light or carrying a shield, a gunslinger loses all of his class abilities.

Trapfinding: A gunslinger can use the Search skill to locate traps when the task has a Difficulty Class higher than 20. Finding a nonmagical trap has a DC of at least 20, or higher if it is well hidden. Finding a magic trap has a DC of 25 + the level of the spell used to create it.

A gunslinger can use the Disable Device skill to disarm magic traps. A magic trap usually has a DC of 25 + the level of the spell used to create it.

A gunslinger who beats the trap's DC by 10 or more with a Disable Device check can study a trap, figure out how it works, and bypass it (with his party) without disarming it.

Rapid Reload: At 1st level, a gunslinter is gets a specific version of the Rapid Reload feat as a bonus feat, which applies to his guns. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Two-Weapon Fighting: At 2nd level, a gunslinger is treated as having the Two-Weapon Fighting feat even if he does not have the normal prerequisites of that feat. The benefits of the Two-Weapon Fighting feat are lost of the gunslinger is wearing any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Quickdraw: At 3rd level, a gunslinger gains the Quickdraw feat as a bonus feat. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Pistol Whip: At 4th level, a gunslinger may use his guns in melee combat without penalty. The gun used for this purpose counts as a club for the purposes of determining damage and critical threats.

Precise Shot: At 4th level, a gunslinger gains the Precise Shot feat as a bonus feat, regardless of whether he has the normal prerequisites for the feat. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Shoot From the Hip: At 5th level, a gunslinger reduces the penalty for Two-Weapon Fighting to -1/-1 to his attack bonus. At 9th level, a gunslinger negates the penalty altogether. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Improved Two-Weapon Fighting: At 6th level, a gunslinger is treated as having the Improved Two-Weapon Fighting feat, regardless of whether he has the normal prerequisite for this feat. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Precision Shot: At 7th level, a gunslinger may add his Intelligence modifier to the damage he does when using his guns to make a ranged attack. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Guttersnipe: At 8th level, a gunslinger may reduce the penalty he takes to his Hide check for fireing from a hiding place. He may reduce this penalty by 5, from -20 to -15. At 12th level, this ability reduces the penalty by an additional 5, from -15 to -10. At 16th level, it is further reduced from -10 to -5. Finally, at 20th level, a gunslinger is so cunning he may fire on opponants without giving away his position. At 20th level, a gunslinger who attacks while hiding suffers no penalty to his subsequent Hide checks.

Evasion: At 8th level, a gunslinger can avoid even magical and unusual attacks with great agility. If he makes a successful Reflex saving throw against an attack that normally deals half damage on a successful save, he instead takes no damage. A helpless gunslinger (such as one who is bound, prone, or unconcious) does not gain the benefits of Evasion. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Close Range Shot: At 10th level, a gunslinger may fire while in melee combat without provoking attacks of opportunity.

Greater Two-Weapon Fighting: At 11th level, a gunslinger is treated as having the Greater Two-Weapon Fighting feat even if he does not have the normal prerequisites of that feat. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Improved Precise Shot: At 13th level, a gunslinger gains the Improved Precise Shot feat as a bonus feat, regardless of whether he possesses the normal prerequisites for the feat. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Ranged Disarm: At 14th level, a gunslinger gains the Ranged Disarm feat as a bonus feat, regardless of whether he has the normal prerequisites for that feat.

Limitless Shot: At 15th level, a gunslinger is no longer hampered by his enviroment. He may attack without penalty while tumbling, climbing, prone, or dangling upside-down. Doing so does not provoke an attack of opportunity. He loses this ability if he wears any armor heavier than light, or is carrying a shield.

Crippling Shot: At 17th level, a gunslinger may choose to use his full round action for one devestating attack. He may make one attack at his highest attack bonus on the knee (or equivalent body part) of an opponant up to one size category larger than himself. If successful, the target's movement is halved.

Maiming Shot: At 18th level, a gunslinger may choose to use his full round action for one devestating attack. He may make one attack at his highest attack bonus on the elbow or shoulder (or equivalent body part) of an opponant up to one size category larger than himself. If successful, the target is unable to wield a weapon or shield that depends upon that hand, and may not be able to cast spells that require somatic componants.

Blinding Shot: At 19th level, a gunslinger may choose to use his full round action for one devestating attack. He may make one attack at his highest attack bonus on the eyes (or equivalent body part) of an opponant up to one size category larger than himself. If successful, the target is considered blinded.

Ex-Gunslingers
Ex-gunslingers retain their gunslinger abilities, but these may only be used if the character is wearing light or no armor, and is not carrying a shield. Gunslingers may multi-class freely.

Gunslinger Table
A Gunslinger uses a Ranger's base attack and base save values appropriate to his level. Special abilities are as follows:

Level -- Special Ability
1 - Trapfinding, Rapid Reload
2 - Two-Weapon Fighting
3 - Quickdraw
4 - Pistol Whip, Precise Shot
5 - Shoot From the Hip
6 - Improved Two-Weapon Fighting
7 - Precision Shot
8 - Guttersnipe, Evasion
9 - Improved Shoot From the Hip
10 - Close Range Shot
11 - Greater Two-Weapon Fighting
12 - Improved Guttersnipe
13 - Improved Precise Shot
14 - Ranged Disarm
15 - Limitless Shot
16 - Greater Guttersnipe
17 - Crippling Shot
18 - Maiming Shot
19 - Blinding Shot
20 - Superior Guttersnipe

Razzat Hz'Narrin
Male Drow Gunslinger (of Malar), 4th level, Neutral Evil
125 yrs, 5 feet, 1 inches, 85 lbs, silver eyes, white hair, ebony skin

Razzat was born a commoner in the only Drow city where males are in charge. He spent the early years of his life as an errand boy for a small group of Deep Dwarves who worked in the Smiths Quarter, given food and lodging for his trouble, but very little else. He was treated with rough indifference, often harassed but rarely abused, and grew up mildly antisocial and nursing a private resentment toward a world that didn't seem to have a place in it for him. Other drow elves treated him worse than the Deep Dwarves, and his yearning to be accepted among them, along with his recognition of their inferiorities as a race, led him to a strange dichotomy: Razzat is proud to be a Drow, and would not rather be anything else, but he often sees members of his own race as weak and hunts them as a beast would hunt its prey. He is mostly indifferent toward females and other races - while he considers them to be lesser than himself, he is not prone to abuse his lessers, as such activities do not sooth his own resentment or give him a sense of empowerment. Only killing does that.

When Razzat was a small boy, one of his primary employers was an old Deep Dwarf smith named Udri. Udri was an accomplished world-traveler who had eventually settled in the Underdark to secure his retirement on the proceeds from creating high-quality magical armor and weapons. Most of his work was of typical fare, but he had one treasure from the world above that he had preserved - a single pistol from Calamshin. He once showed the firearm to Razzat, who was promptly enchanted with it, and spent many long, secret hours holding the gun, smelling the oil, metal, sanded wood, and ivory that still carried the scent of open air and the desert. Udri knew of Razzat's fascination, but dismissed it as harmless.

As Razzat was nearing adulthood, Udri neared the age at which he would retire. He desired to create one last masterpiece to leave behind him. Due to his religious beliefs, the item could not be sold, but must be a gift, because such items were considered to be beyond price. For many months, Udri reflected over what he should make - He could easily make an item of surpassing magical power, but this seemed too old-hat to him. Eventually, Razzat suggested that Udri should attempt to recreate the desert pistol, as this would be a project entirely different from anything else the Dwarf had ever attempted. Udri dismissed the suggestion at first, but it stuck with him, and he began to make plans for the new guns without even meaning to.

Udri decided to create a pair of guns, but rather than being desert guns, they would be the product of the Underdark. He made them of dull metal instead of gleaming metal and embellished them with polished stone and silver accents. He altered the style slightly and improved upon the design, making them easier and faster to reload and smoother for a better draw. He improved the balance for increased precision. Finally, he added just a shred of magic to increase their accuracy and augment the force of the gunpowder.

Udri intended to put more magical power into the gun set. But before he could do so, a rival smith who had heard of his attempts and coveted the weapons murdered Udri with the intent to steal the unfinished guns. However, he could not find Udri's hiding place for the weapons, and left frustrated, without the fruits of his crime. Razzat, upon hearing of Udri's death, began to search for the weapons. Knowing Udri far better, he eventually discovered their hiding place, along with the original desert gun, and Udri's journal, chronicling the details of creating the firearms, their mechanism, the cleaning and care of them, and the alchemical process of making both bullets and gunpowder.

This trove of treasure did not go to waste. Razzat was as fascinated by the new guns as he was by the old one. He stole the lot and continued quietly working as an errand boy for the other Deep Dwarves who would toss him a crust of bread in exchange for delivering a letter.

He kept the hiding place of his stash secret and kept the guns scrupulously clean. As the years passed, he eventually discovered the identity of Udri's murderer. Though he had held no particular fondness for the old dwarf, the other dwarf had been Udri's rival in all things, and after stealing everything from Udri's home and forge that he could, was quite rich. Razzat began making plans to murder the dwarf. He took odd jobs for every spare copper he could get and hoarded his pennies until he had enough money to pay an alchemist to construct gunpowder for him. Eventually, he learned how to create it himself. He saved up for sets of bullets made to his exact specifications. He also worked for the Dwarf extensively, and on occassion hinted that he might have a few clues to the location of Udri's chaches. He bided his time and was patient.

Finally, Razzat loaded his guns, measured his powder, and went to the Dwarf's shop. He killed the Dwarf and used the guns to break open the cabinet in which he kept his money, staying at range to prevent the traps on the cabinet from harming him. The amount of money in the drawer was far less than he had expected, but it was still more than he had ever seen in his life, and he managed to escape with it before others came to investigate the noise.

With his money, he became autonomous. He saw a leather-worker to create customized hip-holsters for the guns as well as fingerless gloves with padding on the palms for firing. He was fitted for belts that would contain his ammunition and cleaning kits. He bought his own bullet-mold and a kit to make and measure his own gunpowder. He invested in a high-quality suit of reinforced leather armor. With all of that done, he hoarded the remainder and spent many hours of each day practicing with his guns. He practiced drawing, sighting, and shooting. The guns seemed to be extensions of himself - clumsy at first, but quicker and quicker as he gained familiarity with them. He began to venture out into the wilds of the Underdark, hunting creatures and, eventually, bandits. He discovered a strange kinship with his guns that he could not share with any other living creature. He learned of Malar, god of the Hunt, from a wererat ranger in the dark and secret places of the city, and while Razzat was not terribly religious, he immedietly turned his allegience toward this beast-god that he felt he could understand.

Razzat is currently 125 years old, fresh into adulthood, but he carries with him a shred of the anti-authority attitude that characterizes a teenager. He prefers to abide by his own laws, and pays lip service only to those who can enforce their displeasure on him. Antisocial, he prefers to be alone in the crowd. Life is monotonous for him unless he is stalking someone or something. He maintains a slightly sarcastic, jaded sense of humor, and usually keeps his own council. He enjoys strategy games, such as the drow version of chess, and potent liquor. Thus far, he has no real sexual preference, and could effectively be considered bisexual. He is dismissive, but not cruel, to those who are beneath him, and dispassionate rather than sadistic toward slaves, other commoners, laborers, and women. While he has made use of brothels in the past, for both male and female liasons, he quickly got that out of his system. These days, he disdains intimacy in favor of isolation.

Razzat's great ambition is to go to the surface and find the sun-blasted desert from which Udri's desert-gun came. While he is aware of the power of the sun (or thinks he is), and knows that Drow are feared and hated on the surface, he feels that this pilgramage will enlighten him further in regards to his weapons. He seeks a way to make it happen despite the difficulties. He keeps the gun with him in the box in which Udri kept it, which is made of sandalwood and carved and stained in the tradition of the nomadic desert peoples.

Razzat's slightly less great ambition also involves the surface, or at least the near-surface; he desires to get in contact with those who worship Malar and learn more about the Beast-Lord. Though he owns no authority save himself, Razzat is dedicated to educating himself on the things that matter, since he lacks a formal education, and he feels that learning more about Malar will help him learn more about himself.

My apologies for spelling mistakes - I don't have access to Word Processor at the moment.