Deathly Diplomacy (Sturm/Closed)

[Ribitta]

Mephistopheles' boots slammed into the ground with force of weight and impatience as he trudged his way through sands covering the stone roads that led up to the Mega Necropolis of Thebas, the hearth and home for any creature that tampered with the dark arts of the dead and shadow. The sand grinded between the cracks that separated the large and heavy plate metal of his demonic armor, the color of crimson melting steel still lacing over the onyx colored plates as their grooves became slowly lost with the buildup of sand due to his slow movements. With every step he took, the Scythe that he carried in his right hand slammed into the ground as well, thundering into the distance with the force of his announcing blows. The weapon commanded both respect and fear for those of both the living and the dead.

His breath came out hoarsely and it sounded as rough as the sand that his boots crushed beneath, the raggidy sound becoming quickly lost in the howling winds that pushed and pulled the sound that covered the immediate area. The blackened and charred walls loomed in front of him now, though, and he pushed forward. His pace was slow but steady, never losing nor gaining speed no matter the incline or distance to a more comfortable place, and now it moved him one step at a time into the city of death.

Within the minute his body passed beneath the shadow framed by the massive opened doors. The weapon granted him enough access in this areas to perhaps waltz him right into the Lich King's court, and he intended on attempting it if at all possible. Guards of the undead eyed him closely, peering through eyeless sockets to catch a glimpse of the man who hid beneath all the armor of twisted and demonized steel. Their weapons remained sheathed, however, and Mephisto pushed himself further and further along, knowing all to well that the real journey was just about to come. He sought an audience with the Lich King, one he would take with or without permission.

[Sir Lighter of Elsewhere]

The veins in Stum's neck throbbed. Every where he looked, more dead eyed him. But, he had to know if they were dead. He looked around staring at the dead guardians. Hm... they must see heat, not image... fascinating. Do they bleed? Sturm's hand reached for his blade, but he grasped the air. He stared at the empty blue scabbard. His blade was gone. He felt it, but just couldn't place where it was. It had been too long. Sturm starred at the zombies, sneering. Filth. He grasped one of his throwing knives and twirled it in his hand. For the first time in a long time, he was stuck without a plan. He was alone, surrounded by death. Suddenly, a shining beam of hope burst through the door. "Here's my key." Sturm approached the man, speaking harshly. "You can help me. And I can help you. Or, I can hurt you. We can help one another. Let's spill blood blood together." Sturm smiled, then reached behind his back, grabbing another knife, just in case just to fight the demon. "And just for the record, I'm a lot scarier than you."

[Ribitta]

The sunken and cold eyes beneath the fiery helmet rolled irritatedly at the other person who interrupted him. "They spill no blood. It is a worthless concept to fight them as thousands upon thousands will rush you and no matter how many you kill, ten more will replace them, not to mention they will just get up and fight again. How do you kill that which is already dead? You do not scare them, nor do I. The only thing that I hold over them is power and respect they know me, those who they do not know are only loathed, not feared." The young demon's voice was like gravel as it grated out through his helmet, his boots still falling at their steady pace. He wished this person would realize the place he was in as he should.

The Lich King here could level a smaller city with his army, and one man thought he could scare that army into submission or take them on single handedly? Pathetic. The blade of the Scythe glimmered dangerously in the scorching sunlight, the dark energy it possessed radiating it almost tangible waves.

[Sir Lighter of Elsewhere]

"Listen kid. I just fought off almost EVERY Angel in existence. The dead don't scare me. But I'm not here to fight them, or even you. I need to find the Lich king. He has somethings of mine, and now, I want them back. Now, if you help me with this, you will be given more power than you can imagine. More than what you have now. More than yo could ever have. Now, time to speak with the Lich King. Oh, just so you know, he may be the King of the Undead, but I am Death himself. I am the Reaper. Now, let's go. No use standing here griping to each other." Sturm stared hard at the demon, then continued walking. A pleasant chill swept through the bone yard.

[Ribitta]

"Do not try and bluff with me, or intimidate me. This weapon I hold can bring an entire army to my calling, those undead or simply long passed will fight under my rule so long as I carry this. I have no need for you, or your petty power you wish to offer. Maybe you could take on the guards, but you could not take on myself and the guards and my army. The Lich King alone could do enough to either of us to make us curse our very existance and cry in tears of agony. Why don't you just shut your mouth for what will probably be the first time in your life and take a more observant and less pompous look on the world. You might just make something of your self."

Mephisto's grip had tightened around his Scythe with irritation and frustration. It was essential that he keep a low profile while moving toward the Lich King as unneeded attention could very well be the exile from the city, and it was not worth it to try and blast his way through the gates to get back in. No, while he was a tank-like being, guile was another necessity that he wished to maintain.

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[Sir Lighter of Elsewhere]

Sturm spun around, drawing his Desert Eagle. "Listen kid, I'm no liar, and you'd be an idiot to turn this offer down. Now let's play nice, shall we?. Like the snow?" Sturm grinned sadistically, lowering his Desert Eagle. Erm. This will take guile, not brawn. Sturm walked past the red clad demon, holstering his gun. Once he was a safe distance back, he started to follow the demon, staying in the shadows, never exposing himself. The old graveyard allowed him to stay perfectly hidden. Sturm grinned. Even though he had no intention of killing the demon, it felt good to hunt again. Sturm was in his element. Although he still needed to find the Lich King, the demon was a fun distraction.

[Ribitta]

The helmet did not turn to look at the overszied handgun, but Mephisto's eyes certainly did. He did not particularlily fear this new character, not in the slightest, but he was slightly worried that his plans could perhaps be slowed down by another person seeking an audience with the Lich King. He would have to do what he must to make this happen, even if that meant sending the dogs upon this other character. As these thoughts crossed through his mind, he listened to the poor English of this person and watched as he slipped away.

It did not make much of a difference to him where he went, whether if it was to pursue another goal or to simply follow him, it did not matter. Slowly, tediously, his boots continued to trudge onwards, the sections of the city slowly rolling by as he made his way to the center.

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[Sir Lighter of Elsewhere]

(OOC: haha, sorry about the grammar error. Damn those school keyboards.)

Sturm continued following the Demon, keeping his distance. His fingers wrapped around a knife, just in case a zombie decided to attack. Sturm stayed in the shadows, moving quietly. Now, I just need to wait for the demon to get through to the Lich King, and then, we'll 'dispatch' him.

[Ribitta]

Finally, Mephisto was forced to come to a stop, confronted by thirty guards, perfectly lined up as they should have been. The one in the dead center, covered by the more ornate armory, took a step forward. He was undead, just like the rest of them. Withered hair fell out from the remnants of his scalp, and his eyeballs had long since disolved, replaced by glowing lights in their sockets. His armor was black, with red streaks throughout it to signify his rank. He was indeed an officer of the guard in Thebas, and the way he turned to Mephisto, the way the glow changed, he recognized the visitor.

The guard spoke, his voice like gravel, grating over the deepest of voices, "I know why you are here, demon, but you are followed. Is he with you? We do not take kindly to trying to hide things. These eyeless sockets see all. Is he with you?"

Mephisto paused, smirking slightly that his suspicions of being followed now confirmed. After a moment, he took his choice, "Yes, he is with me. We seek an audience with the king, and you know my willingness to pursue my goals."

The guard nodded and beckoned for Sturm, calling out to him, "Here. Now. Before the guards tear you to shreds."

[Sir Lighter of Elsewhere]

"Dammit. Lost all my skill." Sturm stood up from the shadows. His eyes shifted from the Demon to the Undead guard. "How do you see me? Most zombies fail to detect me. I even dispatched a few." Sturm Walked up next to the Demon. "So who goes first?" Sturm's hand rested on his Desert Eagle. "I'll go. I need my people back. And my blade." Sturm walked into the Antechamber, Lich King looming ahead.

[Ribitta]

The room was large, with the ceiling opened to the blazing sun, not sheltered at all due to the lack of feeling in the now dead skin of the undead warriors. Hundreds of warrios lined the pathway, walls, and area in front of the throne where an individual, dead but obviously marked to his caste, sat proudly in a throne plated with gold. His figure was well over seven feet high, with ornate but protective armor covering the skeleton that now stone. He was both alive and dead, his organs now removed but his soul preserved into the last remnants of his corpse. Mephisto idly wondered what the Lich King had looked like with flesh and muscle, but he was not to be underestimated simply because of what he lacked. The power that ran now in those pale white bones were far beyond anything one could imagine.

His voice boomed across the entire court, shattering wills and shaking bones, "Why are you here demon? And why do you bring a stranger amidst this royal court." Mephisto flinched at the voice of steel, but he waited on the other man, as he had been intent on coming in first. If any mistakes were to be made, he could let the other make them first and pay the consequences.

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[Sir Lighter of Elsewhere]

Sturm stayed back, looking at the Undead King. Why does the Demon want me to go first... he seems a bit impatient... It's probably a trap. Sturm stayed back, motioning for the demon to go first. For the first time in since his first day in real combat, he was afraid of what was in front of him. He growled deeply, hoping to disguise his fear with anger and apathy. "Move it demon." Sturm reached behind his trench coat, grabbing the handle of a knife.

[Ribitta]

"You have fun poking at plates of armor, shadow stalker. You were so intent on getting here, well here you are, and I guarantee that if you don't talk to the King within the next ten seconds you won't be alive for much longer. Say what you need to say or be prepared to not say anything unless their magic gives you that ability," Mephisto growled at Sturm, irritated by the arrogance of the man to try and waltz into the Lich King's court and then try and remain on top of things. Apparently he couldn't feel what everyone else could, the sheer power of the Lich King that could tear apart a continent with enough force like the Sons of Darkness had once had a potential to do.

[Sir Lighter of Elsewhere]

"You think you can intimidate me boy? Like the cold?" Sturm gave a cold stare, then walked forwards about 10 feet. "So much for a good deed." Sturm spoke to the Lich King, growling. "Where is my guild? What have you done with them? Have we not served you well, giving you many souls?" the King sat silently for a moment, then spoke. "Where is your blade, Sturm? What have you done with it? Has it not served you well?" Sturm felt a pang in his chest. Cool Fire had been taken by the Staff after the Master Chief incident. The Staff! They took my guild. Sturm simply turned around walked back to the demon. "Your turn." Sturm casually played with a knife, waiting for the demon to move. "We don't have all day. And by the way, Shadow Stalker, I like that."