(ORP) Home to Bravia

[Morthorn]

He pushed his demon mount hard until he was within the grounds of Bravia City. The longer he was away from that odd tavern, the more his temper was getting the better of him.

Slowing his mount with nothing more than a thought from his mind, Morthorn began to take the look of the city into his gaze. He had a small, crappy home somewhere within the cities poorer side...he just couldn't remember where. He'd been gone for years after all...assuming some other peasant family hadn't moved into it.

He just wanted to change out of his ragged old naval uniform he'd been having to wear for weeks. He looked terrible, though...riding into town on the back of a horse that had flames for a mane and tail...was a bit strange itself.

"It was also a mount that was easy to take care of...couldn't be killed...could always be re summoned....and it didn't need to be fed." He thought, grinning. Sure enough, his mount was another perk of being a demonologist.

"Now where is that damn shack..." He said aloud, as he rode slowly thru the streets of the city.

[Camilla]

Brushed herself off as she finally transported. She stood in the middle of the town and looked about. In the distance she saw whom she had decided to follow. She couldn't help but laugh. Normally she was the one that was being followed, she didn't like stalker types, and she herself didn't want to be labeled as one. She quickly slide back in between two buildings as she sensed him coming closer. She watched and tilted her head, he was in search for something... "Now where is that damn shack...", she heard him say. She herself didn't know in which shack he was speaking for she was new here, so instead she went along behind the buildings and followed him now in the shadows.

[Morthorn]

Morthorn continued for at least another hour, riding slowly through the poor district, looking for his old home. He'd remember it when he saw it, or so was his thinking.

He had a strong urge for a drink. The drama that had transpired at the tavern had given him an urge to get drunk, yet...he was always looking for a reason to get drunk..so no issues there.

Morth stopped his demon mount a few steps away from a rather old looking shack, which had wood boards covering up the windows and doors.

It seemed untouched since the day his father was killed, and he ran off to the navy.

"Home." He said aloud. With a soft whisper, the mount under him suddenly vanished, Morthorn landing on his feet, his mount nowhere to be seen.

As if nothing odd had just transpired, the young warlock walked the last few steps to the boarded up door of the shack, inspecting it, touching the wood, trying to find a weak point to remove them easily.

His magic was no good here, as even a small firespell could likely set the entire shack on fire.

With a flick of his hand, his Imp appeared as if out of nowhere.

"Pizzak...start coming up with ideas....I have none."

[Camilla]

She followed it seemed for several hours... finally he seemed to stop and be looking about an old shack. Once again she became curious. She stayed within the darkness and smirked when his stead demon disappeared. "We all could use a drink." She couldn't help but mumble under her breath.. to his thought. Her deep orbs scanned the area around them,she was always cautious when it came to places she did no know.

Laughing lightly as the small being, an Imp she thinks appeared from know where. This one possessed may powers in which she herself had yet conquered. She had taught more to her self, but there was one, who wasn't in this land, or place that had taught her to use her mind to be able to control anything from objects to minds. She sighed heavily and looked to the golden moon, as it cast her shadow on the moss ridden ground.

[Morthorn]

Morthorn continued to look at the small fire imp for advice, yet the creature just did a few back flips, looking bored.

"Right...well..."

Morth looked back at the wooden door again, wishing he had a sword or an axe. Of course, he had neither, nor could he create a summoning for one. Many summoners could summon ancient weapons to use in combat. Morthorn had never taken such an ability seriously...thinking demons would be the only worthwhile summoning...till now.

Losing what little patience he had, the warlock kicked the door as hard as he could, his worn boot not serving as a very proficient buffer, therefore his toes began to throb.

Groaning as he jumped around on his other leg, he looked at the Imp again.

"Well...do something!"

[Wandress]

"Hey, HEY!" she shouted down the street as the man tried breaking into the small house that had been boarded up since before she arrived. Most of the buildings had stories behind them, and the local townsfolk loved showing off their knowledge of who built which ones when, and divulging which walls contained the most sordid gossip. But noone seemed to know much about that one. Shifting her bundle of books, sheaths of paper and wrapped chicken carcasses, she hurried along the packed dirt road, her tail flicking annoyedly behind her. She wanted to go home, but the town was her responsibility, even the abandoned shacks.

She fixed the tall young man with a firm expression of authority, one she had learned from her mother years ago, but never really had the use for until she came to Bravia. "Young sir, you don't need to break into houses to find a place to stay here, the inns have quite reasonably priced rooms you can rent." Pausing slightly, her black eyes ranged over his severely worn clothing, though his countenance belied his beggar-like appearance. She found herself standing a little straighter to make use of her height. "Though if you have no coin, the stables are warm, and you can stay for free if you tell them I sent you," she added after a few moments.

[Morthorn]

Morthorn was still working on setting the door to flame, when he heard someone shout. Turning around, he quickly motioned for his Imp to vanish, as a woman who looked of some sort of authority came over to him.

Morth looked her over. She was attractive, and held a commanding presence. The kind of person whom was likely to get him killed when he was trying to sneak around the towns poorest district.

"I thank you for your concern, fair lady...however this is my home."