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The demon hadn't forgotten his promise- he never did. Keeping his word was one of the few things the hellion prided himself in, one of the few things that he clung to his humanity for. He may have been a patron demon of Wrath, but his anger held no hold on his virtue of truth. It had been several weeks since he had seen the 'raven', as the man was much like his namesake, fleeting and quick, Hramn often came and went without so much of a murmur. Dressed in black tunic and trousers, tied with a red around is midsection, the demon was feeling rather good and full of himself as usual. Depressed feelings done and forgotten, nothing but thoughts of avarice and gluttony on his mind, as was evident by the blueberry scone in his hand, and the numbers being calculated behind his eyes, rather deep on thought. But when he saw his so-called companion again in the great hall, he wasted no time in arrogantly sauntering on over to him, taking a seat and leaning back against the cold stone wall behind them both.

“If I remember correctly,” the Spaniard rumbled as he pulled his pipe from the case in his breastpocket, “I still owe you a drink. Or several, depending on your fancy tonight, do I not, dear cuervo?' Man would grin, flashing teeth in a wide grin and jerking a thumb up to the bar. “I am willing to keep up my end of the bargain whenever you so wish, old friend.” Friend was used rather loosely; even the demon himself had a rather skewed view of their current standpoint. Friends? Enemies? More accurately caught in the gray area between, with some tilt towards adversaries. Not that Shojah ever minded, Hra was too good of company for him to care. “Shall we? Or do you not have time to chat with an old comrade over a mug of free ale?”";

With Dussander's return, things were slowly starting to crawl back into place; not literally in the creature's case however, but the man himself was starting to feel more how he had done during his earlier days on the island. That was of course, after he had tried mauling the German - colliding head first into a desk when some of his self control had broken through the monsters, the livid bruise on his head was sign enough of what had happened. At least he could pass it off as something gotten in a fight.

For once, he had decided to partake of the Tether's bar food. A good raost dinner was what he needed, despite the faint lingering desire to actually hunt. Shojah's scent reached his nostrils before the man's voice sounded, so he did not so much as even jolt when the man sat next to him. "Me? Turn down a drink?" The undertone of humour was sign enough that no, he was most certainly not refusing. He briefly looked over the other for a moment, critically in a way. "You are doing well, I am assuming." No dents that he could so, no illnesses or injuries that he could pick up via scent either. While he was not usually one to eat in the Main Hall, he had gossip to catch up with of a particular sort - a rumour off one of the dock workers heralded a new time for the man, namely one involving a certain inhuman naga and a former work arrangement. After a pause, he stood with plate in hand before beginning to walk up to the steps leading to the bar itself.

Spaniard himself actually might have smelled a little infectious- a tiny sickness that he was unaware of and would not be for quite some time, until it came to fruition. Like many times before he had drank this new body right into liver disease. If his eyes had been of any natural disposition, they would have been very yellowed by now. Another flash of teeth accompanied by a chuckle. “I had a feeling you wouldn't..” He hopped back up, giving a stretch and finishing off his scone, and replacing it with his pipe one he had prepared and lit it. Man would leisurely stroll behind his hawkish companion up to the bar, where he would take them to a more private booth off to the side, and chose to order a bottle of wine as to further his disease.

“I am better than ever.” He laughed, taking the bottle once brought, opening the cork only to set the bottle aside for it to breathe. “Come back into good fortune and good ass.” he smirked, giving a suggestive wink. “Good wine and even better wares.. and what of you, amigo? You look like you are in better health and spirits than the last time I saw you. If memory serves correct I do believe you tried to kill me last we spoke. You give me a right good lashing! Do you remember? You acted rather strangely after that." A roll of the shoulders, puff of the ipe and whiff of the drink, impatient, dying to take a drink much like a smoker missing his tobacco. Shaky hands and nervous glances were obvious signs of a withdrawl.

Hramn snickered quietly once he had gotten himself settled at the bar. "My my Shojah, are you hinting to me that you are actually walking out with someone?" A very old term but then again given who it was coming from, it went perfectly well with the mercenary's high-class English accent that so boldly contrasted with his appearance. Only once Shojah had sat down, did he register the faint undertone of sickness. His nostrils flared but, for the time being, he kept quiet on the matter. Just because someone was sick, did not mean that it was going to develop into something serious everytime.

"Yes... distinctly remember in fact. The creature is still acting up on occasion but I find that it is fairly easy to shut up." Namely by keeping active. It seemed at its strongest when he was relaxing, and so he fought idleness as much as possible. He began tucking in once they had gotten to the quieter area. "Not much so far as news goes save for..." He paused, fork and knife in midair for a moment as his features took on a sour expression. "...my superior being on the way to the Tether. My boss, by any other name, and is still likely to be just as much of a cold-hearted bastard as ever." And if Hramn was saying that, well, that meant something. He caught the slight shake however.

"Steady now on the liquier old chap."

The term however was lost on the demon who have him a puzzled look. "Walking out? If you mean getting married then no- simply... Seeing someone." He smirked, glancing once more to the bottle on the table. "Just someone special but nothing quite that serious just yet. But still available if you are interested." He chuckled with a wink and took a few puffs from his pipe that rested in he corner of his mouth. "I remember you sitting in my lap and getting rather handsy."
On the further subject of the beast and his boss, the demon would quirk a brow. "Sounds like you are getting along better then. Who is your boss? Would he be interested in doing business perhaps? I am always looking for more partners." Hands would finally take the bottle, tired of waiting and guzzle down a hardy gulp. "easy on the what?" He would ask, having ben too preoccupied with he booze and having missed his advice, ironically.

(sorry for the shortness, iPod typing is difficult)

Hramn smirked back. "Walking out means seeing someone, a formal term from about four centuries before my birth. Courting, dating, take your pick for alternatives." He nodded then. The comment on being available got a tense, strained twitch up of his lips. The monster stirring in his mind had roused faint fleeting memories of his own prior marriage, and in addition to that, he was nowhere near in a mental state where he could trust another that much. "Yes, I also tried feeding off you that time, if I remember correctly." Such was the hunting pattern of the beast.

He paused then, tapping a clawed finger against his glass for a moment. "He looks like a ginger Victorian, which is the best way to describe him. I do not honestly know much about him, or at least, know things that I can tell..." Many of Hramn's former assignments were still 'classified'. "... but I can say that he can defeat me in hand to hand combat with ease, for starters. He taught me most of what I know. He's a money lender, forger.. probably a few other things as well along those lines if you ask him."

The demon would nod but hardly seemed interested, diction had never been a strongpoint of his for a reason. Fancy words bored him. Why be elAborate when there was a simpler word that got across the sAme idea? "You did." He chuckled. "Handsy, like I said." He chuckled at his own little joke then took another drink. "Order whatever you like, as much as you like." Spaniard was eager to show off his wealth rather than his generosity. Prideful and arrogant, more than happy to throw his money around if it benefited him, brought him more fame, made him more powerful.

"Victorian man ey?" That was something Shojah was more familiar with, having grown up in that age. "Ginger you say. Redheads do tend to be the more feistier ones. I might have to ask you to introduce me. If he is coming as you say. And on the subject of business, let me know of you need Nything done. My new job in a... Family of sorts has given me some connections. I'll even give you a discount for old times sake." a grin, and again more a show of prowess rather than kindness. Ever eager to boast. "Cigar? I can't remember if you smoke. I've become fond of the pipe again but still have a few rolled ones around." He would say, patting his trousers and at his chest before pulling out his case and setting it on the table for Hramn's liesure.

Hramn did a 'handsy' gesture then - namely, casually flipping the demon the bird. A brow rose then at the offer. "What did you do, hold a leprechaun at gunpoint?" The tone was sceptical, suspcious but.. well, he was never one to refuse free food and drink, old habits dieing hard and all that, and so he gestured down an [npc] tender. "Store this away, keeping it warm and take it to my room for later." Well, not technically his any more - since Dussander's return, he had not yet bothered to take up his own room, that he had cancelled a few months into the other's absence. Not like he stayed there often anyway, it was more common for him to sprawl somewhere quiet with sword in hand than to rest in a bed of all places. "Roasted meats - some boar, rabbit and cow - and a selection of roasted vegetables. Two dumplings, and then..." What to drink? "Half a bottle of mead." Once the feline woman had bustled off to prepare the order, he looked back to Shojah then. Faintly smug? Well, he wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth anytime soon thanks.

Hramn chuckled slightly. "Fiesty, well.. not quite. Viperish is more appropriate." The man was as cold as Hramn could be at times, but he had a natural reason for it; being a monstrous immortal snake stuck in a mortal body did tend to give one a few issues. "Would that be the Beornes?" They were by far one of the more numerous. "Or the Ulfriksons?" Well, at least he had been keeping up to date on the what for's and how to's on the island.

Sho would laugh at the gesture and gladly flip him one back before occupying hands with the wine bottle again, having almost drained half of it already. "No, just doing good business. Dirty business as always but any business is good business." He grinned. To Hramn's lengthy order his grin might have faltered a bit, but if he was in distress he hid it well. "Hungry?" He would chuckle, switching out bottle for pipe, sucking in, then exhaling from his nose. "Your appetite started me, but I should have been used to your vigorous oral habits by now. " Tone suggested a double meaning, as did the snort and the grin tugging at his lips.

"Neither, though I did have an arrangement with the Beornes at one time that never quite fell through. As for my current employer I am not allowed to say. What we do it's exactly a public service." As for the Ulfriksons? He had a new business venture on the mind, now. "But it puts food on the table, and the work is nothing new for me. In fact it almost fits perfectly to my expertise..." Demon would tap the end of the pipe against his lip thoughtfully. "Are you in need of some work? I have something I might could use an extra pair of hands with." A pause. "And that one was not meant suggestively. This time. But if you are looking for work I could surely give it to you unless your jefe would have qualms with this." A clawed hand would run through his hair thoughtfully as his red eyes glanced over Hramn with scrutiny. "When did you say your boss would be in port? I can't recall, my attentions must have been elsewhere. Could I bother you to introduce me? Simply for the sake of business old friend. While my current job surely has a good salary.. it is rather.. few and far in between. I am also looking for more steady pay, or at least something to fill in the gaps between paychecks."

Hramn's response to the mention of oral habits was to grin, thereby showing off that mouthful of sharp teeth. They had, in fact, begun to resemble more like those of a dog than earlier months - again, the creature's fault, slowly leaking into his system like poison in water. "Yes, I have been lately. But no matter how much I eat, I always still seem to need more..." In contrast to their earlier jesting, his tone was entirely serious.

He nodded at the answer, then arched a brow up. "Would they hire me?". There was a difference in how him and Shojah worked after all. Hramn, although he did not know Sho's morals, would do just about anything to get a job done and, in addition to that, did not have the best attitude. More than once now had he lost a contract simply because his employer had been wanting more respect off him than he thought they had earnt. Calling Abilio's ex-wife a 'pointy-eared bitch' was one such example.

He snorted. "He has no leeway over me now." Pause, as he swallowed a mouthful or two of food. "That I know of." He had done his best to make getting away from his world a clean cut - no lingering debts, no contracts pending completion and so on. It had to be coincidence. He nodded then. "Sure. When I know, I'll send a note via house slave."

Shojah would roll his shoulders. "Might want to get that looked at. You might have a tapeworm or whatever those damn things are called. Or perhaps it's that big beastie thing of yours. Same difference anyway, si?"

The demon would tilt his head and ponder a moment. "Most likely. If you could see the types they hire you would understand how well you would fit in. I was meaning, however, I need some help on a more private affair if you're willing to help. It is a job for this family, but you would be working for me, if that makes sense to you. I'd be willing to give you a cut of my earnings. I have a crate that needs to be buried out in the forest rather urgently. It will be some hard labor, and it's hot, and a long walk but it pays good, so long as you don't go peeking around." He grinned wide. "I have been told that what is inside is important and must be buried as quickly as possible. And I have faith enough in you that you wouldn't go snooping." His tone, however, said otherwise. But also sounded amused, as if Hramn might be disappointed should he actually try and take anything.

Hramn considered the offer for a moment. "Depends on how much I'd get paid. The jungle doesn't scare me, although the only thing I have to remember is not to fall into any spike pits." Unlike his last mission into the deeper terrain of the island, that had resulted in him being severely out of commission for at least a month. Even to this day, in colder weather, walking on it was exceptionally difficult.

He finished off his meal in due course, but at least saved Shojah some money by not asking for seconds. "So how long have you been working for this... family for?"

The demon considered. "How about we split fourty-sixty? Sound fair?" He would ask as he tapped his teeth against the end of the pipe. Seeing Hramn chow down was making him feel peckish even though he didn't need to eat, and when the tender would come back around, he would order himself some Crema Catalana and 'wolf milk' from the Tether's menu. Partaking in a bit of gluttony at the risk of rotting his teeth out but damn, so worth it. For the sweet tooth he had it was almost a shame he couldn't have chocolate.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about spike pits this time. We will walk a path into the jungle, and once we are far enough we will diverge from the path a little to bury the box, where the ground is a bit softer." A pause would be taken as his sugary order was placed before him and he would take a few bites, enough to make his mouth start watering. "Well, as soft as it can be on an island like this. We won't go far into Naga territory but, I would obviously bring weapons and supplies in case something does happen... You interested?"

Hramn considered the offer for a moment. Money was money, and he had already done one contract earlier that week and his little nest egg was enough that he did not have to actually work for a good four months or so. "Deal." He eyed the other's meal, then picked up the bottle of mead - no glass for him, thank you very much. Uncivilized as ever.

He hmmed quietly as the demon explained the plan. "Sounds fair enough. How big is this mysterious item that we are burying?" Still curious what was in it of course, and no doubt his heightened scenes would be able to pick up if it was decomposing or not. But he knew there was a fine line between curiousity and ruining a contract, and kept (if reluctantly) to the latter. Dussander would have a shitfit had he known that Rabe was going to do a joint-mission with the demon. When the were' had returned not too long ago, he had briefly thought that the monster in Hra's head was actually Shojah possessing him. Thankfully, the retelling of the encounter when Sho' had pinned the snarling, thrashing Dread Creature-possessed human to the floor until the episode ended had sufficed. The Creature was older, nastier and hungrier.

Sho would hold out his hand to seal the deal. "Shake on it then?" He grinned, and would wait for the man to tAke it, or not, and forfeit the deal. "It is a pleasure doing business with you." He chuckled, and would finish off the last of his bowl, then sip on a gross alternation of honey-milk and wine.

"About eight by eight if I remember correctly. Feet, that is. Man who gave me the measurements was an american man... Put up a good fight too." Orders has been to kill I'm after getting the package. "I've rented a team of horses and a wagon to take it out. Are you good at riding? If so, you can drive, and I will ride shotgun. I'm not too good with the beast but I can steer when necessary..." he nodded, finishIng off the wine Lon before the milk. "how does that sound to you. Amigo?

Hramn paused, then extended his own hand. Never accustomed to shaking on things these days, always reluctant to enter into a sealed deal. And his past made the likelihood of him backing out of it if it took a foul turn rather more likely than most - self-centered to some, but that was what his world had encouraged in a way. "As always."

He looked mildly surprised then. "All this secrecy?" That only made him all the more curious, which was likely the raven side of him listening eagerly. He nodded. "I've got my own horse." Arden, a fiesty Freisian warhorse that he had purchased off a re-enactor before the Age of Disturbance - a horse already well accustomed to gun blasts, cannonade and god knows what other sounds of the battlefield to make the chaos after easier to transition to. "Although I'd prefer to ride shotgun. I'm like this with driving..." He then mimed being at a car wheel, and made several jerky motions left and right. Yes, that bad.

Sho, on the other hand, due to his own upbringing and very viciously followed morals, would never back out of a deal or a promise, unless things just went absolutely horrific. Like Hramn deciding to back-stab him, or ditch for example. Firm shake would be given, and the Spaniard would lean back, folding his hands on his chest, listening and gears working behind his eyes.

"Unfortunately. Not me decision, but orders from up high." Finger would point tot he ceiling and give a lazy twirl. "You want to use him for the team then? Just you and I alone weigh almost 230 kilos. The box itself I would gauge at being another 300 kilos itself... most horses I think can pull about one and half times their weight, you think he can pull it alone? Would save us from having to spend some of out profit." He mused, pressing lips to fingertips. His actions would bring a laugh from the man and he would nod. "Then I can steer, if your horse doesn't mind me. I would prefer not running into a ditch. Getting the box on the wagon at the stables will be hard enough, not to mention getting it back on should it fall prematurely. I can lift about 170 kilos myself, but unless you can lift your own weight..." Smug grin, supernatural strength for the win. "Aaaahh.. Cars were so much more convenient... but alas. It was hard to find one that I didn't hit my head on getting in. Same with horse buggies before then."

Hramn had once been not so different, but back-stabbing had become a way of life in a world where 'survival of the fittest' translated to 'survival of the most ruthless'. Even the small farming communities he had come across were always heavily armed, and usually even less tolerant of intruders or people passing through than the actual warlord-controlled lands. He took another sip of mead from the bottle, keeping his head angled slightly enough to pick up any sounds filtering through from the main expanse of the bar.

"He's got some elvish lineage in him, he can manage more than it looks like he can." A very weak dilution of the blood admitedly, but there had been enough mythical horse stock bred into that specific bloodline that some traits had remained dominant. "Two horses perhaps. I would prefer to ride him seperatly on scout while you drive the wagon, personally." He took another drink. "He gets... spirited if he knows that anyone other than me is at the reins." Something that Hramn had likely trained him to do, another small theft precaution. He snorted gracelessly when the boasting came. "I'm fair but not quite that good." He could for a short amount of time, but his body was still limited by mortality even if he had a centuries-old monster stuck inside him. "I could call on It to help but, I'm confident that it would not be so co-operative..."

He chuckled in amusement then. Nostalgia moment. "I preferred public transport, personally. That or I cycled everywhere. Hard to believe but I was more of a hippy in my youth." Rarely getting into fights, going on protests, supporting animal welfare... the generic 'laid back' lifestyle minus the psychadelic substances and flower motifs. That had all changed when he had been employed by the Nexus Corporation.

Hramn scoutIng ahead? The idea made him wary. Hramn could put up a trap or even lead him into danger, bt the demon would have to take the chance. "Alright. That sounds fine." he himself was used to being the one guarding and the thought of having to rely on someone else disturbed him, and it showed on his face. Milk would be finished off, beard wiped and dished given to a passing slave. "He sounds like a fine horse. I will, later this evening go find some to carry the wagon...."

Recollection of Hramn's past would bring a smile and a laugh in rememberance of those "old" days. "Oh man. I remember that! I said fuck the idealology And wAs just in it for the drugs really. Went to he big gatherings and all. I was in the US at the time, San Francisco and all that... I had some rose colored spectacles I wore. That I remember. And probably the only time I went around with my hair all natural if ou know what I mean. God I had such an ungodly Afro... And I used to let the ladies braid my beard, even braided it reached my collarbone." he louder loudly at that and shook his head. "I don't know of my timeline is exactly the same as yours but if so hen its a shame that the world is going to end soon. I wonder what will become of people like myself."

Hramn, on missions at least, could be trusted to complete the contract. It was only between them that he was honestly prone to having his morals slip. That was of course, excluding the time when he had been hired to intentionally infiltrate the territory and mercenary group held by another 'warlord'. He saw the look, the doubt, but said nothing. Dussander would have his hide if he knew about this. But money and curiousity over-ruled in this case. And in addition to that, if he managed to weasel some more information about the demon's employer along the way, there was always a chance for some blackmail along the way. He nodded. "Your best bet would be the mainland."

He shook his head then at the suggestion of the world ending. "You mean what happened in mine, happening in yours?" He snorted. "No. Worlds and timelines are seperate. They are linked, by waygates and so on, but they are entirely seperate. An Unmaking in one will influence those nearest, but still." He shrugged slightly. "Only a certain type of magic user can cause what happened in my world. Very rare, only one ever at a time in existence so far as I know, and there may be generations where none are born as well." Then a brow rose. "And if you mean anything like Nostradamus or the Mayans then yes, I believe that too is superstitious cack. There is no archaeological evidence that it would end, and the calenders - even the Long Count which includes 2012 - are cyclical." He hadn't been a history teacher for nothing!