Fool's Adventures: A Demon's Souls/Buffy the Vampire Slayer Quest

Your demonic mind sets aside the other possibilities as you drift toward the scent of grave dirt and magic. Speeding up as you head deeper into the alleys and side streets and further out of sight, you also watch Angel's Soul disappear past the edge of your senses. Perhaps another night then, you muse as you turn your gaze toward your target.

There are many details to the little spark and whirl in the magic of the Hellmouth which is your goal. It feels… spiky in your mind, constantly shifting and snapping like a snake. You aren't sure what the source is. The contained nature of it and the way the Hellmouth's energy flows over it makes you think it is an item. Wary of being snuck up on you also scent the air around you for vampires, but turn up very little of the scents you are beginning to associate with vampires. The houses around you are quiet and unmolested by monsters in the night.

That reminds you of their apparent inability to cross thresholds. An interesting weakness you had seen mention of in your research, though not of much note to you compared to the others. From your reading the question of if your home has a threshold is nebulous. A being such as you, a demon ensouled with the twisted fragments of a powerful woman, may create a threshold. But it is not something you can sense yourself without a vampire to test it with.

It is also not very important, except to the interest you possess in all things magical. Your wards, once complete, will be several times more effective. Shuffling that thought out of your mind you reach out and listen, taste, and see with your magic. Rustling like loose cloth, it expands outward, poking and testing for anything.

For several minutes your senses discern nothing but the constant rippling rumble, like giant liquid gears, of the Hellmouth and the snapping of the thing you are traveling toward. More Souls, the pumping thrum of the Souls in the Bronze radiating out to your senses as you near it. The repelling whirl of the school and the calm isolation of your lair. You are starting to become used to the mystical lay of this town of "Sunnydale".

Then for a brief moment you catch a break in that ripple. Darla… and…, your thoughts pause as you sense another break in the ripple, following after her. ...Another strong vampire. How odd. You are interested in this new threat. The pair of disturbances move parallel to your course for several minutes as you travel, before turning and heading south. To hunt near the Bronze then.

Such things are why you will have difficulty cleansing your territory of all that which is not ideal for your purposes. The vampire is a prolific monster. Something which there will always be legion of if you do not find alternative means of stopping them.

A snagging sensation catches your attention as you near the cemetery where the source you are seeking sits. Hmmmm…? Interest pulled away from your goal for a moment you turn and look at a house down the street. Old and shaded by trees it contains two Souls. One old, one young. Both possess the mage talent. And… further inspection reveals something in the upper reaches of the house. A small concentration of bubbling dark magic.

Tilting your head left, your expression impassive as you stand completely still, you stare at the house. You can taste curses and dark magics in the air. Witches. It has been quite some time since you or your progenitor encountered witches. Another complication to your purpose. Especially the older one. She is powerful.

Is it a coven? You test the air further and deeper around the house at that question and discover no wards or boundary curses and no indication of more witches. No then… not a coven. An old witch and her daughter. With that thought you note their location relative to the Bronze and the school and your own lair, which is quite distant.

They will not be an issue for you, yet. You will however be watchful for witchery and deal with them soon. Your current task takes priority. Stepping back in the shadows you melt away, the taste of fire from old memories lingering in your mind.

A handful of minutes later you find your destination. Stopping in the shadow of the entrance you read the sign. Restfield Cemetery. The rows of graves lurk in shadows cast by the lights and the trees. This is a dark place, you know instinctively. As with the cemetery where you arrived, dark creatures rule here. Wrapped in concealing shadows, you enter, wind whistling through the trees.

The dirt beneath your bare feet is dry and cold where it is not overgrown by grasses or shrouded by faint mist. The gravestones around you are old. The trees loom with age and the weight of dense shadows. Scenting the air, you catch the old taint of many vampires having risen from this land. You pause as you hear a whisper glide past your ears. Turning, you focus your senses and see…

A ghost. Many ghosts actually. Too weak to act in the world of the real, and too weak to do more than flicker in the mystical. It is a struggle for you to see them, as weakened as you are, and as insubstantial as they are. Not even really ghosts… a morass of spiritual death and slime, your mind whispers. You watch them as they whirl in the air over this disturbed ground, cavorting in a dead festival.

The Hellmouth is feeding them, you realize. They are so weak that they should blow away on the winds, dissolving into nothingness, for they are not even the barest fragments of Souls. But the taint in the air is sustaining them. Mortals might feel them as a tickle at the back of the neck or a coldness in the air.

In this state they are… not similar to the Fog. They are too weak, and not hungry enough for hunger's sake. Reaching out with your magic you "grab" a chunk of the spiritual mud surrounding you. They writhe and twitch in your grasp, like bugs, or worms. Their forms flicker between indistinct mist and faces with dark eyes and gaping, flapping fish mouths.

Pulling them toward you, you see a slight spectral glow appear in the air in front of you which would likely be barely visible to mortals. With a yanking crunch and a growling howl of Fog, your mouth unhinges and you consume the spectral mass you hold.

They give you… little. But that little is flavorful in the most teasing way. Not a true Soul, but the flickers of memories and meaning from these spectres which barely exist hints at it. Your mind is full of whispers. Context, memories of the world in tiny glass splinters. Opening your eyes, you see that the mass has fled from you in animal instinct, becoming invisible to your mystic sight, though you can still feel it.

You could have use of this. Such spectres may be beings you can twist into something useful. Stretching your magic again you prod the edge of the mass you can feel. It twitches and lurches back into visibility. Focusing the full might of your gaze upon it like a beacon, you ask it a question. Where is it?

The mass twitches frantically, not particularly seeming to understand you. Squeezing what you can grab of it, it starts shrieking on the mystic plane. Listening closely you can hear a ringing coming from deeper within the graveyard, bouncing back the shrieks.

Letting the thing go, whereupon it immediately flees down some deep mystic hole you can't sense the end of, you pulse your own magic in the direction of the ringing. A moment later a snap smacks you in the mystical nose. Not reacting to the impact you begin walking forward through the rows of headstones, towards where it came from.

Sinking your mystical senses into the ground on a suspicion birthed by that slimelike mass, you feel out around you. The earth is loose and… tainted by the Hellmouth, you conclude. The dead could rise quite easily here. This is not particularly unusual with the spiritual slime which exists here, and confirms your suspicion.

You are not currently strong enough to raise them in any significant number however. Once you are, any attempts you make would have to be a ritual. Such magics are not something really in the purview of pure spells. Such a ritual would also involve your Fog, as they all do.

Pulsing your magic again, you receive another snap in return and shift course towards a distant mausoleum. The scent of vampires is becoming fresher here, accompanying the scent of what you think are narcotic herbs and sawdust. Reaching the ivy covered metal gate blocking the door, above which is carved the name VonHauptman, you look around and subtly scent the air.

Hmmm, there might be vampires around...you muse, uncertain. If there are, they are quite weak. Looking down at the lock on the gate you find it quite rusted and weather beaten. The power of whatever is within this mausoleum snaps and hisses with energy as you grab the lock and yank.

It comes off with a quiet shing of distressed metal. Grabbing the gate you open it with the squeak of old hinges and enter the tomb. Within is filled with the remnants of cobwebs and dust, a gray stone room with a very large stone sarcaphogus in the middle. The lid is engraved with images of a man surrounded by lithe and powerful hounds running across a field.

Approaching the sarcophagus, you circle it. The magic in the air is intense, snapping and almost sparking in your hair and mystic senses. You can feel your hair ornaments move in a faint and invisible wind. Moving closer after your examination, confident there are no wards, you grab the lid of the sarcophagus and heave.

With a massive thud and an explosion of heavy dust the rotted skeleton of a man covered in a cloth shawl is revealed to you. And on his right arm is a metal gauntlet, magic emanating from it. Reaching in carefully you grasp its cold surface. A taste of lightning, heated metal and the sound of thunder zaps through your mouth as you gently pull the item out. It comes away in a cloud of dust and disintegrating bone, clanking gently.

The gauntlet is a chainmail and leather glove, plated with riveted and articulated plates of brownish grey metal. The backplate of the hand is covered in pyramidal spikes, and the fingers are clawed. The most notable feature however, is the curved and hinged spines which arc back from the forearm, pointing toward a potential wearer's arm. Examining it carefully, you test their articulation, finding them to be quite flexible, though resistant like a living limb. These would spear into a host, sealing them to the gauntlet. Interesting. With great care and magical coaxing, you think you might be able to remove it from a host, particularly if it was yourself.

Gently cradling it in both arms like an incredibly dangerous creature, you can almost feel it twitch. How odd… you are quite active… you prod the thing with your senses, verifying its integrity. It is completely intact from what you can tell, though… weak. Feeling it out carefully with your senses you can detect a reservoir within the mystic structure of the item. Said structure is also incredibly durable, rendering the gauntlet indestructible to mundane means.

This is a suitable item. You can potentially use it for many things, though it may take some time to figure out all of its inner workings. Grabbing the cloth shawl from the corpse you wrap the glove into a bundle, feeling its magic dim and quiet once it is no longer in contact with your skin. Securing it under one arm you turn to the door.

You catch a fresh bite of sawdust and herbs as you turn. Readying yourself for battle you stealthily approach the door and step out. No one is there to meet you. Stepping further you carefully cradle the gauntlet to your chest. A rustle in the bushes and a vampire looking like a man, a boy really, steps out wearing a Sunnydale High blazer and jeans.

"Oh? *whistle* What is a pretty girl like you doing here?" He says, grinning. Another whistle has you looking to the right to see a female vampire with black hair wearing leather pants and a jacket over a belly revealing shirt. As you had hoped, stepping into the open drew them out. The female speaks, narcotic scent wafting from her, "I dunno Max, but her style needs help." The man laughs, "Always bitchy ain'tcha Amy?"

This is annoying.


Right, the bitch insulted your perfectly acceptable clothing. How do they die?

[] Deceive them by playing along with their little game, then drop the seeming and shoot them.
[] Drop the seeming right now and shoot them, risking them dodging the first hits.

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Hahaha! I hope none of you thought I was just going to give you your loot. Where's the fun in that?

No, in proud adventuring tradition you have to fight for your loot! Have fun!

Vote lock at 6:00 UTC May 28th.