The World's End Tavern

Trygon huffed softly, and spoke a single word.

"Seal."

The ether suddenly drained out of the area, filling the dragon as those about him were stripped of supernatural ability. He closed his eyes, inhaled softly, and pointed at the ground between Van's feet.

"Kneel."

The ground suddenly yawned open, dropping Van into a pit about a foot and a half down, before it closed shut, trapping him in the dirt at his knees. The dragon placed a foot on Van's chest, and pushed him back, forcing him down underheel. Trygon exhaled harshly, and reality bent momentarily, rippling outward as the dragon-god allowed the ether to return to it's natural place in the world about him. He closed his eyes and shook his shoulders slightly, his scales rustling against each other softly, before he lifted his foot and waited for the newcomer to extract himself from the tavern's floor.

Angel's vision suddenly narrowed. A chilly filling filled her being as suddenly she realized she was blacking out. Though her body did not collapse, instead it reverted into that cold white stone she had been carved out of. Going rigid, and completely hardening over. Those around would now know how to easily break her, should they ever have something against Sidonie. They'd have to take away her abilities, and one of which is the ability to live. With out that supernatural ability, she reverted back to the cold hard stone she once was.

When the ether was returned, she came back slowly. Reforming into mortal flesh as she collapsed to the ground. Shaking faintly. The spasming of muscles in her legs was painful, but she would get over it. Gods, that had been horrible! It was almost like not living, and it's exactly what it was. She never ever wanted that feeling again. What had happened? Suddenly Vanslaz was in the floor, and the dragon was standing over him. She picked up her collapsed scythe and struggled to stand.

Vanslaz crawled out of the pit and brushed off his boots, a look of complete confusion on his face. "So let me get this straight... you drop me in a pit, and mind you a rather pathetic pit too, it was what? one, two feet? And then you make a... what? Anti-magic barrier or someshit? And you step on me... I was, well, frankly I'm a bit embarrassed for you." He said while holding back a face-aching smile.

Naomi watched Trygon work with a smile, but felt strange while he did. Her insanity seemed to leave her temporarily while she watched which left her strangely uninterested. Luckily the feeling was short lived and the soothing voices came back, assuring her that they didn't mean to leave her for so long even though it was only for a few seconds. She sighed happily and laughed at Van, sticking half out of the ground.

Trygon coughed in surprised laughter, tilting his head as Van straightened up.

"And when was the last time you got stepped on, hmmm? I'm willing to bet it's been a while. Want to see if I can introduce you to some other old friends? Pain... Death? All well within my grasp on this 'spit of land'."

Trygon hummed softly, and turned around, before walking to the bar and grabbing a bottle of vodka. He spun the silver cap off, and drank, straddling the same barstool the other had been on some time prior.

"I'd welcome you to my lands, traveler, if you weren't such a goddamn presumptuous bitch. Didn't you ever get taught manners? And if not manners, what about watching out for the bigger, meaner, and hungrier things around you?"

"You claim that I am the presumptious one, and yet, dragon, what do you know about myself? I should think one such as yourself, and you are truely magnificent draco-lord, I haven't seen the underfoot of any in the draconic family in quite some time. But where was I, I seemed to have gotten ahed of myself... ah yes, one so grand as yourself would take at least the slightest note in caution and mayhaps a tad curious as to a being who witnessed your power and still survives?" Vanslaz said quietly and confidantly as he changed back into his darker form, leaning once again on his staff.

"And trust me so long as I am not in my native habitat I'm not so worried about death. Pain... is rather inconvient and I would rather avoid it if at all possible, but it comes and goes inevitably." Van surveyed the dragon-god once again and resorted through his assumptions of him.

Angel managed to get herself back into the seat. Pressing her forehead to the bar, she shuddered faintly. If that dragon ever wanted to kill her, it'd be so easy for him too. She had to make sure to stay on his good-side. Elsewise she'd cause problems for herself. She sighed and pressed her forehead to the edge of the bar. Trying to collect her mind, and chase away the pain. "Sidonie... preserve me..." She murmured as she shuddered faintly. Her wings quivering and achingly feeling heavy. Her muscles where all in revolt, from those few simple moments of complete and total lack of movement.

Trygon laughed and stood up, taking another drink as he crossed the room to the door. His head curled back to look over his shoulder as he left the room, and he called out.

"Indeed you did survive. But ask yourself - Was I trying to kill you?"

The dragon's laughter echoed back through the room, until the clip of the door shutting cut him off. He walked on to the lake, and set his bottle in some rocks on the shore. He dove into the water, his wings flattening tightly against his body as his tail whipped, propelling him deeper into the fish-filled depths.

A dark grin befell the shadow-lord's face as he watched the dragon depart. "It wouldn't matter anyway, your egotistical ignorance will be your downfall." He said grudgingly as all the color was bleached from him and his possessions, and solid black line cracked through his verticle axis silently as he vanished from the tavern as well, leaving a black mark on the floor.

A voice record played from his stood after he left. "The gates of Shadonia will open for your visiting pleasures soon enough."

The mighty thump from above is what first drew his attention away from the map. He looked up, just automatically sensing through the ceiling, and caught sight of a fucking dragon. That's when he glanced around, and took in the entirety of his environment in an instant. The woman with wings, the girl whose edges were kind of indistinct, the copious numbers of blades and stranger weapons... and that incessant buzzing sensation on the edges of his consciousness that just seemed to trill and frill over most of the things and people in this place. Oh, yeah. It was most likely magic.

The dragon came downstairs and Blevins leaned over to the bartender that had stepped up and looked at him curiously. "Yeah, I'm going to need a bottle of something. I can feel a headache coming on." If not a physical one, certainly a metaphorical one. This kind of clashing of universes, a "crossover event" as the tabloids would call them, rarely seemed to be particularly fun, and since he seemed to be trapped here, as Destiny's little bitch, he wanted to be fortified.

The silent bartender (was he really even alive, this guy, or just some sort of construct to allow the place to operate?) handed him a bottle and he looked down at the Southern Comfort label. "You know what? Good enough." He dropped some cash on the bar, and as things started to heat up (literally) between the dragon and one of the bar patrons, Blevins retreated to the cover of a support pillar that seemed to be particularly tingly. He'd never sensed magic before, so he didn't know what the different variations he could detect actually meant, but he was currently thinking "structural element, magicked somehow, possibly a good thing to hide behind."

Unscrewing the plastic cap from the bottle, he took a swig and grimaced. "God damn, I hope the hotel holds my reservations for however long it takes me to get the fuck out of there," he muttered to himself. Then a thought occurred to him and he stared at the bottle. "Oh, shit. Fairy time, is a possibility, and I just drank of the realm. Fuck my life." He looked up at the drama that was unfolding, and shook his had.

(Then rest, ya silly girl! No sense in RPing when you're exhausted!)

Damien watched the scene between Trygon and Vanslaz, somehow not at all surprised at the fact that the black dragon would wind up bringing the assassin - quite literally - to his knees. It had to have been one of those oh so lovely talents of his, something that even demons like him could appreciate. A smirk fell upon his lips after the event was done before turning back to his mug of ale and quaffed the rest of it down easily before sighing in comfort then pushed the mug back with a smirk.

"Well..." Damien sighed out with a smirk, not really saying much more beyond even that. In truth, he had gotten used to this sort of harshness before when he was torturing souls down in the Seventh Layer of Hell, so it really wasn't anything new.

Carmine calmly pushed the door open and walked into the tavern, he cast a slow glance around the room, taking in the many faces. He then brushed back his hair and with a sigh walked calmly to the bar, and without so much as a glance at the keeper, he spoke, "Just give me something strong, and don't dilute it".

While he waited to be served he calmly manipulated a pair of dice in his hand, over and over he spun them without so much as a finger movement. As of late he had been using his magic more than ever, it was mostly due to the fact that he felt he was being followed. Though he was beginning to think he was just being paranoid.

Angel pushed herself off the bar. Her body shaking as she took a calming breath. Her eyes closed as she slumped her shoulders faintly and then cocked her head back. Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders and then looked around. "Good day to you all, I'm leaving this crazy hell hole." She said in a dry voice as she walked out of the Inn. Closing the door heavily behind her as she left. Perhaps a nice walk by the lake would be a good idea? She needed a nice calming situation. Perhaps some meditation?

Damien's eyes opened slightly when he heard a few things, one being a new set of patrons here at the tavern, the other being the angel of Sidonie leaving the establishment in quite a pissy manner. None of which bothered him, but after several minutes, He found himself growing somewhat bored of this place.

After getting up from his seat, Damien would then turn towards the previously closed door, walk to it and opened it to walk out next. Once outside and away from it a good distance, Damien would then close his eyes in concentration as he then cast off his human form once he surrounded himself in a cocoon of black, swirling energy then used it to reappear in his fully demonic form within a burst of flames, clothed in chains and leather and grew exponentially into his now seven-foot-plus height as well as increased muscle mass which was now at least 600 pounds of it.

Once the transformation was completed, Dead as he was now called unveiled his wings and extended them outwards, rivaling his height easily. He wold then take a 50 meter running start while flapping those large wings a few times before propelling himself a good distance into the air, wanting to see what other venues were available around here.

It had been months of travel with no glimpse of human or vampiric life, if you can call it life. Given, Rayne had been traveling alone, cutting her path through trees and brush, stopping only momentarily to regain strength. Once she had began to press forward the trees were gone, the air was somehow more fresh and there was an eerie feeling in her limbs, magic? Rayne was at a lake shore, looking towards a path of slow-painful water. She looked at her boots and smirked. Then she began to survey the new area her feet had brought her to. There was a building, a nifty little establishment. Almost definately the cause of the magical aura. She approached it, but didn't get too close. Perhaps the roof would be a better point of entrance? Indeed, she ran at the side of the building then jumped, getting roughly 20 feet up the wall, she flinched slightly at the quiet thud she made as she hit the building. Rayne climbed to the top, letting out a small accomplished scoff as she looked straight towards her way in. She swung her body onto the roof, her metal heels creating a tiny scuff on the building. "Shit." She clenched her teeth hoping nobody had heard her. Rayne landed with her back facing the entrance, looking out to the water. She smelled the air cautiously, then turned. Thinking maybe she should wait? Then, pausing momentarily she shook her head and continued to the door.

Blevins glanced upward at the distinct sounds of boots on the roof. Granted, it was a couple of stories up and in the other corner of the building, but he still heard it. Oh, great, he thought, now what?

Nobody had been able to tell him how to get out of this place; he'd tried driving away, but the road had disappeared, and he didn't want to wreck his rented car. He tried hiking, but just ended up coming back in circles. So he'd settled at a table and tried to look friendly enough not to cause trouble, yet dangerous enough not to be a target. It was a tricky balance.

He tracked the footsteps while sipping a shot glass of whatever had looked most unusual behind the bar. So far, he wasn't disappointed. Then the feet landed outside, and he waited to see who would enter.

Rayne stepped lightly, careful not to alert any of the beings dwelling inside the building. She walked through the door. From the looks of things, all that laid before her were rooms, perhaps this was some sort of inn? She could hear distant breathing. Someone most likely knew she had arrived. There was no tellling what was downstairs. The scent of blood was mixed with alcohol, those beings could be anything. Rayne relaxed slightly, reminding herself that she wasn't here for trouble. It had been quite sometime however, since her last visit with people of any kind.

She had finally passed all of the rooms arriving at the final set of stairs leading to the ground floor. She wasn't dressed for anything fancy, hopefully she wasn't intruding on a party of some sort. Rayne walked down the stairs with a seductive smirk almost unnoticable. Her hair looked wind-blown after the removal of her hat and the quick gesture of running her fingers through it as to move the strands from her face. Her trench coat fell to just above her ankles and was open fairly wide, making her corset-like top and tight matching leather pants quite visible. The pale flesh of her stomach, hands and face gave off a mysterious sort of vibe. Her throat restricted by a black 3/4 inch dog collar. Rayne said nothing but examined the beings around her cautiously as she was taught. Not once giving anyone an angry or even cautious look. She held her hat at her side and continued on to a barstool, sitting promptly, looking through the various labels to find what may peak her interests.

Blevins watched the lady come down the stairs, and almost raised an appreciative eyebrow. Whatever alternate universe she'd come from, she must have been a particularly sexy cowgirl, he thought, and then he nearly kicked himself for sounding a little too Zap Brannigan-esque. That didn't make it any less true: there was always a Western universe in these things.

Her eyes swept across the room, and he tried to raise his shot glass and nod just a tiny bit in a subtle acknowledgment. However, he was, at that point, rather tipsy, having been drinking initially out of annoyance at his situation and then out of curiosity at the strange liquors available. Therefore, his subtle gesture may well have been subtle enough as to be entirely unnoticeable.

She went to the bar, and he sighed. She wasn't the first new person to come in since he'd given up trying to get out, but her entrance had been notable, and she was the first who didn't tingle with magic entirely too much for his comfort. He'd already chatted a little bit with a few of the other patrons, the nondescript ones that didn't make him nervous, and had found they knew very little, less than he did, even. So he was motivated to go talk to her, if only to see if she had any better idea as to what was going on than he did. It didn't hurt that she was beautiful.

Of, course, Blevins being just a smidge shy (a valuable trait when you're trying to hide super-powers), the fact she was beautiful didn't help, either.

He downed his shot, finally, and grimaced at the chill slide of it in his belly. Weird stuff. But he figured he could use all the liquid courage he could get. He straightened his Hawaiian shirt, stood up, and ambled casually toward the bar.

The smell of the blood-alcohol levels in the vacinity surrounding Rayne was enough so to be slightly intoxicating. Since she had come downstairs, questioning her judgment on wearing her nifty wide-brimmed 'coyboy' hat. It always seemed like such a nuisence when she was inside a bar. Where was she supposed to put it? She shrugged slightly before returning it to her head. After the replacment of her hat, she felt a presence, tipsy from the tasty smell of it. That could only mean one of two things: Trouble, or questions. She looked down a tad, allowing the brim of her hat to shield her face as she closed her anxious violet eyes. After a quick moment she raised her head and spun the barstool around giving her a better view of the occupants of the fine little establishment. She saw him then, strange, for some reason he stood out. He stood out ever so slightly, but just enough. Causal dress, two or so inches taller than herself. She tipped her hat welcoming him to her 'bubble' and giving him a kind of acceptance; as if to say good day.

Rayne's trenchcoat fell to her sides as her elbows rested gently on the bar. Her skin had a sort of irridescent glow to it, but it was very subtle. After all she was Dhampir, not a vampire. The corset she wore was tight and gave her immesurable figure the almost perfect hint of clevage. It was easy to tell she was not a meager little toothpick. She held herself confidantly, knowing if anyone were to make trouble she could put up a nasty fight, to say the very least. However, she wasn't looking for trouble, so she welcomed the curious stranger.

"Hi," he said, his voice still clear despite his tipsiness. He repressed his tendency to smile too much, and just limited himself to a friendly grin. "How are you? I'm John Blevins, from Chicago, 2009." After speaking with the Punic Wars veteran over in the corner, he'd found it useful to mention what year he came from. Occasionally already in the course of the evening he'd had to try and explain his calendar, and once that even led to trying to explain Christianity.

"I, ah, I don't know if you're a regular here, but I'm new, here, in this Tavern, and kind of trying to find my way out." He paused, then babbled on, in that nervous way he had when dealing with attractive women who he realized were way out of his league. "It's the World's End Tavern, this place, by the way. Ah, assuming you didn't already know that. Kind of an apocalyptic sort of name, if you ask me, but it's not my place, it belongs to a big... giant... dragon..." he trailed off, realizing how that sounded, and if she wasn't a regular, she might think him crazy. He certainly had thought himself crazy when he first saw the beastie.

"You know, if it's OK with you, can I sit down?" He indicated the barstool next to her.

“By all means, please do.” She inclined her open palm toward the stool beside her with a sort of half smile. “My name is Rayne.” She said in a hushed, calm voice. “I’ve never seen this place before. I’ve been traveling, alone, for quite some time.” She felt that by mentioning she had been traveling alone it may cause her to seem more vulnerable, thus giving her room to attain sympathy and get information she may require in the future. Rayne’s eyes changed to a curious, pale blue as she looked at the man, John. “Now, you say this tavern is owned by… a Dragon?” She figured this John would shrug off the question as to not seem certifiably insane. However, she hoped he wouldn’t. Everyone she’d seen so far showed no signs of scales.

Then curiosity struck her again. He was trying to find a way out? Meaning he didn’t know how to get out already? Maybe he was just too drunk to remember how he got there to begin with or perhaps he was into trouble. Rayne stared into the Man’s eyes practically seeing through his retina [[not literally]]. What does he know? She thought to herself with a completely inviting look on her face, showing no sign of that certain interest.

Rayne adjusted herself on the stool, still peering into the man’s mind [[again, not literal]], waiting patiently for a response. Time always seemed to pass so slowly when she was conversing. She crossed her legs, and placed her hands, gently one atop the other on her thighs. She moved with a quick pace, faster than humans, but she tried to make it so that people wouldn’t notice and realize what she was. She waited.

"Ah, another traveler," he sighed, leaning his elbows on the bar and signaling one of the bartenders, who turned out to be the one who never spoke, and pointed at another unfamiliar bottle with a label he couldn't read because it was in an alphabet entirely unknown on his world. "Pleased to meet you, Rayne."

Once the bartender poured his drink, he paused, sniffing the unusual scent, then shrugged and took a sip. He looked at the beautiful woman next to him and shrugged again. He was just drunk enough to be talkative, and why not? He was caught up in this event, he might as well play it through. "Yes, a dragon. He left a little while ago. But you see, this isn't a normal bar. I've been talking to folks, trying to find out how to get back out to the Interstate, and it seems nobody really knows precisely where this place is, or what it is."

He swiveled in his chair. "Look, over there in the back. You see that shirtless man? He's from ancient Greece, pre-Christian. The woman he's at the table with, when she leans forward, look at her back. Those are wings she's got folded up there; she's some kind of higher dimensional being, what some might call an angel. There was a minotaur in here a while ago, but I think he went upstairs for a nap. A centaur was through here, as well, but I haven't seen her lately. There's psycho killers, saints, common folks, gods, mythological beings, and anything else you can think of, from all different eras, from all over this world and possibly others."

He sipped again, gazing out at the murmuring patrons, then turned back to face Rayne more directly. "Seems like everyone here was traveling, and needed a place to stop and rest, and trade stories and recover. Some have been here before, but the 'regulars' don't seem to be very talkative about it. I myself was driving to Philadelphia, and got one of my crazy inspirations to take an exit and explore, and now I can't find a way back to the road until, I guess, I do whatever I'm supposed to do here."

He cocked his head. "In my world, we have people with special powers and abilities, far beyond those of mortal men and women. There's some who use these powers for good, and some for evil. Every so often, some of them get involved in a big strange mash-up with other folks, or aliens, or mythological creatures or something. You hear about it eventually, in the news or the tabloids or some retired hero's tell-all book. They call them 'crossover events' in my world. And I think, for some reason, that's what I'm involved in." He sighed. "You may or may not be a part of it, maybe you're just here for a rest and can leave whenever you want, I dunno. But I know I'm stuck."

He grinned and finished his drink. Wow, he thought, this stuff is going right to my head! It wasn't dulling his senses like normal alcohol often did, however; if anything, it seemed to be sharpening them, and defeating the comfortable numbness he'd worked his way toward the past few hours. Now the tingle of magic was giving him a headache again, and he groaned in minor frustration. An outside observer might think he was frustrated that his drink was done. "Think I'm crazy if you want, but feel free to go around and talk to the minor characters all you like. I'm just trying to save you a little time."

A young woman entered the establishment a viel covering her face. She was exhausted and her carivan had seemed to not been in a good mood. Looking around she spied a bar and sighed in relief maybe a little liqour could ease her sore mood. Arial made her way swiftly towards it avoiding the other occupants. Her body was tired but she needed at least one shot of whiskey before she could sleep without any memory. 'ooooookay make that 2..or 7'