In Order to Obtain... (Open)

Shatter. Bang.

The library breathes life still.

As lifeless as the tomes here?

No.

This one is interesting.

And foolish, perhaps?

The feathers surrounding his cloak like a great shadow swirl around him. He pears from the side of a bookshelf, noticing a figure on all fours covered in books. The figure wailed in huffed in both anger and pain.

Yes.

For sure a fool.

He sways around the side and begins to climb; unlike this hefty beast, he can stay atop the case without falling or even needing to find his own balance. He stays in the shadows, almost as ethereal as he is in his comfortable insubstantial plane.

"You seem to have made a nice nest," he jokes, his voice no more than a whisper in the dead air. "What brings you to this place, cloaked one?"

He has quite the tongue.

This one is wittier than I suspected.

It is then that the figure pulls off his hood, revealing a set of silver horn and blood red eyes.

Does he mean to intimidate me with his appearance?

I would guess as much from such an unholy being.

But he does not strike fear into me.

The Raven leaps onto another ledge, still completely hidden from the man. The ruby eyes glow in the shadow of the dark archives, and his cloak sounds like a gust of wind as he soars between the shelves.

"What is it you seek?" he questions aloud.

"Knowledge?" His point is emphasised by the toppling of a book.

"Power?" This one is also emphasised by an action, although this one is no more than a gust of wind behind the man; no doubt from the assassin quickly rushing by without being noticed.

"Or perhaps something slightly...stronger."

So stable, this fellow.

Does not flinch.

Does not falter.

And he is determined to find what he seeks.

But why does he seek this?

The assassin slides down the bookshelf like a phantom, his presence but a shadow of black and hints of blue light. He swiftly swirls around the demon, allowing himself to be seen for small moments but no enough for him to know what he appears as.

"The Silverscale," he murmurs pensively. "And the Dark Temple, I hear. Now what is a sensible man like yourself doing getting caught up in the affairs of those people?"

"A trick? A trap? Does your blade itch for vengeance, or justice?"

The Raven's laugh is simple and elegant, yet it rings out like a thousand torments in the darkness. Shrill like the screeching of an eagle, dissonant like the caw of a crow, resonant like a dragon's bellow.

"A likely story," he repeats through his laughter, continuously leaping through the shelves.

Why should one search for what lies in front of them already?

This man isn't quite telling me everything.

He is conniving.

He is tricky.

Is it knowledge he truly seeks?

Or is his tongue as sharp as a pike?

"Tell me, then, my horned stranger, why you do not just ask those around and above? What can these tomes tell you that cannot be told by word of mouth?"

Or is it something else?

"Something you want from them?"

His tongue speaks words.

His mind speaks volumes.

I can see his thoughts.

As though his mind is but glass.

Available for all to peer into.

One of the shelves topples under an immense force from the demon, but the Raven is already far from it when it is struck. He sneers as he slithers down behind the demon, resting his beak upon the creature's shoulder. His eyes stare upwards, piercing the shadow with their blue light, and his wings behind him trail smoke.

"The Scale's founder, Ashen Windsong," he murmurs, bringing himself to a standing position. He strolls behind the demon, his head twitching as he thinks, almost as if he is constantly being distracted by sounds around him. "I do know of this...Ashen Windsong. And it would seem perhaps I am not the only one wishing to see her dead? Would that be the case, unclean one?"

This is no lie.

This 'unspoken reason' behind his curiosity.

The kintu's head on a pike.

A goal shared by Her and him alike.

To bring about a new age.

Will demonkind be of use to me for once?

"What is it that you require?" This inquiry is yet again a surrounding whisper, and the Raven has once again vanished from sight before it is even heard.

Such language.

To be spoken from such a crude man.

But his quest speaks to me.

There is nothing I can do to impede him.

Only what I can do to help him.

And only what he can do to help me.

At last, the shadows pull away, and the Raven steps forwards, his boots light on the floor. Although now his mask is clearly presented in front of Ryo, the rest of his body is still surrounded by his cloak and the smoky shadows around him, as if he is using them to mask something. His head is pointed high, while his eyes look down at the demon condescendingly.

"The history of the scale can be found in this archive, if I am correct. And it would seem that both you and I have something--and only one thing--in common." With this, he pulls up his black-gloved hand with a silver and blue ring upon his index finger, and in his hand is a vomit-coloured tome, which reads, along its spine 'Wildgard's History, 4th Edition'.

"Our choice of enemies."