can you see [Soul]

[Azraeth]

It said something about Harper Rock that there were ritual altars in public places, like the Station Net café, and that place in the Quarantine zone. Nobody seemed to think twice about it. No, they were generally more curious about things like the zombies that were occasionally spotted or the infrequent vampire sightings. The supernatural world went on all around the human populace and yet they, on the whole, seemed to get caught up on some very minor details, not seeing the forest for the trees. Not a surprise. Individually, most people were intelligent and had the ability to reason, to treat each other with at least the semblance of respect or humanity. Such was not the case on the whole or when they were put into groups.

It was at one such public altar that Azraeth had promised to meet with Soul. The conversation had been a brief one, but from what he had gathered during their first meeting, she had an interest in the spiritual world and magic. Certain topics of that nature were innocuous enough that he felt comfortable sharing them. To an extent.

The Deserted Bar. The one inside the Quarantine Zone. People weren’t meant to go there; in fact it was fenced off and hidden away in plain sight. A test of sorts, really. He needed to know if he could push her to break the law, if there was at least that measure of trust there before he was really willing to show her things that most people would never be able to see. Thing that most people would have fled in terror from. That was a slow process at best, building that bond with someone. For Azraeth, it was especially true when it came to mankind. But he inherently distrusted humans – years of watching what they did to his kind had embedded that particular prejudice very deeply.

He was in the process of carving out the circle. It was an unnecessary step, but he liked to do it all the same, and then there was the salt, that fell into the grooves he’d made on the floor. He was on his hands and knees, working carefully, deliberately. He disliked messy, and that was obvious in the way he approached ritual magic. On the altar were the ingredients in baggies, a bowl, and his ritual knife. He’d used another blade to cut into the wooden flooring because he didn’t want to have to resharpen when Soul arrived. Assuming she did.

Only when he was done did he move to stand once more, his hip coming to rest against the altar itself, arms folding over his chest. He had made quick work of dispatching any and all zombies in the place before getting things set up. Soul had seemed…frail. Maybe it was a mistake, asking to meet in such a dark place. But the Quarantine Zone was right over the tear in the veil, and he felt closest to the darkness there, closest to his place of power.

[Soul (DELETED 5864)]

The Deserted Bar inside the Quarantine Zone. That's where he had told her to come and find him. She was convinced that he had picked a place like that to see how serious she was about learning all there was to know on the topics of magic and everything that existed on the spiritual plane. What she was even more interested in were those deep dark secrets that this city was hiding, if only by a thread of shadow.

The truth was, she had been there before. It didn't really seem the sort of thing to bring up in regular conversation, though. That was due mostly to the fact that she didn't exactly have friends in this city yet, and the people who did take the time to talk to her didn't seem the sort who would either approve or understand. A lot of the citizens here, she noticed, were strikingly oblivious. It was sad to think she had left one ignorant town for another. But that was simply the way of the world, she assumed.

The journey to Wickbridge was the easy part. No one was going to bat an eyelash to see a pretty girl like her board the train with a book and bag. Though there had been this one boy at the Honeymead station who kept pestering her to teach him filthy words in Russian. It was her fault for having responded to him in the first place. Teenagers were the worst, and she was still not far off from having been one herself. Luckily his train for Swansdale had come much sooner than hers and being rid of him instilled a certain relief.

The more difficult part came after she had stepped foot off the platform and set her eyes in the direction of the wall. While others could only speculate, Soul knew what lay ahead, hidden away from the masses. It didn't mean that she understood, but she knew. There were vile things there, some of which had sent her cowering under desks in the unlikely apartment complex she had found there. It made her wonder just what the city was hiding. Surely the government had to be in on this. For now, though, the pressing matter was getting over the wall again without being seen. The first time she had managed to stumble into the Quarantine Zone had been one hundred percent pure accident, aimlessly wandering through the sewers, looking for a way out. But now she had other means.

With the soles of her shoes finally tucked into the lush of grass, a quick glance was given to her surroundings, and when they were found to be suitably clear, she coiled back for the release. Just like that, the odd little albino girl was flying through the air in ways that no normal human should have ever been able to. She cleared the wall with ease, landing on easy feet inside the fenced section of Harper Rock. Within moments, Soul was making her way toward the building she recalled to be the bar. Thankfully there seemed to be a lack of undead company today, and for that she was grateful. But it got her wondering...Az must have known about them. There was no way he couldn't have known.

She waited just outside the entrance long enough to make sure it was safe to go in, and what she saw surprised her more than it might should have. It looked like witchcraft, the kind she'd seen in movies and read about in books. People had called her a witch before on more than one occasion, but she had never done something like this. The etched in circle almost disguised the fact that the man she came to see was standing right there.

[Azraeth]

“Soul.” A faint smile set itself on his features when the woman ventured through the doors that led into the bar. He could tell that her attention was divided somewhere between himself and the circle on the floor. To complete an actual ritual, very little was required of it, not even a chalk outline, but Raeth was a creature who believed that symbolism played a heavy role in the supernatural. Vampires themselves were arguably some of the most spiritual beings in all of creation because they were made of nothing other than willpower, consciousness, and enough anima or life force to keep them stitched together. They could influence their own appearances, project different feelings and emotions on people, and straddle that line between fantasy and reality. Belief held power. Symbols created faith. There was power in that.

He had arrived earlier, and not only was there a plain carved circle in the floor, but further designs in chalk. There were symbols in Sanskrit, Faeish, and Latin. Different alchemical symbols, phrases and fragments of words that were meant to help with achieving a particular task. He had not bothered with the pentacle, but instead added different geometric shapes starting with the hexagon that gradually went down in point count as they approached the center. Points always touched the edges of the shape just above them, and anywhere there was a gap created, he’d filled the space with some sort of text. It probably seemed over-decorated, and it was in a way. But Raeth was instructing, so he intended to do it his way.

That was how culture was created. One person learned a task, and added their own spin to it, and then they passed it onto someone else. The dynamic created between the two modified that task or language, or set of laws over time until it took on a new face entirely. With each passing generation, meaning and depth was added to something that may at one point have been entirely simple by comparison. That was how ritual had gotten its start. At least, that was what Az felt. Countless centuries before, one man had spit in the mud and called it a curse. Then someone else down the line had taken that mud and rubbed it over the head of a doll, stuck needles in it. Belief. That’s what it all came back to. Repeating the same system of acts with sheer volume of devotion had the power to move mountains.

He saw little need for preamble, though he did not to her before he turned back towards his altar. “I thought you might like to get your hands dirty.” He said even as he lifted the bowl from the flat surface. There was a rustle under his jacket, not a suit but a black pea coat and then a hiss as Magog made her presence known. The serpent was used to traveling with him and she could likely sense that he was about to perform a ritual. Strange, she likely mused, that he was clothed during such an event. Normally he did them in the nude. “Hush you.” He whispered to the albino death adder as she poked her head out from the end of the sleeve so she could begin to wind her way around his wrist, moving slowly.

“I thought that we might locate a zombie.” It was an easy enough ritual to learn, one of the very first most picked up.

[Soul (DELETED 5864)]

"Az." Her lips turned up into the sweetest smile. "A zombie? Zombies aren't supposed to be real. Unless you know something I don't." The look she gave him was one of sheer omniscience on the matter. For her, at any rate. She might not have understood their existence entirely, but she was certain that everything she ever needed to know about the undead, among other supposed mythical beings, was held inside of the man standing before her. What was more, was the way her eyes glinted at the obvious jest in her statement. It told him exactly what he might have already guessed. She knew they were real. She had encountered them more times than she wanted to admit. Zombies weren't exactly the prettiest of fairy tale and ghost story creatures. She could defeat them, so long as she remembered to clear her mind of distractions beforehand.

Her eyes had flickered to the movement along his limb, head tilting in a scrutinizing fashion. "It looks like it's used to you. I'm going to assume it's your pet. But..." Soul paused. "I hate calling it an...'it.' What should I call the snake? That snake is yours, right?" There were a lot words in short burst of breath. When she got it in her, the girl could ramble on with the best of them, a trait that could easily lend to a sort of rude behavior if not kept careful watch on.

Soul inched her way closer, eyes dropping back down to the circle below. She studied it carefully, trying to memorize each symbol and its location within the diagram. There would be purpose to each of these, she knew. Getting a head start by attempting to recreate the image in her mind seemed only natural for her. As it was, an inward smile gradually deepened so that it projected itself out and allowed the man a glimpse of her excitement.

"Az...Thank you, again. I really just wanted to say that to you."

[Azraeth]

It was true. Zombies were not meant to be real, but neither were magical ceremonies that could be used to track them. Oh. There were plenty of witches in the world, or rather - pagans who had ritualized their worship of the natural world and whatever mother goddess they may have worshipped. But Az didn't really see that as any better than someone in one of the Judeo-Christian faiths who prayed to some supposed divinity. He had grown up with that (what he considered to be) nonsense, and did not feel inclined to be a part of any religion. Those were, in his opinion, little more than human interfaces with things outside of their understanding. Explanations. Hopes sometimes made real. Magic in the traditional sense of the word, was essentially faith.

Azraeth's version tended to be slightly more concrete in the scientific fashion; in that he could use certain components and ensure a result. While he clung to his traditional sensibilities, he did not lie to himself about the nature of the beast. "You don't seem entirely surprised." He replied, even as he peered into the woman's eyes. His own were those same serpentines slits surrounded by a sea of different coloured blues.

When Soul drew closer and gestured to the snake, Azraeth glanced down to gauge its progress. She continued her way up an arm. "Her name is Magog. Think of her as an extension of me, or a focus." Red eyes briefly snapped towards Soul with an abrupt, jerking motion. The death adder assessed the woman briefly, because she had work to do. A single look really and then she was curling up around Azraeth's neck. Not coiling, but laying across his shoulders, part of her draped down over the man's chest as her head lifted as if she wanted to sniff at the bowl in Az's hand.

"Don't thank me just yet. You may find that you have bitten off more than you can chew." He said, though his tone was good natured. He turned back to the altar, placing the stone bowl down on its surface before his ceremonial dagger made its appearance. The blade was curved, and it looked antique. Because it was. The thing had been used in the past to end countless lives by way of sacrifice. The blade craved blood, and Raeth, while he could not prove it, felt that it must have absorbed some of the energy from all of those it had slain. Passive osmosis of the supernatural. "You see, magic is all around us. It is a spiritual thing that comes from the darkness or death, or light, or life, any number of different places."

He paused as he carved into his own hand, a symbol that began to disappear almost as soon as it was drawn. He squeezed though, right over that bowl. Blood itself was not a component necessary to the ritual but there was power there. The dagger was placed down and he gathered a hunter's charm, dropping it into the bowl. Next came a zombie's ear. "What magic craves is form and shape. It is naturally wild. It is the very essence of entropy and growth. It is pure power that needs a function. What we do not have, in most cases I mean, is a means to speak to it. To give it that purpose. We must bend it to our will."

There was a second of silence and then he called out a single word in the faeish language. Suddenly, as if summoned, a demi-fae appeared at the very center of the circle and it bellowed in rage, that it had been drawn away from the natural land into the captivity of an agent of the darkness.