Little Gods: Chapter 1
 

With an unknown compulsion the gods entered the tavern. It was older style, simple and quaint. Smoke filled the air as cold beer was being served. A small stage was within view of all that were there. The microphone and lighting pre-set for the entertainment of the evening, a relatively unknown guitarist.

Azrael walks into the tavern slowly with his default angry, unblinking expression. "Humans..." He thinks. He glares at people around him and runs his hand along the longsword at his waist. He walks up to the bar and gets the attention of its tender. He speaks in a slow, dark, somewhat gravelly tone. "Bartender..." He thinks for a moment. "Ice water." He walks off and takes a seat with a view of the stage, enjoying the feeble attempts of humans to try and suffocate the roaring pointlessness of their lives with music.

Ranthok entered the bar with a huge smile on his face.

This seems like it'll be fun!

He absent-mindedly plays with the ribbon hanging from his katana as he walks up to the bartender. "Hey I'll take some tea if you've got it."

Grabbing his drink he runs off (at a speed that some would have found unnerving had they been paying attention) and sits as close to the music as possible and begins chatting with the other patrons.

Vraknar made his way into the tavern, a devlish grin stretched across his face. His eyes swept back and forth, examining and analysing everyone in the place. Two immediately caught his attention, as they both carried swords and didn't bother much to hide them. They were also rather difficult to analyse, but he didn't pay much attention to that since he had already encountered people like that before. Once he was satisfied with looking over everybody, he walked over to the bar and took a seat at one of the stools.

"What'll be?" asked the bartender in a gruff voice.
Vraknar looked at the man and pondered his question. There was a brief moment where he considered driving his fist through the man's face, but he decided against the extra attention.
"What do you reccomend?" he asked back.
"Strong beer," replied the bartender.
"One of those then," Vraknar said with the same eerie grin.

The bartender poured a glass and slid it over to Vraknar, who lifted it up and sniffed it curiously, then took a small sip. He smacked his lips together, getting a feel for the taste, then downed half the beer in a large gulp. Satisfied, he turned back towards the rest of the tavern and began looking over everyone again.

Lord Brance entered the tavern and, after taking a quick look around, headed for the bar.

"What'll ya have?" asked the barkeep. After thinking for a moment he chose something from his hosts memory.

"Guinness"

Taking his drink, he decided he didn't like the piercing look he kept getting from the gentleman down the bar and made his to a small empty table towards the corner.

Tay, why are we here? My wife won't appreciate me going to a bar. Johnathan thought to Tay.

I don't know, honestly. I just... felt the need to come here. I'm sure you did, too.

Yeah, I guess... Shall we order something at least?

"I'll take a pint of cider." Tay informed the bartender.

"No ale?"

"No, I'm going to be driving, I'm just waiting for someone."

Who are we waiting for? Johnathan asked.

Again, I really don't know.

The guitarist finally came out and took a seat. With short black hair and round sunglasses, he looked like someone out of the blues era. Without a word he began to play, with a melody that seemed out of place in this modern world, but at the same time seemed perfect.

There was an anceint warrior of old
Said to bring fear to those he fought
The instant they saw his eyes of cold
They were poor souls he sought

Even the gods knew of ending
Their homes burned and razed
Quickly learning there was no defending
With those surviving released from their haze

The gods continued to be hunted
The gods continued to fight
For the hunter was never daunted
You see, he even hunts this very night

His gaze peered out from behind his glasses. Looking over the room at large. The music was soothing, resonating, it seemed to be truth incarnate. Those hearing it couldn't shake this fact. They couldn't help but feel there was a deeper meaning to his words.

Azrael's eye twitches as the words echo through his mind, the table splintering and cracking under his tightening grip. Glasses around him shatter from ambient telekinetic force. He draws his sword and, in one swift motion, slices the table in half as he stands up. He kicks a half of it at any unlucky humans who happen to be around him, preparing for violence.

Vraknar tensed up as one of the sword wielding men cut his table in half and kicked it into the crowd. His hand clenched tight with more force than intended and his glass shattered beneath the grip. His eyes looked over the man holding the sword with renewed vigor, attempting to descipher as much as possible but with very little success. The most he could make out was that the man was angry, or upset, or possibly cautious.

Vraknar stood up from his chair and brushed the glass from his hands, ignoring the small cuts. His gaze drifted back to the guitarist and he considered the lyrics to the song. The guitarist was being more than sincere when he was singing, and even with the sword wielding maniac nearby he was completely calm.

Please, don't start fighting, I don't want to see more blood. Joseph's thoughts were like a squeaking mouse in the back of Vraknar's mind, but they stood out enough to warrant a response.

Stay quiet fool, things are finally getting interesting again. If you distract me again tonight than I might have to pay a visit to some of your old friends. Vraknar chuckled aloud at his own twisted sense of humour and returned his thoughts to what was happening in the tavern. Things are getting quite interesting indeed.

The hunter... Tay, doesn't your diary say something about a hunter? Johnathan thought.

It does, early on. It's vague though, pretty much sums up what's said in the song he's playing.

This is probably a trap. We should get out of here before-

A sword was brought down, bringing a nearby table in two. The man kicked one of the halves directly at the person next to Tay.

-before violence starts in. We're not armed, Tay.

We're strong, though. And if one of them thinks to single us out, we can defend ourselves.

They've got powers like us, right? They give off the same vibe you used to, and we do now.

Yeah. But I want to see where this is going. It's been a while since I've encountered another like me, or so the diary mentions. There's got to be a reason for us to be here.

Okay then... but at least ready to arm yourself. Wrap the jacket around our left forearm and-

And turn it to steel, then turn the cider we've got into nitric acid. Good plan.

Pretending to be a mortal, Tay dropped to the ground next to the human patrons and began to wrap his jacket around his left wrist. When he saw an opportunity to get up, he grabbed his drink, which had fortunately not been knocked over, and ran near the exit, all the while slowly turning the fibers in his jacket to steel.