OMaL, Chapter 1: The Secret Wars

[Arana]

Of Myths and Legends, Chapter 1: The Secret Wars

OOC: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=349477

Lucas Sín
Holy Name Cathedral, Chicago, Illinois
12:30 AM, September 23, 2015

The son of Loki leaned up against the streetlight, a half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew in one hand and his untraceable, prepaid cell phone in the other. According to the plan that he had so carefully laid out, the phone should have gone off at exactly five minutes before midnight. It was now thirty minutes after midnight, and it had yet to ring, buzz, or do so much as beep. What the hell his contacts were doing that justified their being thirty-five... scratch that, thirty-six minutes late, he had no idea, but if their lateness caused the plan to fail, he would personally freeze them solid and then smash them with a hammer. If his father had come up with the plan, he probably would have assumed that they would be late... but he was bound in his own son's entrails and being tortured by having acidic snake venom drip in his face, so for now, Lucas was in charge. At 12:43, the phone finally rang, taking him from his thoughts of his father's gruesome fate.

"I swear to god, if you're drunk somewhere..."

The heavy Irish accent that replied belonged to Brian O'Neil, a pixie from the North Side of Chicago that was associated with the Irish Fae Mob. Usually, the pixie could be found hanging out at the Shamrock, a fae bar on the North Side that was a popular meeting place for the Irish fae. Not to be confused with the Rainbow, which was a fae gay bar next door to the Shamrock. Coincidentally, Lucas was a regular at both; conveniently, they were both owned by Michael O'Malley, a leprechaun who admired the demigod's skill at making fake IDs enough to ignore the fact that he obviously wasn't twenty-one.

"Drunk? Oh, cause I'm Irish, eh? That's racist."

"He is though."

The second voice that came over the phone was that of another pixie, O'Neil's son Patrick, who Lucas attended the same school that Lucas was undercover at.

"Of course he is. He always is. So Patty, you're in charge. And if you're not here in twenty minutes, I'll have you all tie each other up and throw yourselves into Lake Michigan."

- -

Fifty-eight minutes after midnight, three cars finally pulled up in front of the Holy Name Cathedral, their license plates covered and their windows tinted. Out of each stepped four men, most of them either pixies or selkies, all dressed in leather jackets and balaclavas and wielding various types of firearms, although most of them were carrying the famous "Chicago Typewriter," the Thompson SMG. Tossing aside his now empty bottle of Mountain Dew, Lucas quickly drew his own weapons: an Apache pistol that belonged to a long dead half-brother of his, and his sword, Clarent. Dubbed the "Traitor's Blade," it was once wielded by the legendary King Arthur, before being stolen and used to kill him by his supposed bastard son, Mordred; as a matter of fact, Mordred was a demigod of Loki, although he didn't know it, as was his mother. This of course, meant that Lucas was both Mordred's brother and uncle, much like Mordred's mother was, at the same time, his aunt (by virtue of her being Arthur's half-sister), his mother, and his sister. For convenience's sake, however, Lucas preferred to ignore the complicated family dynamics altogether.

"Alright, ya little bastard. We're here. And only like... not that late."

"You're roughly forty-nine minutes late, actually. For your sake, hope that the plan works anyways. You do remember it, don't you?"

"...plan?"

Groaning, Lucas continued.

"Okay then. Well, to keep it brief, we're breaking off into two teams, A and B. Team A will secure the above ground parts of the Cathedral. Kill any guards and incapacitate any civilians, preferably without harming them. Bring anyone you don't kill outside. Team B will accompany me down into the base below. Everyone in the base is a target. Most of them will just be mortals with either guns or melee weapons, but one, the main target, will be wielding a magic sword. Specifically, Seure, which will look great on my wall next to Clarent. He's the main target. We kill him, take his sword, write a bunch of German graffiti on the walls and then burn the place down. Got it? Good.

- -

Within fifteen minutes Lucas and all twelve mobsters were inside the sanctuary of the cathedral, their hands handcuffed behind their backs and their weapons on the ground. Standing in front of them were about thirty Templars with guns pointed mostly at Lucas. To the side of the captured demigod stood a middle aged man dressed in the robes of the Knight's Templar. This was the target of the attack, the Archbishop Jamie Sullivan, and in his hands were Seure, the sword of Lancelot of Camelot, and Clarent, the blade of Mordred, taken by force from Lucas upon being detained. A smug grin on his face, the Archbishop pushed Lucas to his knees.

"Finally got you, you sneaky little bastard... wonder how they'll execute you when you get to Rome?"

The taunt was met with Lucas spitting in the Archbishop's face, which was then met itself by a punch that sent the demigod to the ground.

"I'm sure you wonder how we were so prepared. Truth is, we've known you were coming for days. The Grand Master got a tip from one of your little heathen buddies, who said exactly when you'd come. Of course, I can't say who, but I sure hope it was somebody you trusted... wouldn't that be ironic, huh? Finally get a taste of your own-"

The Archbishop's continued taunting was interrupted by the demigod's laughing.

"What in God's name is so funny?"

A grin on his face, Lucas looked up and at the Templar soldiers in front of him, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Soldiers, Sín and his men have escaped. Open fire."

Silence fell over all in the room as they looked around in confusion. It was clear to all of them that this was untrue; Lucas and the twelve mobsters were still handcuffed, just as they had been a minute before. Taking advantage of the silence, Lucas continued.

"Didn't you hear me? They've escaped and handcuffed us... can't you see them? Sín is standing right next to me. He's taken my sword, and he has the Traitor's Blade too."

All of a sudden, looks of uncertainty came over the Templars. Very slowly, the scene began to change in each of their minds... Lucas began to slowly look like the Archbishop, and vice versa, as the mobsters began seeming to switch places with the soldiers.

"Hurry, they have you surrounded! Open fire, now!"

It was a full minute before the first shot went off, one Templar blowing the brains out of the one next to him. One after another, the soldiers began to succumb to the illusion created by the demigod, their former allies suddenly appearing to be foes. Soon, all thirty were firing away at each other, and before long only one blood-soaked Templar remained, his gun pointed at the Archbishop.

"What... what the hell are you doing?!?"

The Templar, a look of confusion and fear on his face, took aim at the Archbishop's head. Lucas, a malevolent grin on his face, looked at the man, focusing his power on him.

"Take the shot! Hurry, before he kills us all!"

The Archbishop, clearly panicking, kicked Lucas to the ground, and as fast as he could, went to behead the demigod with the pair of swords. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't fast enough, and he soon fell to his knees with a bullet lodged in his shoulder. Hurriedly, the remaining Templar went to free what appeared to him to be his allies, only to be shot himself when they were unchained. Gathering both swords, Lucas looked to the rest of his men.

"Get going with the graffiti, then get out. Exactly five minutes after you leave, call the police and the fire department."

Lucas was about to head off to set fire to the base under the building when he was interrupted by a loud moan coming from behind him. Turning, he discovered to his annoyance that the Archbishop was still alive, although he was clearly bleeding to death.

"How... you... you wanted to get caught... so... so you..."

"Yes, so I could kill you all without lifting a finger. Took you long enough to figure it out."

"But... the Grand Master... he said it would be safe..."

Grinning, Lucas turned away, leaving the dying man to try and puzzle out exactly what had happened. Of course, he wouldn't live long enough; as he seemed to come close to figuring it out, Lucas ran his hands along the cloth covering the altar, a small trail of fire showing where he had touched. As the fire spread, he turned around to see a look of shock on the Archbishop's dying face. Evidently, he had figured it out. It was too bad that only a few moments later, both Clarent and Seure tore through the man's neck, taking his head off. With a malevolent grin, Lucas went back to work, everything going as intended.

---

Gabriel di Angelo
Holy Name Cathedral, Chicago, Illinois
1:05 PM, September 23, 2015

The Grand Master of the Knights Templar strode towards the burned out ruins of the Holy Name Cathedral, flanked on both sides by Templar soldiers in suits and black glasses, as if they were with the FBI or CIA, or, possibly more accurately, somebody from the movie Men in Black. Gabriel, however, was dressed more casually, in his usual light purple shirt and a pair of jeans. The teenage Grand Master looked completely out of place, especially surrounded by his men, and before long they had attracted the attention of the gathered crowd and the police that had been sent to secure the area when the bodies were found. As Gabriel and his Templars approached the police tape, an officer stepped forward to block their path, his hand on his sidearm.

"Hey kid, this is a crime scene. You need to stay behind the barriers with the rest of the crowd."

Clearly annoyed at the inconvenience, Gabriel looked at the man, his hand reaching down towards the sword at his side.

"Stand down Officer... whoever the hell you are. My men and I are taking over the investigation from here. You can go ask your superiors if you don't believe me."

"Look, kid. I've been told to keep anyone without a Chicago PD badge away from the crime scene, and it doesn't look like you've got one. Now back off. And hand over your weapon, or I'll have you thrown in the back of a squad car before your buddies there can even blink."

Sighing, Gabriel stepped forward, looking the officer in the eye. He had wanted to avoid using his power with so many mortals around, but it seemed that this particular one was giving him no choice. Grabbing the hilt of his blade, he felt a surge of power coming through it and running through his body. The Sword of Michael had granted the same power to every Grand Master before him, and now it was his. His eyes locked on the officer's, he spoke in a calm yet commanding voice, an aura of power surrounding him.

"Step aside. Inform your superiors of my arrival. And then go to the nearest Starbucks. I want a cool lime refresher and a cheesecake brownie. Am I clear?"

Like most beings, the police officer's mind proved unable to resist the power of the Sword of Michael. Nodding in a combination of obedience and fear, the officer bowed his head slightly.

"Yes sir. Right away."

Smiling slightly, Gabriel led his soldiers across the police line, enjoying the sight of the man running off to do as he commanded. Most likely, his subordinates would consider using mind control on a mortal for something as irrelevant to his duty as a Starbucks run to be an abuse of power; they'd certainly done so before. But it didn't matter. The Papacy had set out strict rules for Gabriel and the Grand Masters before him, but had had been careful not to break them. So as long as he stayed within those rules, he could use his power as he pleased.

"Right, well, that's settled. Alright, spread out. Try and disperse the mortals before they cause any problems. If anyone's seen too much, have there memory altered."

His men heading out to carry out their orders, Gabriel headed towards the shell of the cathedral. With any luck, the son of Loki would be in his custody by the end of the month.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Departures
Mannheim City Airport
Mannheim
Germany

It was quite the comical sight, really. A man with a half-startled look on his face, a suit like he belonged in a Cold War era spy movie, a hat that had passed its prime for a few decades now and a suitcase… God, the suitcase. Brown, leathery, not something that anyone in their right mind would buy in 2015. Around his shoulder, he held a pack of cloth with a shoulder strap attached to it, something that looked like it transported a fishing rod or something. The man inside the suit looked relatively young, however. Too young for the age of the suit, anyway. He had a face like he was in his forties, maybe even late thirties. This juvenile look was not helped by the startled look on his face.

Stepping around slowly, trying to avoid the bustling mass of people that made their way through the hall, Perceval tried to approach the check-in desk. At every turn, he was bumped into, he was tripped, or plainly pushed aside, his slow pace not helping him avoid contact. ‘Enschuldigung’ he would say every few seconds, as his body bumped into more and more people. He wasn’t used to this large amount of people flailing around. The last time he visited an airport… God, air travel used to be something only the elite could afford. What happened since then? Still gasping from the experience, Percival arrived at the check-in desk.

“Guten morgen…” he said, panting a bit. The stewardess smiled.

“Good afternoon, sir. Could I see your ticket and passport, please?” she said, obviously not deterred by the fact that it wasn’t morning at all. Percival moved his hand into his jacket, and procured his passport, which held the papers for his travels. The outside of the passport read ‘STATO DELLA CITTÀ DE VATICANO’, with the Keys of Peter engraved beneath it. Percival got a new forgery every time he went abroad to travel. The last passport he used put his birth date in the sixties, and that obviously didn’t match up with his apparent age. Not with his actual age either, for that matter. The stewardess looked at the passport for a moment, clearly a bit surprised. They didn’t see Vatican passports that often.

“Alright, sir” she said, obviously unaware of the cringe Percival went through. They called everyone ‘sir’ these days, the title didn’t mean a thing anymore.

“Everything checks out. You can start loading your baggage”

Percival nodded, and placed the brown leather suitcase on the conveyer belt, before placing the cloth pack next to it. As the pack hit the conveyer belt, it made a metallic clunking sound. Quickly, Percival took out another piece of paper from his jacket and placed it on the counter.

“Oh yeah, before I forget. The permit for the package.” He said, as he handed over the piece of paper. It was titled simply ‘Ancient Artefact Transportation Permit – Medieval Weapon’

---

Two hours later, Percival had found his seat on the airplane. A Boeing 747, transatlantic jet liner. It was his first time on a jet plane, the last time he’d taken a plane was in the early sixties. Things had changed since then, he saw. More people fitted in one plane, he noticed. And the definition of carry-on luggage had been broadened. As he sat down, an obvious tourist (wearing khaki shorts and a Bermuda) with the body of a walrus tried getting his trunk into the overhead bin. With an almost melodic thumping, he tried to shove the clearly too large suitcase into the compartment, at which he eventually succeeded. With no small amount of bending the laws of physics, I might add. With a satisfied puff, the man sat down next to Percival, his sitting down nearly launching the seats out of the plane. He cackled, a laugh that would suit an accountant perfectly.

“Hehehe. So, that’s that. Saved me a few bucks extra on luggage costs. You gotta know how to fool these big airliners, you know?”

Great. An American tourist. Perceval just nodded kindly, and tried not to start a conversation. The tourist certainly didn’t take the hint.

“You know… Germany is a fine country. I like that Skwartswelt they got going over here. All them trees in a mystical landscape… Beats Britain every day, if you ask me. Hehehe”

The accountant laugh nearly split the soul of Perceval, something that ancient Demon’s from Satan himself hadn’t done before that. In his own, English accent, Perceval replied. A thousand years in Germany was clearly not enough to make a knight lose his own tongue.

“Would you say so?” He said, putting more effort in the ‘so’ than socially acceptable. He tried to put the tourist in an awkward situation. Clearly, this didn’t go according to plan. The man was taken aback, but he was not about to retreat.

“Owww, I’m sorry, mister. I didn’t mean to offend ya. England is nice too! You have the Big Ben (Elizabeth Tower) and that Ferris Wheel (London Eye). Hell, that London Bridge (Tower Bridge) thing is amazing, too! And those Highlands (Scottish) you have. Here, I have some pictures of those, too! Hehehe”

The combination of witless remarks, showing of pictures, telling of tales and that damned accountant’s laugh continued through the ten hour flight to Chicago. All the way, the tourist, who was clearly reaching and advanced age, told stories of his childhood, talking to Perceval like he was some sort of child. Tales of the Vietnam war, of the different presidents, of the different jobs he’d done… He also told the whole story of the Chicago Cubs, his favourite sports team, and why he thought they were going to win the World Series. Those were, in Perceval’s longest opinion, the longest ten hours he ever had to endure. Keeping in mind he’s lived for a thousand years already. Often, Perceval tried grasping his sword, only to remember that it was in the luggage compartment. God, those were some long hours.

---

Arriving in Chicago, the life of the American tourist stuck in his head, and with complete knowledge of every player’s era, Perceval was relieved by the sweet embrace of relative silence. Of course, the man would not leave his side until Perceval caught a cab, promising him he had to get to the other side of town. He would not share another vehicle with this man if his life depended on it. And he didn’t even know his name. When the door of the cab closed, he let his head sink back into the seat, and puffed a heavy sigh. His eyes closed from exhaustion, he could only faintly hear the cab driver ask him where to go.

“Holy Name Cathedral, please” he said, tipping his hat over his eyes. The cab driver nodded, turned on the meter, and drove away from the arrival hall. To Perceval’s relief, this man was not interested in conversation. He minded the traffic, and Perceval minded the inside of his eyelids. All was at is was supposed to be. At least, almost all. When the cab halted in front of the cathedral, Perceval was hit with the brick of reality. Where once had stood a brilliant church now stood just rubble and ash, still smouldering and smoking with the fire of the night before. Quickly, Perceval took out a hundred dollar bill and threw it at the driver.

“Keep the change” he blurted, as he dragged his suitcase and his cloth package out of the cab. He slammed shut the door behind him and walked up to the place where the door had once been. His breath was heavy, the stench of fire and smoke nearly caused him to cough his lungs out. He stared at the stone structure, devoid of windows and wood. Slowly, he entered, walking among the rubble and ash. As he looked around, he could see a few men of the Knights Templar standing around, making small bows as he passed them.

“Milord” they said as he walked passed, but he didn’t mind them one bit. Eventually, he met up with Master Gabriel, someone he had met a few times before in Europe. His voice was a mess, it seemed. He dropped both his suitcase and his package, and asked the master in a broken voice:

“Gabriel… I have two questions for you. One, what happened here? Two… Where is Seure? I came for her, not for this bullshit”

[Empire of the Siberian Flaming Eskimos]

Pat walked down the streets of Chicago while flipping a golden drachma. The Greek coin had been given to him by his father before he left. "Stay safe," he had said while pressing the disk into his palm, "and come back to me." He had been sent because of apparent Fae Mafia violence in the area. Pat hadn't really known the other two people he was sent with beforehand. Sure, he'd seen them around since Athena Outpost wasn't all that big, but he hadn't actually known them too well. They probably knew who he was though. Pat's father taught Greek mythology and power control back at the outpost and helped with a myriad of other subjects. The moment they heard his last name they would have made the connection, and quite honestly it was something that he hated. People always nagged him about how great his dad was, or how he knew so much, or if he could help them boost their grades. As much as he loves his dad, being in the spotlight was something he hated and being compared to him didn't help either. He glanced back at the two demi-gods behind him as he thought about this. Hopefully they would keep to themselves as much as he had to himself during the ride here.

Currently, Pat was wearing a blue, green, and white flannel button down untucked and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He also ha jeans and tennis shoes on. A one-strap backpack was slung across his back. It contained several spell books he was studying along with some essentials. It also doubled as a sheath for his Kopis. If it weren't for an illusion spell he had used, everyone would see the sword hilt sticking out from it at his left shoulder. Soon, he realized he didn't know where they were going and caught the drachma before turning around. "So," he said nervously, "do you guys know where we're supposed to be going?"

[Pyrade]

Taia

Her fingers moved rhythmically as she ran her hand along the spines of the books. Each was old, with a collection of cracks running up and down the broken spines, the pages were no longer brilliant white, but carried a faded yellow that told a tale of long years of usage. Personally, she found nothing more exciting than a second-hand bookstore. She loved the quiet that always enveloped them, and how she was usually alone in the store, apparently the modern humans were not all as enamored with reading as she was. But for her, there was nothing more relaxing. Between the covers of a book she found an entire world full of flawed characters, just as this one was. The difference lay in the way the characters worked towards overcoming their flaws, she loved how the characters could be put through the most daunting of trials, and just when she thought them close to breaking, they would find what they needed to pull through. It was one of the things she had always hoped to see in the real world, but was frequently disappointed.
"Can I help you miss?"
The elderly bookkeeper asked, a note of surprise hanging in his voice. Taia looked up, shaken from her thoughts. She smiled warmly and shook her head,
"Thank you, I'm just browsing though. Looking for something to add to my collection."
She said and returned her attention to the shelves. The bookkeeper smiled and pointed to a lonely shelf at the back of the shop,
"You'll find a few more hardcover and fabric bound novels on that shelf. Some rather beautiful filligree on them as well."
The man said before disappearing into the strange pocket realm at the back of second-hand book stores. Taia looked up at the shelf he had indicated and made her way to it as she always moved through bookstores, painfully slowly, stopping here and there when a title caught her eye. With a bunch of new books in her hands she arrived at the shelf, pausing as she saw the hard covers, works from some of the most amazing authors she had come across. She had to restrain her reflexes, slowing herself down as she reached up to pull the wonderfully illustrated copy of The Hobbit off the shelves. She stayed still for a moment, recounting all the times she had stayed up through the night in darkness, reading her own, rather disheveled copy of the book. Then she saw the Terry Pratchett novels, almost all of them, hard cover, with golden embossed writing and the most glorious cover illustrations. She was about to add them to her pile when she saw the price. With a regretful sigh she replaced all the books, and resigned herself to taking three. Mort by Terry Pratchett, the hard cover, a collection of H.P Lovecraft stories and finally, a book from a series she had never seen before. She looked sadly at The Hobbit, silently apologizing and promising to return for it when she could. She paid at the counter, giving the book keeper the crumpled bills out of her pockets and taking her books. She held them close to her chest as she walked over to her old moped, storing the books in the seat. She hopped on and started the old creature which wheezed to life with a sickly splutter. Down the Chicago roads she puttered until she came across the smoking remains of Holy Name Cathedral. She slowed to a stop before climbing off the moped and looking around in shock. She approached the line of policemen who blocked her passage,
"Sorry miss, we are not allowed to let anyone enter."
The one cop said, to which she simply produced her journalists tag and almost smashed it into his face.
"Journalist Aurora Taia"
She muttered moodily as she pushed past him with a little more of her mythical strength than she attended. The mention of her job made Taia exceptionally touchy, she was a proud and noble creature, and yet she was forced to write scandalous drivel in order to actually sell any kind of story. She approached the burnt out husk of the building as someone might the coffin of a loved one. She hadn't had a particularly religious connection to the church, but she had adored the beauty of the building. She struggled to believe in any gods. As one of her favourite authors, Terry Pratchett worded it, It's hard to believe in gods when one is one first name basis, it was like her believing in the postman.
"What happened?"
She murmured as she looked around in shock and dismay. She could see the templar men moving to have her removed from the site, but she placed a deceptively strong hand on the shoulder of the first which tried to stop her.
"I'm mythically inclined. Please, if you could tell someone higher up that a sphinx wishes a word, I'd be very grateful."
She said gently and politely. She wanted to know the facts, and exactly what unappreciative philistine had destroyed this amazing building.

[Shadowwell]

Alleyway near Holy Name Cathedral
Nikolas Carver

Nik Carver had been in Chicago for his own reasons and had been near the Cathedral when it was hit. He wrapped himself in shadow, it kept him away from any prying eyes. He was thinking about whether to shadow-travel into the Church or not, he decided against it when he saw a few high ranking Templars appear. After that some inhuman being showed up, Nik couldn't tell what exactly it was, but it didn't worry him, he would be able to escape as long as he cast a shadow. He released the shadows covering him and stood up to his full height of 6'5 and made his denim jacket change shape into a floor length black trench coat that covered a black and Grey ballistic jacket(This). He stuck his hand out and it was enveloped in darkness shortly then he pulled out a bottle of water and took a swig before replacing it in his DarkSpace. He made himself blend back into the Shadows and stretched out his senses.

[Lycanth]

Pat walked down the streets of Chicago while flipping a golden drachma. The Greek coin had been given to him by his father before he left. "Stay safe," he had said while pressing the disk into his palm, "and come back to me." He had been sent because of apparent Fae Mafia violence in the area. Pay hadn't really known the other two people he was sent with beforehand. Sure, he'd seen them around since Athena Outpost wasn't all that big, but he hadn't actually known them too well. They probably knew who he was though. Pat's father taught Greek mythology and power control back at the outpost and helped with a myriad of other subjects. The moment they heard his last name they would have made the connection, and quite honestly it was something that he hated. People always nagged him about how great his dad was, or how he knew so much, or if he could help them boost their grades. As much as he loves his dad, being in the spotlight was something he hated and being compared to him didn't help either. He glanced back at the two demi-gods behind him as he thought about this. Hopefully they would keep to themselves as much as he had to himself during the ride here.

Currently, Pat was wearing a blue, green, and white flannel button down untucked and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He also ha jeans and tennis shoes on. A one-strap backpack was slung across his back. It contained several spell books he was studying along with some essentials. It also doubled as a sheath for his Kopis. If it weren't for an illusion spell he had used, everyone would see the sword hilt sticking out from it at his left shoulder. Soon, he realized he didn't know where they were going and caught the drachma before turning around. "So," he said nervously, "do you guys know where we're supposed to be going?"

Miranda shrugged at Patrick's question. She knew who he was, but she didn't know him personally. Being the son of one of the main teachers at the outpost people knew who he was. All she knew was his name and he was the son of Hecate. As for the other person, she knew him. Tyler was the son of Ares and one of the first people she met at Athena Outpost. He fell somewhere between an acquaintance and a friend. "Well, we're in Chicago so I suppose that's a good first step, right?" She kept her wings close to her back, using an illusion spell to keep them from being seen. She needed to move them soon though, the spell would wear off soon. "Um, I sort of need to stop soon, guys. The spell on my wings is gonna fade." She looked around to see how many people were on this particular road. It was Chicago, so there were a lot. Not a good place to show her large black wings.

Minus the wings, she looked like a pretty normal girl. She wore a white, backless top that had sleeves that ran from the middle of her upper arms down to the backs of her hands and onto her middle fingers, leaving her shoulders and most of her back bare except for a few straps. She had tight dark blue jeans that tucked into a pair of black boots. She carried a messenger bag that held a random assortment of items: pens, pencils, books, girl things, a pocket knife or two, etc. and wore a silver ring with a Theta symbol engraved into it, also known as her father's symbol. Her father, Thanatos, gave her that ring specially. It could transform into a scythe that resembled his own but less powerful. She played with it nervously as she searched for a vacant place to stretch her wings a little and recast the illusion spell. "Tyler, do you know where we're supposed to go exactly?"

[Empire of the Siberian Flaming Eskimos]

Pat walked down the streets of Chicago while flipping a golden drachma. The Greek coin had been given to him by his father before he left. "Stay safe," he had said while pressing the disk into his palm, "and come back to me." He had been sent because of apparent Fae Mafia violence in the area. Pay hadn't really known the other two people he was sent with beforehand. Sure, he'd seen them around since Athena Outpost wasn't all that big, but he hadn't actually known them too well. They probably knew who he was though. Pat's father taught Greek mythology and power control back at the outpost and helped with a myriad of other subjects. The moment they heard his last name they would have made the connection, and quite honestly it was something that he hated. People always nagged him about how great his dad was, or how he knew so much, or if he could help them boost their grades. As much as he loves his dad, being in the spotlight was something he hated and being compared to him didn't help either. He glanced back at the two demi-gods behind him as he thought about this. Hopefully they would keep to themselves as much as he had to himself during the ride here.

Currently, Pat was wearing a blue, green, and white flannel button down untucked and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He also ha jeans and tennis shoes on. A one-strap backpack was slung across his back. It contained several spell books he was studying along with some essentials. It also doubled as a sheath for his Kopis. If it weren't for an illusion spell he had used, everyone would see the sword hilt sticking out from it at his left shoulder. Soon, he realized he didn't know where they were going and caught the drachma before turning around. "So," he said nervously, "do you guys know where we're supposed to be going?"

Miranda shrugged at Patrick's question. She knew who he was, but she didn't know him personally. Being the son of one of the main teachers at the outpost people knew who he was. All she knew was his name and he was the son of Hecate. As for the other person, she knew him. Tyler was the son of Ares and one of the first people she met at Athena Outpost. He fell somewhere between an acquaintance and a friend. "Well, we're in Chicago so I suppose that's a good first step, right?" She kept her wings close to her back, using an illusion spell to keep them from being seen. She needed to move them soon though, the spell would wear off soon. "Um, I sort of need to stop soon, guys. The spell on my wings is gonna fade." She looked around to see how many people were on this particular road. It was Chicago, so there were a lot. Not a good place to show her large black wings.

Minus the wings, she looked like a pretty normal girl. She wore a white, backless top that had sleeves that ran from the middle of her upper arms down to the backs of her hands and onto her middle fingers, leaving her shoulders and most of her back bare except for a few straps. She had tight dark blue jeans that tucked into a pair of black boots. She carried a messenger bag that held a random assortment of items: pens, pencils, books, girl things, a pocket knife or two, etc. and wore a silver ring with a Theta symbol engraved into it, also known as her father's symbol. Her father, Thanatos, gave her that ring specially. It could transform into a scythe that resembled his own but less powerful. She played with it nervously as she searched for a vacant place to stretch her wings a little and recast the illusion spell. "Tyler, do you know where we're supposed to go exactly?"

"Nah, I can fix it," he said when he heard that her illusion spell was wearing off. Muttering a few words in Greek, Pat's eye's briefly flashed a bright green before fading to their usual blue. He felt a slight ebb in strength as he casted the spell, but nothing too major. "There," he said with a satisfied nod, "you should be fine now. Feel free to stretch them out if you need to, just don't hit anyone with them. The illusion only does so much." Done with that, he turned to Tyler. "Yeah, I have no idea why I'm in the lead," he said to the slightly larger boy. He seemed nice enough, though a bit serious and brooding at times. To be honest, Pat was a bit scared of him. He tired to stay away from descendants of the infamous war god simply due to the fact that he found them too aggressive for his tastes. Sure, he could usually outsmart them to win a fight, but fighting was something he used more as a last resort. His father had made sure that he was damn good at it, but being more political was something he preferred.

[Shadowwell]

Pat walked down the streets of Chicago while flipping a golden drachma. The Greek coin had been given to him by his father before he left. "Stay safe," he had said while pressing the disk into his palm, "and come back to me." He had been sent because of apparent Fae Mafia violence in the area. Pay hadn't really known the other two people he was sent with beforehand. Sure, he'd seen them around since Athena Outpost wasn't all that big, but he hadn't actually known them too well. They probably knew who he was though. Pat's father taught Greek mythology and power control back at the outpost and helped with a myriad of other subjects. The moment they heard his last name they would have made the connection, and quite honestly it was something that he hated. People always nagged him about how great his dad was, or how he knew so much, or if he could help them boost their grades. As much as he loves his dad, being in the spotlight was something he hated and being compared to him didn't help either. He glanced back at the two demi-gods behind him as he thought about this. Hopefully they would keep to themselves as much as he had to himself during the ride here.

Currently, Pat was wearing a blue, green, and white flannel button down untucked and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He also ha jeans and tennis shoes on. A one-strap backpack was slung across his back. It contained several spell books he was studying along with some essentials. It also doubled as a sheath for his Kopis. If it weren't for an illusion spell he had used, everyone would see the sword hilt sticking out from it at his left shoulder. Soon, he realized he didn't know where they were going and caught the drachma before turning around. "So," he said nervously, "do you guys know where we're supposed to be going?"

Miranda shrugged at Patrick's question. She knew who he was, but she didn't know him personally. Being the son of one of the main teachers at the outpost people knew who he was. All she knew was his name and he was the son of Hecate. As for the other person, she knew him. Tyler was the son of Ares and one of the first people she met at Athena Outpost. He fell somewhere between an acquaintance and a friend. "Well, we're in Chicago so I suppose that's a good first step, right?" She kept her wings close to her back, using an illusion spell to keep them from being seen. She needed to move them soon though, the spell would wear off soon. "Um, I sort of need to stop soon, guys. The spell on my wings is gonna fade." She looked around to see how many people were on this particular road. It was Chicago, so there were a lot. Not a good place to show her large black wings.

Minus the wings, she looked like a pretty normal girl. She wore a white, backless top that had sleeves that ran from the middle of her upper arms down to the backs of her hands and onto her middle fingers, leaving her shoulders and most of her back bare except for a few straps. She had tight dark blue jeans that tucked into a pair of black boots. She carried a messenger bag that held a random assortment of items: pens, pencils, books, girl things, a pocket knife or two, etc. and wore a silver ring with a Theta symbol engraved into it, also known as her father's symbol. Her father, Thanatos, gave her that ring specially. It could transform into a scythe that resembled his own but less powerful. She played with it nervously as she searched for a vacant place to stretch her wings a little and recast the illusion spell. "Tyler, do you know where we're supposed to go exactly?"

As Nikolas was stretching out his senses he sensed a presence very similar to that of his contracted Spirit, Aika, who in life was a Demigod child of Thanatos, his half-brother if you wanted to be all technical about it. He condensed the shadows around him and shadow traveled to an alleyway near the persons position. He came out of the shadows behind a Dumpster and cloaked himself in shadow once more and waited.

[The Templar High Council]

Miranda shrugged at Patrick's question. She knew who he was, but she didn't know him personally. Being the son of one of the main teachers at the outpost people knew who he was. All she knew was his name and he was the son of Hecate. As for the other person, she knew him. Tyler was the son of Ares and one of the first people she met at Athena Outpost. He fell somewhere between an acquaintance and a friend. "Well, we're in Chicago so I suppose that's a good first step, right?" She kept her wings close to her back, using an illusion spell to keep them from being seen. She needed to move them soon though, the spell would wear off soon. "Um, I sort of need to stop soon, guys. The spell on my wings is gonna fade." She looked around to see how many people were on this particular road. It was Chicago, so there were a lot. Not a good place to show her large black wings.

Minus the wings, she looked like a pretty normal girl. She wore a white, backless top that had sleeves that ran from the middle of her upper arms down to the backs of her hands and onto her middle fingers, leaving her shoulders and most of her back bare except for a few straps. She had tight dark blue jeans that tucked into a pair of black boots. She carried a messenger bag that held a random assortment of items: pens, pencils, books, girl things, a pocket knife or two, etc. and wore a silver ring with a Theta symbol engraved into it, also known as her father's symbol. Her father, Thanatos, gave her that ring specially. It could transform into a scythe that resembled his own but less powerful. She played with it nervously as she searched for a vacant place to stretch her wings a little and recast the illusion spell. "Tyler, do you know where we're supposed to go exactly?"

"Nah, I can fix it," he said when he heard that her illusion spell was wearing off. Muttering a few words in Greek, Pat's eye's briefly flashed a bright green before fading to their usual blue. He felt a slight ebb in strength as he cast the spell, but nothing too major. "There," he said with a satisfied nod, "you should be fine now. Feel free to stretch them out if you need to, just don't hit anyone with them. The illusion only does so much." Done with that, he turned to Tyler. "Yeah, I have no idea why I'm in the lead," he said to the slightly larger boy. He seemed nice enough, though a bit serious and brooding at times. To be honest, Pat was a bit scared of him. He tired to stay away from descendants of the infamous war god simply due to the fact that he found them too aggressive for his tastes. Sure, he could usually outsmart them to win a fight, but fighting was something he used more as a last resort. His father had made sure that he was damn good at it, but being more political was something he preferred.

While Miranda and Patrick walked and talked, Tyler was lost in thought. He was rechecking the mental list he had been making since they left Athena Outpost. When Patrick brought his attention back, he smiled. "Sorry, I was just making sure I had everything down. Coming all the way to Chicago, I don't want to get us lost or anything." His head finally out of the clouds, Tyler took a look around at where they had ended up after staying a night in their hotel.

"Alright, well Dr. Powell told me to go to Navy Pier, then we'll know where to go. I suppose that's where we should head." Dylan Powell was the elected leader of Athena Outpost, a son of Athena and an intimidating man. Nothing happened involving the Outposts as an organization without going through him first. Tyler hailed a taxi as quickly as he could; he might have been a demigod, but he was a New York demigod. And New York taxis are damn hard to hail down. After getting everyone inside, Miranda being particularly difficult because of her wings, Tyler told the driver where to go. "Navy Pier, please." The man nodded, turned on the meter, and started heading East towards Lake Michigan.

"Sorry Miranda, it's a bit cramped." Tyler sat behind the passenger seat, and Patrick was behind the driver. That put Miranda in the middle, which Tyler didn't really think about until they got moving. The driver looked annoyed; it sounded these kids were more used to larger, therefore more expensive, transportation. But that probably meant he wasn't getting stiffed this time, so he didn't dispute anything. Traffic wasn't that bad, and they should be there in short order. So the man pressed on, focusing on getting paid and going home.

"On the bright side, it beats walking?" Tyler tried to lighten the mood a bit, stuck listening to the driver's choice of music: 90's country "hits."

[Lycanth]

"Nah, I can fix it," he said when he heard that her illusion spell was wearing off. Muttering a few words in Greek, Pat's eye's briefly flashed a bright green before fading to their usual blue. He felt a slight ebb in strength as he cast the spell, but nothing too major. "There," he said with a satisfied nod, "you should be fine now. Feel free to stretch them out if you need to, just don't hit anyone with them. The illusion only does so much." Done with that, he turned to Tyler. "Yeah, I have no idea why I'm in the lead," he said to the slightly larger boy. He seemed nice enough, though a bit serious and brooding at times. To be honest, Pat was a bit scared of him. He tired to stay away from descendants of the infamous war god simply due to the fact that he found them too aggressive for his tastes. Sure, he could usually outsmart them to win a fight, but fighting was something he used more as a last resort. His father had made sure that he was damn good at it, but being more political was something he preferred.

While Miranda and Patrick walked and talked, Tyler was lost in thought. He was rechecking the mental list he had been making since they left Athena Outpost. When Patrick brought his attention back, he smiled. "Sorry, I was just making sure I had everything down. Coming all the way to Chicago, I don't want to get us lost or anything." His head finally out of the clouds, Tyler took a look around at where they had ended up after staying a night in their hotel.

"Alright, well Dr. Powell told me to go to Navy Pier, then we'll know where to go. I suppose that's where we should head." Dylan Powell was the elected leader of Athena Outpost, a son of Athena and an intimidating man. Nothing happened involving the Outposts as an organization without going through him first. Tyler hailed a taxi as quickly as he could; he might have been a demigod, but he was a New York demigod. And New York taxis are damn hard to hail down. After getting everyone inside, Miranda being particularly difficult because of her wings, Tyler told the driver where to go. "Navy Pier, please." The man nodded, turned on the meter, and started heading East towards Lake Michigan.

"Sorry Miranda, it's a bit cramped." Tyler sat behind the passenger seat, and Patrick was behind the driver. That put Miranda in the middle, which Tyler didn't really think about until they got moving. The driver looked annoyed; it sounded these kids were more used to larger, therefore more expensive, transportation. But that probably meant he wasn't getting stiffed this time, so he didn't dispute anything. Traffic wasn't that bad, and they should be there in short order. So the man pressed on, focusing on getting paid and going home.

"On the bright side, it beats walking?" Tyler tried to lighten the mood a bit, stuck listening to the driver's choice of music: 90's country "hits."

Miranda tried not to complain about the cramped ass ride in the taxi. Her wings were bunched up against her back and the seat. Why the fuck Tyler and Patrick thought it was a brilliant idea to stuff her in the middle was beyond her. "A bit cramped doesn't even begin to sum this up." Not even 10 minutes into the ride, she had to move her wings. They were on top of each other for shit's sake. She spread them slightly, pressing against both Patrick and Tyler. She couldn't help it, it was that or she'd scream and fly out the roof. "Honestly, anything would be better than being cramped in a tiny ass cab. Loving the idea." She was used to taxis back in L.A. but this? She usually was in one by herself, one where she could spread her wings a little. This was just flat out torture.

[Shadowwell]

Before the Demigod child of Thanatos, got into the Cab with the others he poured some of his power into her shadow, this would allow him to keep track of her presence. He had heard bits of their conversation, he caught the part about other demigods meeting them at a pier or something. For now he had his Armor Relic, which he simply called Herk as its full name, Herklæðimyrkrkveykva, was extremely long and difficult to pronounce, change shape from a Trench coat and ballistic jacket to a ballistic jacket covered by a black windbreaker for now. it was slightly less conspicuous. He mentally kept track of the groups progress and ShadowTraveled to empty alleyways they passed to keep up with them.

[Empire of the Siberian Flaming Eskimos]

While Miranda and Patrick walked and talked, Tyler was lost in thought. He was rechecking the mental list he had been making since they left Athena Outpost. When Patrick brought his attention back, he smiled. "Sorry, I was just making sure I had everything down. Coming all the way to Chicago, I don't want to get us lost or anything." His head finally out of the clouds, Tyler took a look around at where they had ended up after staying a night in their hotel.

"Alright, well Dr. Powell told me to go to Navy Pier, then we'll know where to go. I suppose that's where we should head." Dylan Powell was the elected leader of Athena Outpost, a son of Athena and an intimidating man. Nothing happened involving the Outposts as an organization without going through him first. Tyler hailed a taxi as quickly as he could; he might have been a demigod, but he was a New York demigod. And New York taxis are damn hard to hail down. After getting everyone inside, Miranda being particularly difficult because of her wings, Tyler told the driver where to go. "Navy Pier, please." The man nodded, turned on the meter, and started heading East towards Lake Michigan.

"Sorry Miranda, it's a bit cramped." Tyler sat behind the passenger seat, and Patrick was behind the driver. That put Miranda in the middle, which Tyler didn't really think about until they got moving. The driver looked annoyed; it sounded these kids were more used to larger, therefore more expensive, transportation. But that probably meant he wasn't getting stiffed this time, so he didn't dispute anything. Traffic wasn't that bad, and they should be there in short order. So the man pressed on, focusing on getting paid and going home.

"On the bright side, it beats walking?" Tyler tried to lighten the mood a bit, stuck listening to the driver's choice of music: 90's country "hits."

Miranda tried not to complain about the cramped ass ride in the taxi. Her wings were bunched up against her back and the seat. Why the fuck Tyler and Patrick thought it was a brilliant idea to stuff her in the middle was beyond her. "A bit cramped doesn't even begin to sum this up." Not even 10 minutes into the ride, she had to move her wings. They were on top of each other for shit's sake. She spread them slightly, pressing against both Patrick and Tyler. She couldn't help it, it was that or she'd scream and fly out the roof. "Honestly, anything would be better than being cramped in a tiny ass cab. Loving the idea." She was used to taxis back in L.A. but this? She usually was in one by herself, one where she could spread her wings a little. This was just flat out torture.

Pat was really regretting putting Miranda in the middle. He was trying to be polite by letting her go in before him, but that quickly turned sour when he realized she would be in the middle. I guess chivalry is dead, he though morosely as an invisible wing smacked him in the back of the head. The taxi driver looked back quickly when he heard Pat's quick cry of pain, but didn't see what had caused it. Confused and annoyed, he simply turned his attention back to the road in front of him and tried to ignore his noisy riders. At this point things were very uncomfortable, and Pat was really tempted to cast an in-substantiation spell on Miranda's wings. It would only leave him tired and hungry though, illusions were one thing, making something insubstantial was a whole other ballpark. Please Gods, get me out of this damn taxi, he pleaded.

"How far are we Tyler?" he said as a wing batted him in the face again, muffling his voice.

[New Rhodinia]

The brisk afternoon breeze of Chicago threw Cornelia's rags aloft as she stepped off the local bus and onto the slightly damp pavement. She landed with a firm thud on the ground and let out a sigh that could only reverberate inside her helmet, fogging up her vision slightly. She looked up to see a pretty decrepit sight: the smoldering remains of the Holy Name Cathedral, at which Cornelia briefly stared and then sniffed in an attempt to brush off her initial shock. She twirled a throwing knife for show and started to make her way toward the entrance, where a sea of reporters clamored around another sea of black-clad, sunglass-wearing men, preventing any access. Cornelia scoffed in irony as she saw a much more well-dressed woman conversing with one of the men in black, and slyly passed through the crowd to the black suit blockade.

"Sir, we've told many people, but you must stay behind the-"

A quick zip on by and the guard's droning words faded as she started to approach the group. No other guard, reporter or other even noticed Cornelia's rapid breach of the human wall of men. She looked past them at the heated wooden boards and lingering flames then toward the woman and other men; she was speaking with gentle lip movements and a relaxed palm on one of the much tougher-looking guards. Her golden-soaked hair was flooding down from her scalp and was easily attracting the attention of at least ten other reporters in the crowd, now distracted from the destroyed cathedral. Cornelia again peered at the cathedral then back to the woman and the guards.

"15 hours on planes, 24 hours of walking and a one hour bus ride and I miss all the destruction? Phooey."

[Pyrade]

The brisk afternoon breeze of Chicago threw Cornelia's rags aloft as she stepped off the local bus and onto the slightly damp pavement. She landed with a firm thud on the ground and let out a sigh that could only reverberate inside her helmet, fogging up her vision slightly. She looked up to see a pretty decrepit sight: the smoldering remains of the Holy Name Cathedral, at which Cornelia briefly stared and then sniffed in an attempt to brush off her initial shock. She twirled a throwing knife for show and started to make her way toward the entrance, where a sea of reporters clamored around another sea of black-clad, sunglass-wearing men, preventing any access. Cornelia scoffed in irony as she saw a much more well-dressed woman conversing with one of the men in black, and slyly passed through the crowd to the black suit blockade.

"Sir, we've told many people, but you must stay behind the-"

A quick zip on by and the guard's droning words faded as she started to approach the group. No other guard, reporter or other even noticed Cornelia's rapid breach of the human wall of men. She looked past them at the heated wooden boards and lingering flames then toward the woman and other men; she was speaking with gentle lip movements and a relaxed palm on one of the much tougher-looking guards. Her golden-soaked hair was flooding down from her scalp and was easily attracting the attention of at least ten other reporters in the crowd, now distracted from the destroyed cathedral. Cornelia again peered at the cathedral then back to the woman and the guards.

"15 hours on planes, 24 hours of walking and a one hour bus ride and I miss all the destruction? Phooey."

Taia
Taia sighed and released her grip on the templar, ignoring his continued reminder that she needed to leave. She looked across at the one she had heard speaking of her travels and seeming disappointed that she missed it.
"I'm not entirely sure this would have been the best place to be during the destruction."
She replied tilting her head curiously as she beheld the odd, helmeted female that had spoken.
"Okay . . . You're somewhat unusual . . . Don't suppose you know what happened here do you?"
She asked curiously, feeling her frustration building because she was unable to discover who exactly was responsible for this. Not knowing the facts made Taia exceedingly edgy. Information was her safe haven, her bread and butter, and right now it felt like she was being starved.

[New Rhodinia]

The brisk afternoon breeze of Chicago threw Cornelia's rags aloft as she stepped off the local bus and onto the slightly damp pavement. She landed with a firm thud on the ground and let out a sigh that could only reverberate inside her helmet, fogging up her vision slightly. She looked up to see a pretty decrepit sight: the smoldering remains of the Holy Name Cathedral, at which Cornelia briefly stared and then sniffed in an attempt to brush off her initial shock. She twirled a throwing knife for show and started to make her way toward the entrance, where a sea of reporters clamored around another sea of black-clad, sunglass-wearing men, preventing any access. Cornelia scoffed in irony as she saw a much more well-dressed woman conversing with one of the men in black, and slyly passed through the crowd to the black suit blockade.

"Sir, we've told many people, but you must stay behind the-"

A quick zip on by and the guard's droning words faded as she started to approach the group. No other guard, reporter or other even noticed Cornelia's rapid breach of the human wall of men. She looked past them at the heated wooden boards and lingering flames then toward the woman and other men; she was speaking with gentle lip movements and a relaxed palm on one of the much tougher-looking guards. Her golden-soaked hair was flooding down from her scalp and was easily attracting the attention of at least ten other reporters in the crowd, now distracted from the destroyed cathedral. Cornelia again peered at the cathedral then back to the woman and the guards.

"15 hours on planes, 24 hours of walking and a one hour bus ride and I miss all the destruction? Phooey."

Taia
Taia sighed and released her grip on the templar, ignoring his continued reminder that she needed to leave. She looked across at the one she had heard speaking of her travels and seeming disappointed that she missed it.
"I'm not entirely sure this would have been the best place to be during the destruction."
She replied tilting her head curiously as she beheld the odd, helmeted female that had spoken.
"Okay . . . You're somewhat unusual . . . Don't suppose you know what happened here do you?"
She asked curiously, feeling her frustration building because she was unable to discover who exactly was responsible for this. Not knowing the facts made Taia exceedingly edgy. Information was her safe haven, her bread and butter, and right now it felt like she was being starved.

Cornelia gave a slight shrug.

"I dunno, lady; a cathedral looks burnt down from the looks of it."

She looked back at the woman and got a closer look at her demeanor, now shifted entirely to the newest arrival. Cornelia's fingers twitched with excitement over the unanticipated attention she just received and took a brief sniff of air to calm herself. A pause between her and the woman gave Cornelia ample time to get a closer look at the men behind the woman, who sported slightly more regaled attires but still wrote off as templars. They stared back at the two women and were growing visibly more anxious as they were not dispersing from the scene. Cornelia chuckled and smiled against the leather mask inside the helmet.

"It's the helmet, isn't it fellas?" She said, leaning around the other woman to the guards. They looked at each other and back to Cornelia, clearly ignoring her query.

"Ma'am, this is the last time we'll say this: please vacate these premises or we'll be forced to take drastic measures." He clearly tried to intimidate the two with a rugged emphasis on "drastic measures" but Cornelia snapped back at them.

"Sir, this is the first AND last time I'll say this: please turn around and get your butts over to where I can't care anymore or I'll have to take some drastic measures of my own." She emphasized her point by whipping her hand through her rags revealing Blackfang, which managed to rattle around in a way that made it seem alive for a brief second. The guards took one look and knew their ultimatum, but decided to settle for door number three and just stand there, strike by fear and slight respect.

Cornelia turned again to the woman in from of her.

"But yeah, I torch Templar buildings for breakfast, but not completely innocent ones like this. It's too boring. And besides that..." She looked again to the woman and saw her journalist badge, titled "Aurora Taia" in as fancy lettering as her wardrobe. "Aurora... a journalist isn't really the first person to come to mind when people want someone to figure out why a cathedral burned down."

[Pyrade]

Cornelia gave a slight shrug.

"I dunno, lady; a cathedral looks burnt down from the looks of it."

She looked back at the woman and got a closer look at her demeanor, now shifted entirely to the newest arrival. Cornelia's fingers twitched with excitement over the unanticipated attention she just received and took a brief sniff of air to calm herself. A pause between her and the woman gave Cornelia ample time to get a closer look at the men behind the woman, who sported slightly more regaled attires but still wrote off as templars. They stared back at the two women and were growing visibly more anxious as they were not dispersing from the scene. Cornelia chuckled and smiled against the leather mask inside the helmet.

"It's the helmet, isn't it fellas?" She said, leaning around the other woman to the guards. They looked at each other and back to Cornelia, clearly ignoring her query.

"Ma'am, this is the last time we'll say this: please vacate these premises or we'll be forced to take drastic measures." He clearly tried to intimidate the two with a rugged emphasis on "drastic measures" but Cornelia snapped back at them.

"Sir, this is the first AND last time I'll say this: please turn around and get your butts over to where I can't care anymore or I'll have to take some drastic measures of my own." She emphasized her point by whipping her hand through her rags revealing Blackfang, which managed to rattle around in a way that made it seem alive for a brief second. The guards took one look and knew their ultimatum, but decided to settle for door number three and just stand there, strike by fear and slight respect.

Cornelia turned again to the woman in from of her.

"But yeah, I torch Templar buildings for breakfast, but not completely innocent ones like this. It's too boring. And besides that..." She looked again to the woman and saw her journalist badge, titled "Aurora Taia" in as fancy lettering as her wardrobe. "Aurora... a journalist isn't really the first person to come to mind when people want someone to figure out why a cathedral burned down."

Taia watched silently as Cornelia took a moment for what the Sphinx thought was a recomposing breath. When the one templar spoke up she intimidated the templars with her odd blade. Causing Taia to raise an eyebrow of concern, she was not keen on those who sprang to violence first. Despite this Taia's devotion to learning and knowledge meant she was well aware of the legendary blade's name, it had an unmistakable shape and appearance. She smiled as Cornelia made the observation of her occupation.
"My interest in the burnt down cathedral is hardly vocational. I assume seeing as you have the legendary blade Blackfang, you must be a demigod."
She said with a hint of stressed resignation. She was still upset that the beautiful building had been destroyed. And now she was resigned to the company of a demigod. She had yet to meet one that was peaceful, which was the source of her disdain for them, and the templars.
"I am a sphinx, the guardian of secret knowledge to be precise. But besides that, I just can't stand seeing a building such as this destroyed without the brutes responsible being caught."
She replied with a tired smile.

[The Templar High Council]

"How far are we Tyler?" he said as a wing batted him in the face again, muffling his voice.

"We should be there soon..." Tyler looked out the window to avoid worrying about Miranda's wings. After a few more minutes, the cab pulled up to Navy Pier. It looked like a fun place to be, with a children's museum, movie theater, and even a ferris wheel. People were crowding the pier, even at this time, enjoying themselves, not knowing about the mythical mafias controlling their city.

"So... you guys want to get something to eat?" Tyler looked around the pier, which had a number of restaurants on it. "We have a little time till we have to be... wherever we have to be. Maybe get a burger?"

[New Rhodinia]

Cornelia gave a slight shrug.

"I dunno, lady; a cathedral looks burnt down from the looks of it."

She looked back at the woman and got a closer look at her demeanor, now shifted entirely to the newest arrival. Cornelia's fingers twitched with excitement over the unanticipated attention she just received and took a brief sniff of air to calm herself. A pause between her and the woman gave Cornelia ample time to get a closer look at the men behind the woman, who sported slightly more regaled attires but still wrote off as templars. They stared back at the two women and were growing visibly more anxious as they were not dispersing from the scene. Cornelia chuckled and smiled against the leather mask inside the helmet.

"It's the helmet, isn't it fellas?" She said, leaning around the other woman to the guards. They looked at each other and back to Cornelia, clearly ignoring her query.

"Ma'am, this is the last time we'll say this: please vacate these premises or we'll be forced to take drastic measures." He clearly tried to intimidate the two with a rugged emphasis on "drastic measures" but Cornelia snapped back at them.

"Sir, this is the first AND last time I'll say this: please turn around and get your butts over to where I can't care anymore or I'll have to take some drastic measures of my own." She emphasized her point by whipping her hand through her rags revealing Blackfang, which managed to rattle around in a way that made it seem alive for a brief second. The guards took one look and knew their ultimatum, but decided to settle for door number three and just stand there, strike by fear and slight respect.

Cornelia turned again to the woman in from of her.

"But yeah, I torch Templar buildings for breakfast, but not completely innocent ones like this. It's too boring. And besides that..." She looked again to the woman and saw her journalist badge, titled "Aurora Taia" in as fancy lettering as her wardrobe. "Aurora... a journalist isn't really the first person to come to mind when people want someone to figure out why a cathedral burned down."

Taia watched silently as Cornelia took a moment for what the Sphinx thought was a recomposing breath. When the one templar spoke up she intimidated the templars with her odd blade. Causing Taia to raise an eyebrow of concern, she was not keen on those who sprang to violence first. Despite this Taia's devotion to learning and knowledge meant she was well aware of the legendary blade's name, it had an unmistakable shape and appearance. She smiled as Cornelia made the observation of her occupation.
"My interest in the burnt down cathedral is hardly vocational. I assume seeing as you have the legendary blade Blackfang, you must be a demigod."
She said with a hint of stressed resignation. She was still upset that the beautiful building had been destroyed. And now she was resigned to the company of a demigod. She had yet to meet one that was peaceful, which was the source of her disdain for them, and the templars.
"I am a sphinx, the guardian of secret knowledge to be precise. But besides that, I just can't stand seeing a building such as this destroyed without the brutes responsible being caught."
She replied with a tired smile.

Cornelia chuckled at Taia's growing frustration with the Templars and gave another playful shrug.

"Hey, I'm all for killing people like that. You have no idea what kind of crap of theirs I had to deal with back in Rome."

She then took out Blackfang from its holster and balanced it atop her finger from the hilt. Its slight glint in the minute rays of sunlight sent off a chilling and fearful vibe to the Templars behind the sphinx, who found it far more beneficial to just walk away.

"And yeah: this dagger's served me well so far; placed and used properly, this thing can rip apart even the most unsung secrets of the most silver-tongued of men - mentally or physically." Cornelia again paused and looked at Aurora as if she was losing interest every other second. "Wasn't my quote, by the way."

[Lycanth]

"How far are we Tyler?" he said as a wing batted him in the face again, muffling his voice.

"We should be there soon..." Tyler looked out the window to avoid worrying about Miranda's wings. After a few more minutes, the cab pulled up to Navy Pier. It looked like a fun place to be, with a children's museum, movie theater, and even a ferris wheel. People were crowding the pier, even at this time, enjoying themselves, not knowing about the mythical mafias controlling their city.

"So... you guys want to get something to eat?" Tyler looked around the pier, which had a number of restaurants on it. "We have a little time till we have to be... wherever we have to be. Maybe get a burger?"

Miranda's stomach growled loudly as Tyler mentioned burgers. She placed a hand on her stomach and laughed awkwardly. "Heheh...burgers sound fucking fantastic right now." She looked around the pier, gazing at all the attractions. She always wanted to go something like this. She never was able to thanks to the fact she had visible wings for a majority of her life. It was only within the last couple of years that she was able to cast a spell to hide them. "This place is..incredible! Ty, how much time do we have? I want to go on the ferris wheel! Ooooh! And that shooting game thingy!" She was like a kid in a candy store. Or a puppy in the pet store. Either worked. She accidentally smacked Pat in the chest with her wing in her excitement. "Oops. Sorry Patrick! Just seeing this place makes me giddy!" She tried to calm herself but just couldn't. She was this close to snapping her wings wide and taking off to the top of the wheel.

[The Templar High Council]

"We should be there soon..." Tyler looked out the window to avoid worrying about Miranda's wings. After a few more minutes, the cab pulled up to Navy Pier. It looked like a fun place to be, with a children's museum, movie theater, and even a ferris wheel. People were crowding the pier, even at this time, enjoying themselves, not knowing about the mythical mafias controlling their city.

"So... you guys want to get something to eat?" Tyler looked around the pier, which had a number of restaurants on it. "We have a little time till we have to be... wherever we have to be. Maybe get a burger?"

Miranda's stomach growled loudly as Tyler mentioned burgers. She placed a hand on her stomach and laughed awkwardly. "Heheh...burgers sound fucking fantastic right now." She looked around the pier, gazing at all the attractions. She always wanted to go something like this. She never was able to thanks to the fact she had visible wings for a majority of her life. It was only within the last couple of years that she was able to cast a spell to hide them. "This place is..incredible! Ty, how much time do we have? I want to go on the ferris wheel! Ooooh! And that shooting game thingy!" She was like a kid in a candy store. Or a puppy in the pet store. Either worked. She accidentally smacked Pat in the chest with her wing in her excitement. "Oops. Sorry Patrick! Just seeing this place makes me giddy!" She tried to calm herself but just couldn't. She was this close to snapping her wings wide and taking off to the top of the wheel.

"I don't think we have that much time." Tyler checked his phone, the time reading 1:36. Their meeting was scheduled to be at 2pm. So they had half an hour to explore the pier and find where the meeting was happening. I bet the major families's representatives were told where exactly to go, instead of being dropped off on the pier with a vague direction. Gods, if only they treated the Outposts like equals, we could get so much more done since we're all over America. Enough internal bitching for now, now was the time for action.

"If we can find where the meeting is before... 10 till 2, we can enjoy ourselves. For now, let's get something to eat, and we'll go looking later." Tyler led Miranda and Patrick to an average-looking local restaurant that served your average Americana food, and got them a booth somewhat near the entrance (he made sure Miranda had her own seat this time). Tyler ordered an average burger with pepperjack cheese, jalapeños, and barbecue sauce. He was partial to spicy food, especially spicy meats, just because that's what he grew up with. Not really sure why, but for Tyler the hotter the food was, the more he wanted it.

[Lycanth]

Miranda's stomach growled loudly as Tyler mentioned burgers. She placed a hand on her stomach and laughed awkwardly. "Heheh...burgers sound fucking fantastic right now." She looked around the pier, gazing at all the attractions. She always wanted to go something like this. She never was able to thanks to the fact she had visible wings for a majority of her life. It was only within the last couple of years that she was able to cast a spell to hide them. "This place is..incredible! Ty, how much time do we have? I want to go on the ferris wheel! Ooooh! And that shooting game thingy!" She was like a kid in a candy store. Or a puppy in the pet store. Either worked. She accidentally smacked Pat in the chest with her wing in her excitement. "Oops. Sorry Patrick! Just seeing this place makes me giddy!" She tried to calm herself but just couldn't. She was this close to snapping her wings wide and taking off to the top of the wheel.

"I don't think we have that much time." Tyler checked his phone, the time reading 9:36. Their meeting was scheduled to be at 10pm. So they had half an hour to explore the pier and find where the meeting was happening. I bet the major families's representatives were told where exactly to go, instead of being dropped off on the pier with a vague direction. Gods, if only they treated the Outposts like equals, we could get so much more done since we're all over America. Enough internal bitching for now, now was the time for action.

"If we can find where the meeting is before... 10 till 10, we can enjoy ourselves. For now, let's get something to eat, and we'll go looking later." Tyler led Miranda and Patrick to an average-looking local restaurant that served your average Americana food, and got them a booth somewhat near the entrance (he made sure Miranda had her own seat this time). Tyler ordered an average burger with pepperjack cheese, jalapeños, and barbeque sauce. He was partial to spicy food, especially spicy meats, just because that's what he grew up with. Not really sure why, but for Tyler the hotter the food was, the more he wanted it.

Miranda nodded, saddened that they couldn't hit the rides and shit now. She sat at the booth Tyler picked out, smirking a little as they gave her her own seat this time. Guess they learned that lesson in the taxi. Good idea. She took a big bite out of her double-decker bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon, lettuce, and pickles. She loved meats, especially beef and bacon so the more the tastier. The burger was extremely good for being on the pier. She munched on a fry as she looked around, scanning the area for the meeting place. She was on a mission, one that involved pointless stuffed animals, fake guns, a ferris wheel, and beating the boys' in every game they played. Or trying to anyways. Tyler would surely win the strength one, being the Son of Area. I mean, seriously. The boy was fucking strong. But she was determined to beat them in the shooting gallery and anything else they came across. She noticed a shimmer head under the pier. Could it have someone from one of the major families? She pointed to a dark, shady spot she saw the figure to to, trying to speak. With her mouth full of bacon, burger, and cheese, it sounded like she was choking rather than talking. At the boys' confused looks, she swallowed and cleared her throat. "I think I saw something go under the pier, over that way. Maybe that's them?" She was probably wrong, but she didn't care. She really wanted to go on that fucking ferris wheel. The sooner they found the spot, the sooner she'd be in the air, looking over the entire area, almost as if she was flying.

[Pyrade]

Cornelia chuckled at Taia's growing frustration with the Templars and gave another playful shrug.

"Hey, I'm all for killing people like that. You have no idea what kind of crap of theirs I had to deal with back in Rome."

She then took out Blackfang from its holster and balanced it atop her finger from the hilt. Its slight glint in the minute rays of sunlight sent off a chilling and fearful vibe to the Templars behind the sphinx, who found it far more beneficial to just walk away.

"And yeah: this dagger's served me well so far; placed and used properly, this thing can rip apart even the most unsung secrets of the most silver-tongued of men - mentally or physically." Cornelia again paused and looked at Aurora as if she was losing interest every other second. "Wasn't my quote, by the way."

Taia sighed and shrugged,
"Books hold more secrets than the average skull. And some books hold more than others, depends where you look really. But what exactly are you looking for here? You hardly seem like the type who looks amongst a crime scene for their clues."
Taia replied with a slight smile, perhaps she'd be able to get some help in her venture after all. Even if it was with a demi-god who happened to be overly fond of their dagger.
"If you're looking for the arsonists as well, we could collaborate."
She replied nonchalantly as she looked around the burnt out building.

[Shadowwell]

Shortly after the group of demigods arrived at the Pier, Nik released the shadows around him and had his Armor relic change into a black duster. He then went into the restaurant that the Demigods did and got something to eat, a bacon double cheeseburger. He sat down in a booth near them. after he finished eating his Burger he walked over to them and said in a voice so only they could hear it " Hello, I couldn't help but notice that you, like me, are demigods. I am not affiliated with the families nor with any group, but I assume you are here in response to events involving beings who shall not be talked about in public?, mind if I join you? I am Nikolas Carver."

[The Templar High Council]

Alexandra Kanaan fell from the red sand portal, onto a beach bordering Lake Michigan. She spat, some of the sand was in her mouth from her travel, but otherwise she was unharmed. She stood up in her sandals, dusting herself off and looking around. Surprisingly, the beach was quite empty. Nothing but seagulls and the occasional hobo as far as she could see. I guess Set can do something right... Alex thought, recalling the discussion she had with her... parents...

It was so weird to think that Set was her father. After years of learning Egyptian magic, she had also learned that Set was essentially the villain in Egyptian mythology. Except for Apophis, a name that was not to be mentioned, Set was practically the ultimate evil. Except he wasn't really evil, he was chaos, but that equated to evil and Apophis, and...

Never mind! I need to find those others! Alex thought to herself while looking around. She had her belongings with her: suitcase, magician's box slung over her shoulder, her phone and handbag, and the bracelet Set gave to her before leaving. Well, not really gave, but he kind of put it on her hand before joining the conversation with her and her mother. Gods, she didn't know what to think anymore.

"Alright, Set said to go to Navy Pier... that there'd be a meeting at the theater..." She reached for her box to pull out a shabti to tell her where the pier was, until she realized it was off to her left. Alex laughed to herself, before setting out for the well-lit pier, where she would do her best to clear her family's name.

[New Rhodinia]

Cornelia chuckled at Taia's growing frustration with the Templars and gave another playful shrug.

"Hey, I'm all for killing people like that. You have no idea what kind of crap of theirs I had to deal with back in Rome."

She then took out Blackfang from its holster and balanced it atop her finger from the hilt. Its slight glint in the minute rays of sunlight sent off a chilling and fearful vibe to the Templars behind the sphinx, who found it far more beneficial to just walk away.

"And yeah: this dagger's served me well so far; placed and used properly, this thing can rip apart even the most unsung secrets of the most silver-tongued of men - mentally or physically." Cornelia again paused and looked at Aurora as if she was losing interest every other second. "Wasn't my quote, by the way."

Taia sighed and shrugged,
"Books hold more secrets than the average skull. And some books hold more than others, depends where you look really. But what exactly are you looking for here? You hardly seem like the type who looks amongst a crime scene for their clues."
Taia replied with a slight smile, perhaps she'd be able to get some help in her venture after all. Even if it was with a demi-god who happened to be overly fond of their dagger.
"If you're looking for the arsonists as well, we could collaborate."
She replied nonchalantly as she looked around the burnt out building.

"Good idea." Cornelia replied, swiftly sheathing Blackfang again into her back pocket. "I really don't care for investigations, just killing Templars."

She peered around Aurora's shoulder and pointed to the group of Templars, now turning to leave.

"Those guys look like they're headed toward... uh..." With a slightly confused look on her face, she paused to try and gather her thoughts, to no avail. "I dunno."

She then tilted her head and shot an eager look to Aurora, trying hard not to pain herself by smiling.

"Up for a bit of stalking, sphinx?"