(Starter for Cassius @through-worlds-and-time)
The agaddon kept his head tilted up at the towers and cloisters and other overgrown structures bathed gold in the sunrise, sword slung across his back as he walked into one of the mountain city's courtyards.
It all seemed as familiar to him as it looked alien, and that was saying a lot for someone born as a human on 22nd century Earth and then lived quite literally in Hell where he eventually turned into...whatever he was now.
But it was still nice to get a few days off (or their equivalent of however they kept time in the hell-realms) from work and the associated violence every now and then, so he had to savor it. He stood still for a moment and let the wind circling in the courtyard weave around his horns and the "armor"-like chitin that formed around his chest and arms.
There once was an empire here.
That was the second thought that went through his mind, after "Damn, I never knew how much I missed fresh air like this," which he vocalized to himself just loud enough to echo. "I should take the BF here sometime."
How long has it been since he last set foot here?
The journey heās set out on, searching for the Great Slayer himself, has taken him to many, many different places. Across countless worlds, through the threads of time, treading upon the fabric of reality and seeing where it takes him. Heās seen the darkest depths of Hell, the cold and rusty surface of Mars. Heās even visited Earth once, well after the felling of the Icon of Sin.
But Argent Dānur is a place he hasnāt come home to in a long, long time.
He remembers the civil war, the betrayal of the Deag Priests, how the Maykrs so heavily swayed their influence over his people. He doesnāt know if that still holds true, if the people remain blind to the terrible truth of Argent Energy, or if theyāve risen up against their dark masters. Truthfully, he doesnāt really feel like taking a risk and finding out the hard way.
Even as a Night Sentinel, heās never really belonged here.
So instead heās come here, to the old and ruined city of Taras Nabad. He knows it has significance. Nowadays it is a grave, every crumbling building a headstone for countless lives lost here, warriors and innocent alike. Itās the final resting place of the wretched Dreadnought, and it is here where the Great Slayerās throne still sits.
His fatherās throne.
Heās not sure what heāll find there, but he hopes that, if it doesnāt bring him one step closer to finding him, that maybe he can learn something new, something to further cement his heritage as the Slayerās son.
But what Cassius doesnāt expect is to hear another voice. Immediately he ducks down behind some rubble, spear clutched tightly in his hands; he has the positional advantage, being situated near a ledge overlooking one of the larger courtyards, but he feels his heart lurch with dreadful anticipation when he peeks his head around and gets a good look at the source.
A demon. An Aggadon hunter, from the looks of it, though it looksā¦ strange. Much less heavily armored, and with an actual humanoid face instead of a gnarled, monstrous visage. It looks to be alone, and the words itād uttered has him doubting its bloodthirstiness, but he knows from experience that just because a demon may seem friendly does not necessarily mean that it actually is.
Still. If trouble breaks, heās confident he can handle it. Although heās wondering what the hell a āBFā is supposed to be.
Cautiously, the Sentinel steps out from his makeshift cover, the elaborate spear still gripped in his hands in case the demon decides to throw itself at him. āUmā¦ hello?ā
@nfc-rp
This place isn't empty!?
The greeting - a human greeting, in human language - would have made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up...if he still had any on that part of his body anyway. But it did perk his (demonically) heightened sense of danger.
Out of a well-practiced reflex, he drew his sword from its sling behind his back and pivoted on one digitigrade heel to face what his instincts told him was a threat.
Inside, deep inside, a small part of him hoped it wasn't the Doom Slayer. That small nagging also caused him to slightly waver off balance as he drew his sword - mainly because given the legends, he would already be dead before he knew.
His eyes flickered in the typical demonic gold as he tried to put on a scarier face, but the fragments of his brown human irises still stood out like the dots on the photos of the sun. He mentally sized up the human as he would any combatant and what resulted was...
"Oh...hi there..." a human response in a human language, although not decidedly in a human voice and with cloudy breath that could basically have been steam given the contrasting environment. For everything, it had been an incomprehensively long time since he'd seen another human that hadn't already been 'harvested.' Not that he was about to let down his guard, but his scowl slightly...visibly relented.
