As Victor and Tayro quickly run up the stairwell, Alpha takes a final glance around the room that they were currently in. There are four more Apostles in the area, and the Sheikah does not hesitate to attempt to eavesdrop on the three members' conversation. He hopes to categorize some of their voices away in his mind for future use, or maybe recognize them himself - although he hasn't actually met the majority of these people, so the likelihood for the latter option is highly unlikely.

He does hear Victor calling back to him, but decides to wait an additional few seconds before following. His eyes move from the conversing group, though his ears continue to pick up traces of their conversation, over to where the fourth man in the area stands, practicing with his daggers. They linger there for several seconds, trying to memorize the fighting style, once again so that at a future point he might be able to recognize the man by said style.

Then he turns away. As much as he would like to go over and look into these people further - he knows few enough people in this organization, and gaining more allies would not be a bad idea - the two people that he does already know are still waiting for him up above. So he faces the stairwell once again and, upon finally reaching it, makes his way up to where Tayro and Victor stand, just in time to hear Victor's accusation.

Victor wrote:"Alpha! Why would you let us come to the second floor? You know very well that Jett is on the thirteenth floor! Now I have to amend my list..."

"What are you talking about, I led us up here? I'm at the back of the group, Victor, in case you didn't notice!" A smirk comes across his list. "Or did you forget that too?" he adds teasingly.

Hungry... oh! So hungry!

Outside, the leever corkscrews across the desert calmness, driven on by desires thousands of years old. Hunger is only one aspect of infinity, but it is a prominent one that all living things are slaves to. The leever understands this, but doesn't know that it does, because it only feels...

Hungry! Oh so hungry!

The creature's circling dash brings it to the shadow of the large boulders, a line at which it stops, then turns systematically and begins to travel, still at its generally static "scurry" speed, along the boundary between light and dark. It senses the salts of a living creature, possibly dead, and accelerates ever so slightly towards it.

Hungry! Hungry! Hung--

The leever's innards ooze a bit. In its haste it apparently seems to have split itself in two against a vertical dagger suspended at ankle height above the ground, tip pointing down. And then a closer looks shows that the dagger is connected to a hand, which connects to an arm, to an...

The man steps across the line, that forbidden line between dark and light, between mystery and the known, between... a lot of things, and with his non-weapon hand he reaches behind himself and takes hold of the hat which hangs by a thin loop around his neck and sets it, just barely, on his head. The hat appears to be of woven straw, or possibly flexible water-Deku reeds, and looks like a shallow upside down cone. The brim is large, almost obscenely so, and it casts a shadow over the man's entire body when the sun is at its zenith.

His body... which you can see as he bends down and picks up one of the leever halves... is a frame wrapped from head to toe in wide, clean-white bandages. The only flashes of skin you can see from distance--a gap here and there, and for some reason his fingertips--are dark, not like the southern tropical humans, but dark like the darkness of a year-rotten vegetable: slightly purple, completely disgusting. His hips are shrouded by a nondescript white sheet, like some kind of short, asymmetrical kilt which covers him waist down. They end in a pair of light boots.

He sniffs the gore of the leever corpse, holding it slightly away from his body, which he turns. You see then that he also wears a dark, mid-sized leather skin of unknown host animal--or... nevermind--on his shoulders, which looks more draped than fastened, as if a headless, limbless something leaped onto his back and deemed it comfy there.

And then he inspects his dagger, seems to do so, anyway, and appears pleased, pleased enough to languorously dip the dagger back into the bowl-like leever-halve. He then drops the latter, and then cleans the weapon by whipping it once, quickly, desert-ward, showering dark cactus blood on the sand to the sound of ravenous sizzles.

The dagger, still moist, is re-sheathed, and the man steps back into the shade, where he pushes the hat back, letting the loop catch against the throat and the itchy straw-like brim rest against his shoulder-blades. Contemplatively, he reaches into his kilt-like garment and withdraws a minuscule vial of white powder, which he stares at momentarily before re-"pocketing" it.

Quicklime, saltpeter, sulfur, boron slurry, ground deku nut, cuckoo droppings, the blood of a leever... I've traveled, even to this heat, and found them all...

He waits a moment, then opens his mouth wide, letting his vermilion tongue hang out as he disturbingly pants, dog-like, for several minutes... pant, pant, pant... and then regains a little composure, slips the wide-brim cone back on, and heads north, back... back, anyway. His steps, unstable, carry him a few yards forward, and then stop on their own accord. Two words enter his head, not so much thought as summoned subconsciously.

Stone pendant.

He stares at the rocky monoliths.

Victor's eyes nervously darted left and right as Alpha pointed out the flaw in his little plan, but eventually decided to compromise and look straight forward. He then tried his hardest to pretend that he had ignored what Alpha said, turned towards the stairway, and started heading upwards once more. Already on his way, the Bard attempted to end the discussion with a quick call backwards:

"Well, it doesn't matter who's fault it was or wasn't. C'mon, let's just head up already!"

And yet, Victor's small note remained on the list...

As Alpha listened in on the three conversing Apostles it became apparent that they were actually speaking of important things. In the short time that the mage had listened in, some interesting statements should have been heard. Unfortunately, one of the men could be seen looking around, and he caught a glimpse of the normally stealthy Sheikah. Almost immediately, he bowed his head, leaned forward and began to speak in a more cautious tone. From where Alpha was standing, the conversation was naught but a series of muffles. Even voices were indiscernible; before the man had hushed the others, his was a voice that had not yet been encountered by the mage.

On the thirteenth floor, the trio could easily catch sight of a cloaked figure closing a dormitory door behind him - that is, if they were quick enough to take their eyes off of Victor's already inadequate map. Quips towards the unreliable note's accuracy aside, and bickering on whose fault it really was, the master of the dormitory ahead of them was an obvious guess. If it were not clear enough by the fact that their object of pursuit was only a minute or two ahead of them not moments ago, the ornate nameplate reading "Jett Ericson" just above the door would be sufficient as an indicator.

<center>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</center>

The cloaked man looked up from his book as a swift rush of wind swept by and turned its pages. He shook his head in despair; he had not been keeping track since before he and Helena had last spoken! He closed the novel and set it inside his cloak, and stood up. Kicking sand from his boots, he stretched and yawned. "Helena, we have been up here for far too long. When is our relief coming? Helena?" The man turned to face his comrade, only to find the cloaked woman staring off into the distance at a strange dot on the horizon.

"What... is that?" She wondered as the dot took on a more human form, the distance between the guards and the object in question decreasing every minute. Finally, the creature was close enough that the two cloaked individuals could speak to it. Helena, having spotted Arco first, called out to him. "You there! What are you doing out here?"

The cloaked man, doubting that the bandaged Sheikah before him would speak, mumbled something to his ally. "I think it's safe to assume he's insane. Look at him." She did so, and confirmed the man's suspicion. "We're here to guard something very important. Get rid of this man." Helena nodded, and prepared to draw her daggers. "Not like that!" snapped the guard. "Just push him off."

Helena leered and tried to argue, but gave up, understanding that her companion was right. The Somarian stepped towards Arco, and crossed her arms as she came to an abrupt stop in front of him. "This is a private area. I suggest you leave." Her voice was cold and unfeeling, as opposed to how normally it was often cheery and carefree. She took hold of the bard's shoulder and gave him a light push, as a warning that he had best disperse.

OOC: Considering how long I had to write it, this post is quite short. I apologize >.>

It was like shoving aside a stalk of grass; the modest force Helena utilized to demonstrate her intention was enough to send Arco reeling back a few paces, as if the man had absolutely no rootedness whatsoever in his steps. In fact, his body yielded so much to the action that his head whipped back just slightly, just enough for his hat to slip off the top of his head and fall back, with the cord catching on his neck. And then you see his mask for the first time. Made out of some kind of plaster, it is white, with a... waxy complexion. Its clever construction has given it the appearance of perpetually melting, dripping, all the way from where it covers the forehead down to just above the mouth, under which the horizontal rows of bandages which wrap the rest of his body take over.

He hastily pulls the hat back on, and then simply stands there for a moment, deliriously swaying from side to side, as if drunk. And then, in an action potentially alarming for the two guards, Arco reaches one hand down to his side, as if feeling for something--his weapon? Even as his hand drifts downwards, thumb trailing against his chest, his mouth cracks open in speech.

"Where am I?" he asks, not unlike your stereotypical amnesia victim. And then his hand settles on a small disc-like outline barely visible through the white garment doubled up around his hips.

OOC: No problem. XD Though I think we may all want to decide on a single temporal tense for consistency reasons. Past or present, you think?

OOC: Hm, well, I just tried to write out this post in Present, and it sounds pretty far removed from how it should sound. I'd like to keep in in past tense, if it's not too problematic for you guys (whatever tense you use is fine; past tense is just easier for me to write for XD)

IC:

Helena could not help but frown inwardly as Arco was sent stepping back as a result of her simple push; the Somarian had not intended to be aggressive - only threatening. She thought for a moment about the implications of the action. Could one really be threatening without aggression? She looked behind her at the cloaked man, who stood looking on skeptically with arms crossed. There stood a man of wisdom and logic, rather than strength and belligerence. Could he perceived as aggressive? Helena was a nurturer of innocence, and yet being a common thief had her casting away those values more often than not. She was very much like her comrade, in the sense that both preferred to avoid harsh conflict against an innocent. And so, even pushing Arco seemed to clash with her friendly idiom.

As the hat flew from his head, she found herself gazing at the man with a look of both shock and disgust. Behind her, her ally's face took a turn of surprise as well. This strange man's appearance was baffling enough - what had happened in his life to force him to live in such a condition? Helena found herself clenching her teeth and wishing she could turn away and let her superior deal with the potential threat. However, such a movement would be cowardly and unnecessary. She simply hoped that her feigned aggression would send Arco on his way without a word, but upon hearing his simple question, she could not help but sigh. Shaking her head seemed to signify that the Sheikah would receive no answer, and as she did so her eyes caught sight of the disk-like outline that the strangers hand had hovered to.

Realizing how dangerous a situation this could prove to be, Helena reached for the bard's shoulders in a flash. There was no telling what kind of bizarre unearthly weapon the eccentric one was palming as she stood idly by. Gripping both shoulders firmly, the frightened girl heaved her weight into a more powerful push and sent Arco sprawling to the ground several feet back. The sand erupted around him as his cloaked form impacted the desert floor, sending particles of dust flying outwards. A brief breeze stormed through the scene, causing the sand to be flung into the man's eyes, obscuring his sight.

Helena turned and walked back towards the pile of rocks to rejoin the other cloaked guard. She clutched in her hand a cracked brown pendant; the Somarian had robbed the pathetic creature! She gazed down at her spoil, wondering just what she had managed to snatch. Her mouth dropped down and her eyes widened. She held the stone up towards the man and gasped. Her companion, equally surprised, followed suit. Well, surprise was an understatement to the emotion that the pair was feeling. The stupor the duo had been brought to would prove comical to an observer (aside from Arco, of course, who would likely feel only confusion). The man whipped a hand to his face and lowered his hood. His short black hair was greying, and his strong face showed the wisdom only inherent in a true scholar. The unidentified Apostle's eyes shined a bright blue. "Where did you get this?" he interrogated the crumpled figure before him in less of a commanding tone than a simply startled one.

Back inside the underground city's castle, Alpha shakes his head as he watches Victor and Tayro going ahead of him. Quite frankly, the Sheikah's main reason for doing so is because, if Victor has messed up again and led them on a wild goose chase, he has no intention of being without his former excuse. 'You were the one leading us, Victor!' he imagines himself shouting triumphantly. It's a humorous enough picture that he almost wishes the bard is wrong again.

Allowing his thoughts to drift after this point, Alpha finds himself wondering about those men in the main hall that he'd eavesdropped on. It had taken only a statement or two before he'd gotten the picture that the matters being discussed were of great significance and had been tempted to use some subtler methods of listening in. And then one of their number, one whose voice he could not recall, had noticed him, making all attempts at listening pointless. Oh well, if he didn't know the people then he hopefully would soon enough; there were only, what? Fifty-something people in Carock's Apostles? It shouldn't be too long before he could once again match a voice with a face.

He lets the idea of thinking to himself quietly go away as he finally finds himself approaching the 13th floor. 'Maybe that's why Jett had the bad luck to be killed . . .' he thinks, almost with a chuckle accompanying it. Speaking of his fellow mage, he manages to arrive just in time to see someone closing the door that bears Jett's name. "Excellent timing, I suppose," he comments to his companions, allowing one of those two to continue leading the way, this time in opening the door.

OOC: I think I'll go with past as well, then; after all, it was fine in Ring of Fire. That leaves Alpha alone in present tense? *laughs* On the other hand, I do kind of like present tense in these group RP settings, since they're slightly more flexible, but ohwell. I'll figure out something...

IC: There wasn't a lot of time to think; Arco had only just asked his question when she shook her head, then seemed to flinch and then jump forward...

Weightless.

Like with the last push, his body defensively fled the hard force, its movement uniting with Helena's push and propelling him an unnatural distance away... only, his center of gravity went too far that way when his feet were still back there, and...

Hot!

With the impact, a long, intense inhale undulated through the thick air, like a chorus of choked monsters from one throat. The heat of the baking sand in contact with his entire body appeared to have the effect of brief paralysis, and paired with the sand in his eyes--not to mention mouth--he was an easy target for Helena's swift sleight-of-hand. Then, agonizingly, Arco made his way back onto his feet by rolling over slowly and pushing up with both hands. From there he shifted into a low, crouching position and, watching the two Apostles with mixed anger, fear, and pain, struggled his hat back into place. The shade the overly-wide brim afforded him seemed to bring him some reprieve, but his dolor was still visible in the way his body rose and fell.

Then, as the man asked his question, Arco slowly began to regulate his breathing and in a disturbing twist, let his tongue loll out to the sound of quiet panting. And--it may have just been your imagination, but it was almost like a steam was rising from his mouth. Hahh... hahhh... hahh... For an entire minute he remained this way, breathing rhythmically, and then finally straightened up, his body crackling slightly like a stiff man rolling his neck for the first time in a decade.

His composure thus regained, Arco faces the man squarely, his mask vis-a-vis with the perfect, blue eyes. And then his mouth opened a little.

"I don't know..." he began, while behind his mask he spoke a different, silent message.

The memories you are asking me to recall are too recent for me to bear comfortably.

"...if yours is the party... to which I should speak..." A pause. "You know of that? ...Its owner?"

Before Alpha, Victor or Tayro even had the opportunity to knock on Jett's door, it reopened without warning. The cloaked man stepped out in a hurry, and nearly collided with Victor. "Whoa!" he shouted, stopping short and falling back to avoid the collision. The shocked look he gave the trio vanished immediately when he realized who he was with. "Victor!" he beamed jovially. "Long time, friend. I see you've stayed out of trouble; glad to see it, too." He knew the bard was likely overjoyed with seeing the young mage - the stories of Victor's great anguish and sadness in reacting to Jett's death were touching indeed.

"Tayro, hello again. What's it been, five minutes? And this is Alpha, I presume. It seems you already knew of me, and of my little... incident. Sorry I never returned the greeting back at the woods. You know how it is - never time to say "hello" when being spit on by scum like those Moblins." The mage shuddered at the thought of the grotesque saliva launched by the offensive Mid-Dao Moblin. "You three caught me just in time. I came back to wash the scum off of my face, and now I'm heading up to the armoury for a new weapon. You probably saw that Moblin splinter the other one..."

Jett began to cough suddenly, and a small spat of blood flew from his mouth into his hand. He looked at the blackened red liquid, before lowering his hand in embarrassment. "Sorry. Being dead, even for a few hours, is not particularly healthy for a body. Thankfully, Maverick is letting me return to Calatia for a month or two to relax at my real home while I recover. There are some people I wouldn't mind visiting, as well...." The human paused for a moment, and allowed the newest Apostles to interrogate him as they wish before he made his journey to the castle armoury.

<center>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</center>

Helena answered Arco's question before the other man even had the chance. Her own hood lowered now, the sun reflected off of her tidy blond hair as she spoke. "This half-pendant belongs to a woman dressed like we are. I doubt you could have bested her in combat, so I can only guess you either stole it or it was given to you." Helena placed a hand on her hip and held the pendant out with the other. "She gave it to you, didn't she?" asked the young Somarian in a bewildered tone. The explanation behind how Arco came to be carrying the stone was obvious enough. However, far more important was Helena's next question. "But... why?"

The other man, with the eyes that seemed to pour their wisdom into the air, stepped forward and grabbed the pendant from his younger ally. "Helena, I'm going to go ahead and assume it was to prevent us from being violent with him. Everyone knows that brutes like Zayxin and Deagan kill curious trespassers without question." Raising his voice so as to speak to the odd man before him, he described the woman who Helena had mentioned. "Her name is Trish Gorman. She has long, flowing red hair past her shoulders and speaks in a tone that you would expect Nayru herself to possess. Was it this woman who gave you the stone?"

As Helena speaks and asks her questions, Arco falls almost rudely silent. As if propped up by a staff, his body gradually leans alarmingly to the side, something that doesn't seem to be possible--it's like his center of gravity is a few inches offset from his feet, or something... nevermind. His arms, hanging limp, sway a little as the woman manages to answer all of her own questions with her speculations.

Then, as the man speaks, Arco appears to awaken again. It's almost as if the nature of the calm interrogation has summoned something. His eyes flare slightly and...

assume... Zayxin, Deagan, kill, trespass...

...and suddenly the words and facts are so vivid in Arco's mind that they almost seem to be projected into the air in front of him. In miniature, a goron with a giant spear ebbs into view about a foot from his eye level, but so quickly and so faintly that you would have to be in a trance to see it. Screams and the sounds of battle ring out just outside the edge of your hearing. And as the Cleric continues speaking...

Trish Gorman... red hair, speaks, stone...

Like before, and with something of a flicker, there is a small figure, a vision in three dimensions, something so unreal and unexpected that it's most likely that Arco's the only one who sees it. It's almost as if like... it might be like how a picto box works. The words the man is speaking enter Arco's mind by the ears and are translated, reversed back out visually... or something. But the take home point is that maybe when the Sheikah fixates on a mental image so violently that it's almost as if he sees it for real... maybe he does. It's possible that some others see this, too...

The miniature Trish fades, and Arco's eyes do as well, back to their grays. He swallows.

"Yes."

OOC: Well, it seems Tayro isn't here for some reason *cough video games* But, there's no reason why I can't continue your part, Weien. Sorry about that XD Here goes.

IC:

At once, the intensity of the meeting died, gone like the sand-sweeping breeze that had been trying desperately to escape this prison of sorts; the few moments of awkward silence and seemingly pointless back-and-forth conversation were enough to unsettle even the forces of nature. The long, antagonising pause ended abruptly, and instantly Helena's eyes were bright with excitement. Arco's appearance changed from creepy stranger to a potentially interesting new comrade. She grinned widely, her clean teeth shimmering in the sunlight and almost sending bright white rays darting to the sand below her. She was certainly glad that the higher-ups had chosen someone so quirky; after all, it was the quirks such as Arco's that made this group interesting.

The wise-looking scholar lightened up as well; to him, it was obvious that the senior Apostles knew what they were doing. While they had not been incredibly involved in the assimilation of Victor and Alpha - Victor had been discovered by the ever-crude Selerovisk; Mizer was the one who let Alpha into the underground realm - the decisions of Maverick, Myst and the others were always wise. Trish was Number One right behind the top six - her choice in putting Arco into the position he had stumbled into must have been made with great thought. The man stepped towards the silly figure ahead of him and shook his hand, returning the mysterious pendant to its most recent possessor. "If Trish chose you," he said with a kindly smile, "you must have done something absolutely incredible." Never in his wildest dreams would this man have guessed that Arco had indeed done something almost impossible in taking down the powerhouse Sloan.

Hiding in the shadows was an onlooker, utilizing the racial talent of Shadowmeld to remain unseen. He smiled, amused at the one called Arco. Trish was right in calling him somewhat of a 'whack-job', he thought, chuckling to himself in silent recollection of Trish's news on that horrible day. He's a digger, or so she tells me, he mused, looking at the Sheikah's hands and picturing him finding his own entrance to the city. He looked back to his own hands, gloved and clean, and then to the sand where he was standing concealed. He shook his head wryly and stifled a laugh, but was caught off guard by a fit of his illness. A loud, haughty cough exploded from the man's mouth and forced him to get down on his knees. He panted and regained composure, in time to flee the scene.

"Well, then," spoke the cloaked man uneasily as he glanced in the direction where Myst had been standing previously, "I suppose you'd best try to find Trish Gorman before she leaves the castle. Helena, if you could..."

"Of course!" beamed the spry young Somarian as she placed her gloved palms delicately on the rugged boulders that seemed quite out of place. The two exerted a combined force that seemed to be doing nothing to the rocks, but once it budged even slightly it was free-rolling and an ancient stairway appeared, leading down into the dark caverns below. "Go on," spoke the man calmly, gesturing towards the hole uneasily.

"But be careful."

"Okay then, onwards to the second floor!" - the youngster retorted excitedly, following suit after the bard. In his enthusiasm, Tayro didn't even take notice of the group of strangers mumbling about something. Not that it would be of his current interest, though - the junior mage had quite the curiosity on how the elder mage had made that pyrotechnique as to release himself from the vines. If possible, to even teach him how - seeing as it would probably save him from a lot of situations. The way he had made the Light-based Elemental Burst was also something quite admirable, making it into a energy-sapping ability. A neat trick, which the magi apprentice desired to experiment as well. Re-evaluating his previous fight with the Apostle, he had to admit that his own tricks weren't too bad at all. Quick thinking of his part, really. And that vine technique? It had suddenly become a favourite... though hopefully it wouldn't lodge itself inside his leg the next time.

Reaching the second floor, he examined the three doors. None of the names belonged to anyone he recognized, and the middle one, belonging to a certain Orias, seemed abandoned for long, as if the member hadn't been present for a long time or had passed away. Dust was also heavily present and even Tayro who was not much of an allergic person had to cover his mouth to prevent the start of a coughing fit. Tayro didn't look closer either, but considering this place's state, termites chewing on the blockade would be a high possibility. Curiosity started to fill him - who was this strange personality? How young? Gender was also indefinite - Orias could either be male or female. Was he a nice or evil person? He considered asking, but presumed (OoC: Incorrectly.) that his two companions also didn't know a thing about it. He looked at Victor with an intrigued look. Didn't he just say Jett's room was on this floor? - he pondered, thinking if he had heard incorrectly.

As soon as Victor made his little interjection, Tayro soon found out the truth. As the bard finished his sentence, the young mage had to cover his mouth now more than ever to prevent him to start a fit. Not coughing though - laughing. Moments ago the Vagabond had been so sure of his mind, and was now faced with the embarrassment of being mistaken. The youngster tried to hold on the best he could as he didn't want to be disrespectful - yet a few giggles escaped from the barriers. And then, like his peers didn't know he was the one to blame, Victor even tried to pass the fault to Alpha, who had been behind all the time. Being countered by the mage, Tayro had to double his efforts. It was like watching a live comedy show - only better.

Little parody over, list corrected and new destination decided, he followed Victor once again up the long staircase, a much lober travel than just a floor. It kept going up and up in circles, and it was like this for a while, until they finally landed on the elusive thirteenth floor - jinxed number for those who wished to believe it. As soon as the teenager placed a foot on the stage's grounds, a door closing was the sound replied by the level. Tayro examined where the soundwaves originated from, to find a door - not unlike the ones in the second floor, with a nameplate on it reading 'Jett Ericson'. Seemed like Victor wasn't incorrect for the second time in a row; the junior mage chuckled inwardly at said thought. "Guess we're here. Shall we knock?" - he inquired, not having enough time for a reply, as immediately after the inhabitant of the room came waltzing out, almost colliding with the apprentice.

Tayro stepped back, as only to avoid any clash between the two mages. Looking intriguingly at the elder (though not eldest) mage, he heard attentively his new comrade's recollection of their battle... and the appearance of the filthy, disgusting, muck-ridden beasts - the Moblins. That's right, he hadn't remembered until now: Jett was the one worse off with his weapon lost and being filled with the pig-like creatures' inner liquids. Talk about yuck. Although the Calatian - as the younger spellcaster found out he was - seemed to be in a certain hurry, he seemed to be available for questioning. Obviously, the Hylian took the cue. He grabbed his staff with his right hand and faced Jett. He raised the rod from the ground, as he was going to use an incantation of sorts...

...And then smacks the Deku weapon in the human's head. Looking in a depreciating way, the youngster glares coldly at his challenger. "That's for deceiving me, and for attacking me when I least expected." - he commented, before trading his drastic sneer to a mischievous grin. "Though that was one heck of a battle. We gotta repeat sometime... and I was wondering, how did you do that fiery explosion like that? I didn't even see you channeling energy into your staff!" - he asked, curiously. Not giving him enough time to reply, the teenager blurted out another question, considering what Alpha and Victor had so promptly refused to develop. "Oh, and Alpha and Victor told me about some Cursed Ones, though they didn't develop much on the subject. Mind clearing up that for me, please?"

Jett stood picking small fragments of what had once been a staff from his black gloves, never really looking at Tayro. It wasn't until he looked up that he gasped and tried to move. Too late, and the staff struck him square between the eyes. He swayed a bit, then shook his head in a confused daze.

Intently he listened to Tayro ask his simple questions. The answers, which he was sure he knew the answers to, were just not coming to him. Cursed One? What? he wondered, scratching his head. He looked into Tayro's eyes, but the boy's entire face was beginning to blur - perhaps it was not wise for the youth to have struck a fatigued man between the eyes, especially one who had spent the last while in an exaggerated coma. A dazed grin crept to Jett's lips, and he stepped back a pace, his back pressing against his door. The mage's legs gave out and he slumped to the ground, now fully passed out. A low groan came from his mouth; he'd probably be upset with Tayro when he awoke.

From one of the other rooms, someone stirred. The door belonging to the fourty-second Apostle slid open a crack, and a hazy white globe appeared in this opening. The thin brown iris glistened as the person inside watched the scene on the thirteenth floor. A small chuckle escaped the woman's lips; it seemed as though Jett had been bested by a young brat. So, number fifty-one arrives, circulated the thoughts of the unidentified woman. We are so very close, Vall. A pause. So very close.

Arco stared at the two as much as his eyeholes allowed, raised one hand to adjust his mask as if for this reason, and then let his foot step back, much like the back of a picture frame supports a pictograph. And then with that faint crunch of the sand, he listened and watched the two guardians--when she smiled, he could be seen to divert his gaze slightly, and when he smiled and spoke laud, the Sheikah lapsed into an embarrassed silence, receiving the pendant again and roping it into the folds of his garments.

And then with his head still bowed, he seemed to examine his hands. You could see dark, burnt fingertips peeking out from the white wrappings, as if he were wearing some kind of semi-fingerless gloves. Slowly dragging his eyes back up towards Helena and her counterpart, he continues looking on, following the latter's glance to the side. Or something. He doesn't seem to make anything of it.

In his excruciating sedateness, he paused once more as the downward stairway opened up, and then teetered before the entrance for a final moment, in which a final, strange phenomenon was visible. Above Arco's head, the air seemed to dance and squiggle, as if the column of air above him was subjected to a mirage-like effect. Freaky, and not exactly scientifically sound, but you saw it, for just that moment, before he descended into the underground.

And then, his voice echoes quietly into the hearing of those still outside: "Thanks."

OOC:

weienw wrote:I think I'll go with past as well, then; after all, it was fine in Ring of Fire. That leaves Alpha alone in present tense? *laughs*

I guess so, Weien . Whatever, I like the present tense. Sorry to y'all if it seems weird among all the past tenses flying around in this topic, but I wouldn't want to be cool and join the crowd.

IC:
Alpha nods to Jett as the Calatian opens up his doorway. "Yes, that's me," he replies calmly to the man's recognition of him. He decides to remain silent for now; Tayro's the one he's most likely interested in talking to after that impressive battle the Sheikah had been fortunate enough to witness. And Tayro undoubtedly wants to speak to his former opponent as well. His suspicions are soon confirmed as the boy steps forward, facing Jett and raising his staff. A confused look comes over Alpha's face. 'What's he planning to do? Cast a spell or something? Or is he . . .'

"Tayro!" he shouts the second he realizes what the young mage is about to do . . . which happens to be the exact second that the staff nails him right between the eyes. Even as Tayro continues speaking, Alpha rubs his temples in a bit of frustration, noting the suddenly distant look within Jett's wobbling eyes. 'He just got through mentioning to Tayro that he was dead for a little while and not in good shape nowadays . . . add to that having fought an opponent like Tayro today, and an unexpected attack like that can't be good.' He sighs. 'Any moment now . . .'

As Jett's body collapses to the ground, the Sheikah darts forward, catching his fellow mage mid-fall. "Trust me on this, Tayro," he says without turning back to the teenager. "Your attacks can take more of a toll on your opponent than you'd realize . . . especially when said opponent has dropped his guard." Lifting up a glowing white hand, he tries his hand at a spell of his own. "Life!" he mutters as he places his fingers on Jett's chest, hoping to help the man out with his recovery.