A high-class establishment at the edge of a certain nameless city on the outskirts of Ilitair, The Seven Suns Inn caters to all sorts of travellers. Mostly Ionnyan travellers, but some Kieen as well. At the moment, its west wing doubles as an infirmary, catering to those who were wounded in the recent battle just outside the city walls. It is foofy as hell, however, the bartender keeps some levity to it.

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Dothaven
Dothaven Living Quarters
The Seven Suns Inn
Four Temples

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Momo Deyono sighs softly at the small crowd in the bar area of her inn, and goes back to wiping down the bar. She's finally gotten tall enough so that she doesn't need a stepstool to do it, but it doesn't make the task any more fun. Her eye gazes out over the room, blinking only once in a while.

A young man walks in, tugging at his shirt and coat. He is well-dressed, but seems unused to wearing the fine clothes. He walks with an akward step, as though he'd rather be barefoot. A simple sword hangs at his hip, and he has rather unkempt hair and bright, blue eyes. He looks up as he enters and smiles at Momo.

Momo notices, of course, and as she always is whenever a boy walks into her inn, suddenly feels terribly self-conscious of her short, scruffy red hair and patched eye. She does smile back, though.

"Welcome! Can I help you with something? Bed, booze, or both?"

Skye laughs. "Both, if it's not too much trouble." He sits down and looks around.

Momo grins, and trots over the cabinet, pulling at a few bottles. She looks all of fourteen years old, but her demeanor is quite a bit more mature than that. "So, are you another refugee, mister...?"

As Momo's digging, another fellow makes his way into the bar. His silver hair falls over his shoulders in front and much further down his back, and his girlish face is highlighted by a pair of perfectly black eyes without whites, and similarly black lips. For the moment, he simply looks around, as if studying the place.

Skye looks up from his buttons, which he's been staring at as though they might attack him.
"Refugee? No. Just... a traveller."
He seems to notice the other man entering, but doesn't stare for too long.

Momo turns back around, freezes at the sight of the other man. She breathes in and out once, and steps towards the bar again. "Here you go," she says to Skye, handing him a mini-bottle of red bourbon. "There was a battle recently, just outside of town. A lot of soldiers and refugees are here now," as she speaks, her eye obviously avoids the newcomer, even when he steps up to the bar. She reaches down and produces a bottle of some violet juice, and hands it to the man, who places a few coins on the bar and heads off to sit down at a table. Momo lets out a relieved sigh.

Skye takes a sip pf the bourbon, taking care not too go overboard - he doesn't exactly hold his alcohol well. He is intrigued by the interaction between the girl and the other man, but says nothing about it.
"A battle? Why?"

At this point, and before Momo can answer, the door is shoved open again with a shoulder, allowing passage to a masked, black-clad figure--a death dancer--and a bloodied soldier whose wounds have been tended. She walks towards the west wing without comment...it isn't the first time she's been here today.

Momo squeaks and drops down behind the bar, peeking over, when the new woman arrives. Other patrons, save for the black-eyed man, move aside in a great hurry for the woman's passage.

"I don't know," Momo admits to Skye, "but... it's drawing a lot of scary people in here lately. Some of the soldiers were talking about a nomad army attempting a coup somewhere, but no details."

Skye nods, taking another slow sip and putting the bottle aside.
"That woman," he asks suddenly, "is she a healer or something?"

"You don't know?" Momo inquires, a silly question. "She's a Death Dancer. She's... very scary. But she's been busy bringing in the wounded men from the battle, and dancing for the dead ones, so I let her come and go however she likes." Momo shivers. "Not that I'd try to stop her."

"She dances for the dead?" He figits with his sleeves for a moment. "There are no such things where I come from."

Here the masked creature returns...approaches the bar and sets a single copper on it--the price of a glass of water--and stands there silently. There's blood all over her garments, especially around the knees and lower legs. She's been tending the wounded all day...it's not pretty business.

"Yup, that's what she does," Momo says to Skye as she smiles at her, concealing all the fear she showed a moment ago. She reaches down and fills a glass, an extra tall one, as she always would for this person, with water, and gives it to the dancer. "Here you go. Do you want something to eat? You've been working hard and helping, so it's on the house." She looks to the boy, eye sparkling amusedly. "And you?"

At this, Skye looks more content than he's been since he walked in. "Do you serve salmon?"

Momo bites her lip. "Maybe. I'll need to ask the cook, one sec." The young girl turns around and opens a slot in the wall, revealing a kitchen behind. Inside it is a barrel-chested ogre with impeccable grooming and a fluffy white hat, fussing over a skillet full of something or other. "Hey Checkers, do we serve salmon today?"

The ogre looks at her, nods, and grunts. 

"Okay. Could you get an order of it ready as soon as you can?"

Another nod and grunt. Momo smiles at him and shuts the slot, turning back to the patrons. "Hell yes. It'll just be a little bit."

The death dancer pauses at the offer of food, tempted, but then shakes her head. There is still much to be done. There aren't terribly many wounded still alive, but...many need to be buried. She pulls up her hood quietly to largely hide the sides of her face before tipping the mask forward from the chin to drink.

Skye watches, curious. Is it their custom to wear those masks at all times?

Momo looks at Skye, trying to fathom what he's thinking about. "I don't think she's your type, pal." She looks back to the dancer. "Um... I know you've probably got a lot of work to do out there... burying... ah... dead people..." she blinks. "Checkers would probably help you if you asked, he's really really strong and isn't afraid of dancers."

The dancer considers that quietly a moment. Nods once, but it's accompanied by a slight, non-commital hand gesture. If he likes. No one's stopping him. The dead need all the help they can get, though it will be finished with or without his help.

Momo nods. "Before you leave, then, knock on that door right there," she points, "and Checkers will understand."

The dancer nods and bows, slightly and politely, with her head, a loose fist on her chest.

Momo grins. "You're welcome." About that time, the slot slides open, and a plate of spiced salmon is slid through. "Oh," Momo observes, taking it and handing it to Skye, "here you go. Salmon."

Skye takes it, grateful. It's been a while since he's had good, cooked salmon. "Thank you."

Momo grins at him. "Yup. So... yeah. It's been pretty ugly out here lately, with all the... hm... kicked asses all over the place. No offense, but you look kinda... like..." she blinks. "Easy pickings, you know?"

Skye grins. "I guess I am." He pats the hilt of his sword. "I'm not too good with this, but I am fast enough to get away from trouble." Not to mention my light trick... "But I think I need a bit of rest before I go out there again. And to get out of these..." he wrinkles his nose a bit. "Damned courtly garments." He takes another bite of salmon. "I know better than to go looking for a fight..." ...right after I eat.

Momo drops her gaze a bit. "Well, I just say so because there are a lot of bad people around because of the battle. Like that guy who walked in after you." She reaches down beneath the bar and produces a key marked 'East 12'. "Go down the hall, and to your right. Room twelve, when you're ready."

The death dancer lets out a slow breath as she finishes the last of the water, psyching herself up for the thought of still more work on the battlefield. No more sleep that absolutely necessary until all who need to be tended have received the help. Time is of the essence...the longer the bodies remain displaced, the more dangerously confused the souls may become. She settles the mask again and sets the empty glass on the counter.

Skye takes the key and then turns to the dancer. "How do you breathe with that thing on all the time?" He asks, genuinely curious.

The dancer blinks, interested at the question. He's clearly not from around here. Not that she recognizes the accent, anyway. She to look at him, shadowed glimpses of eyes evaluating him quietly. She doesn't, however, answer.

"She doesn't talk," Momo answers for her, "no death dancer talks. It's kind of... their thing."

Skye lifts an eyebrow, azure eyes bright with curiosity. "How... interesting." So you dance for the dead, don't show your face to anyone, and are under some freakish vow of silence? He'd certainly never heard of such a thing before. With a shrug, he pushes the plate forward a bit and addresses Momo. "Should I pay you for this now, or can I pay for everything when I leave?"

Momo smiles brightly. "You can pay when you leave. I have a forty-five caliber insurance policy under the bar."

Skye gulps, nodding, and slowly backs away. "I'll just... go to my room now, then." He flashes her one last small smile and heads in the direction she pointed out earlier.

The death dancer, for her part, watches him go for a moment, then heads over to the door Momo had indicated earlier and knocks softly.

The door opens after a moment, and a pleasantly groomed ogre looks out. He nods at the sight of the dancer, having heard what Momo was saying earlier. "Chekirish comes with you. Just show way."

The silver haired man stands abruptly, and follows Skye without a word.

The dancer bows her head to the ogre politely enough, and turns to head for the battlefield. An ogre will help in the business of digging graves and hauling bodies, no doubt.

Momo looks at the dancer, still a little creeped out. "If Checkers is going with you to help, maybe that means you can rest for a little while first."

The dancer shakes her head. Too much to be done. She does appreciate this, but has precious little way to communicate such thoughts adn so has fallen out of the habit of counsciously considering doing so. She heads out the door.

"Here then," Momo says to the ogre, kicking a backpack with the tip of her shoe. "I already restocked it with water. Share it with her, okay?"

Chekirish grunts and nods, taking up the heavy pack with little effort, and follows the dancer. He stops at the door. "Momo. All recipe on card next to sink. You need help, ask Cheikirish's brother Boots."

Momo nods, waving to him as he walks out the door after the dancer.

The battlefield isn't terribly far...it had come entirely too close to the town for comfort. Hadone looks over the scene briefly, then goes down a section of bodies she hasn't passed yet, nudging each with her foot and otherwise checking for signs of life. A quiet, monotone note hangs beneath her breath.

Checkers lumbers along behind her, stopping now and again to close a set of eyes that remains open. He's somber enough, but in his culture war is a common disease, and so he's not really bothered by it.

The entire area reeks of the afterglow of rune sorcery, and most of the bodies in the area all bear strange whiplash marks that seem... more like burns than lashes. 

"The stink of spells. Out here, smells like black lip man who comes to inn," Checkers observes, "very bad omen."

The death dancer nods slowly, glancing over the battlefield. Yes, it does...she doesn't find any more alive, though, and finally sets the slow task of digging a long grave.

Checkers helps where he can, using his great strength and size to dig rather haphazardly, leaving the refinements to hadone. He watches her while she works. "Chekirish's father's father tell stories. Dancers, wear black, come when God apologize for war. Much respect."

Hadone half looks over, nods just a little--she does appreciate the gratitude for her order--and continues a song that's very slowly gaining a volume, voice gradually clarifying despite somewhat shallow-ish breath as she takes the first body. Her voice grows into a full, clear song of solemn respect as she drags the first body towards the grave.

Skye, for his part, has decided that he'll take his chances with the dangers outside the inn. He shows up and promptly jumps into the grave. "You might have to sing for me, soon, too," he mutters, looking out over the edge of the grave.

Hadone is mildly startled at the interruption, and glances Skye's way, a question in her eyes though her song doesn't stop as she pulls another body towards the grave. All told, she's a bit annoyed at the disturbance to the new grave.

Checkers grumbles loudly at that. "Get out of grave. Grave only for dead."

It's about this time that a certain pissed-off sorcerer emerges from the front door of the inn. He turns and walks, calmly enough in their direction. His right hand pulses with a pale green glow that crackles as if begging to be let loose.

"Come out, Skye. I would rather not spend the extra hours on your death that this annoyance warrants," he calls, "come out!"

Hadone narrows her eyes beneath the mask and finishes dropping her current corpse carefully into the grave, still singing as she goes back for another...but keeping her eyes up and on the approaching sorcerer.

Skye clambers out, muttering an apology to the dancer for interrupting her ritual. He faces the sorcerer, focusing. ...His light is really active...

Moorn doesn't hesitate this time. As furious as he is, a vulgar display of power might change Skye's mind. And so it is that his hand rises and opens. It begins to move, trailing the green light in an exotic symbol that bursts outward, its shattered glow racing towards the field in a spray of sorcerous tendrils. Since he can't see Skye exactly, he allows the tendrils to strike wherever they may, tossing bodies into the air and flinging them in random directions. All this as he continues his slow, meticulous approach.

Skye, meanwhile, has dropped to the ground, hands over head. Some of the attacks just miss him. This is not good... He decides the best thing he can come up with is projecting his light out in a more concentrated form... That's it! If I project it away from me, he might be distracted enough and I can escape... He chooses a spot some ten yards off to his left and projects his light there, making it look as though he's hiding there, putting up a sheild.

Hadone, meanwhile, is quite furious at the already-demolished being disturbed further...and probably by the same guy, no less! One of her hands is on the hilt of a sword as she runs for a body on the verge of burning.

Checkers knows exactly what to do. What an ogre always does. He picks up something from the ground... a dropped mace... and charges the furious sorceror. Only to get picked up by the tendrils and launched like a rag doll towards the inn, where he rolls to a stop against the door and sits up, rubbing his head.

"Dancer," he roars at Hadone, "stay out of my way. I keep you idiots in business, you know."

Moorn's other hand moves. Slowly, subtlely, a violet symbol appears by his left hand, and the sky behind Skye seems to split, forcing itself open into what is unmistakably a portal. 

Moorn keeps on coming.

By this time, Skye decides to try something else. He doesn't like the looks of the portal, but he likes the prospect of the sorcerer's ideas less. He jumps into the portal.

The dancer had stiffened at Checkers' attack, but continues her current path after he looks to be all right. She pulls the endangered corpse away from the flames, glances to where Skye had vanished, then to Moorn, then back again, trying to figure out what to do.

"Got you," Moorn says to himself, calling his tendrils back into oblivion. He looks to the dancer, eyes cold. "Take your monkey and..." he begins, nodding towards Checkers, but his words cease at what he sees. The little girl, Momo, stands up from where she'd come out when Checkers had struck the door. The sorcerer blinks.

Momo calmly lifts her pistol, and fires two shots. Spurts of black blood spray forth from Moorn's left shoulder and sternum area as the bullets find home, and the sorcerer staggers. 

"Little... beast!" he roars, his left hand moving again as the portal to Dothaven Living Quarters opens behind the girl. His tendrils, though somewhat slowed by his wounds, reach out again and snatch up a body, flinging it at Momo.

Hadone stiffens, eyes narrow and teeth gritted behind the mask. She's seen quite enough. A smooth motion sends one of her shortswords careening at the sorcerer's back, heart-bound path straight and sure.

The sword finds home, just as Momo leaps back, squealing, to dodge the corpse. She stumbles back, just as intended, into the portal and vanishes.

The sorcerer bites his lip. Turns his head, sword still sticking in his heart. "That," he says to Hadone, "was your last mistake." Hand moves. The portal opens again, nearer to Hadone... heavens, how he treasures this new trick. "I give you a choice. Inside, or ashes."

Her eyes widen at the sword...the path had been perfect. It is perfect. So how...? She grits her teeth at how unnatural it is, second sword drawn and in hand. These dead still need to be tended. She won't leave them.

Moorn smiles. "Then I'll make you squirm." He tears the sword from his chest and sticks it in the ground. Kneels, and begins to move his hands in a path that burns harshly in crimson, building speed until little seems to exist but a blur. 

All around, the bodies strewn across the battlefield take on a shade of red. 

The death dancers stiffens quite visibly. She doesn't know what's happening, and about to happen, but...she seriously doubts it's good. Her teeth are gritted almost to the point of breaking beneath her mask...but she feints back half a step with one foot, to a less offensive position.

One body brightens lighter than the rest. In a puff of flame and gas it explodes, vaporizes completely. Moorn sneers.

"One down, a thousand to go. Unless you go."

Her eye twitches. Twice. And then, finally, slowly sheaths the sword and steps towards the portal...gracing the sorcerer with a one-finger salute as she does. She hates to leave these dead. Hates it. But another death dancer will come eventually.

The portal leads, of course, to Dothaven Living Quarters. Once it has sealed, Moorn simply sighs, turns, and walks away, leaving the corpses to the scavengers. In a hundred years, that boy should be ready to give up his power. Maybe.