The Shadow of a man... (Dragonsong)

[Wycliff]

Uthlyn: the center of art and learning in Connloath, but more importantly, not the center of Mordecai operations. A young man, seemingly in his early twenties, huddles over the bar of 'Gelda's Tavern', downing glass after glass of Matron's Root, one of the hardest liquors Gelda's carries. The bartender, a tall, burly woman reaching her forties, slides him a refill nonchalantly as the last of the draught slides from his current glass and down the young man's gullet. He stops the new drink with his other hand, setting the empty one gingerly on the far side of the bar. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Gelda." His voice is gentle, each syllable proper and well pronuncianted, not at all what one would expect after his third pint. "You know me better than anyone."
The woman, Gelda, keeps her muscular arms working on a glass with her signature golden barcloth, letting out an exasperated sigh as she eyes the empty pint the man set on her side of the counter. "I swear, kid, yer' gonna die at the rate you down them drinks. Gotta be the third time this week your keepin' me slave to that ridiculous tolerance of yours." She tosses the clean glass skillfully into the air, a flight at the pinnacle of which the handle is softly cupped by a wooden hook, suspending the glass alongside dozens of others like it. With a raised eyebrow, she whisks the young mans latest victim off the smooth wood, and starts the cycle over.
The young man watches the theatrics with a slight smirk, swallowing a gulp of brew. "I'll keel over the day you break a glass, Gelda."
Gelda shoots him a wry grin, and sticks the landing on yet another glass. "Careful, now, I've heard livin' forever ain't all it's cracked up to be."
Her quip coaxes a hearty laugh from the young man, who takes another swig. "Ah! Maybe I should wager on the day I win one of these verbal bouts, that should give me all the time I need."
Gelda laughs along with him, a bellow compared to his. She pats him on the shoulder, before taking off toward the kitchen. "Don't go rushin' to the grave yet, kid, yer' still one of my best customers."
The young man nods graciously as she leaves, after which he sighs, his eyes carrying a bit of sadness. If only I could get drunk and forget, maybe that wouldn't be such a tall order...

[DragonSong]

A tavern. Well, she could end up in worse places. With an internal sigh, Maka ducked her head, shrinking further into her heavy hood, and slipped through the door of Gelda's place, glancing around before making a beeline for an abandoned table tucked in the back of the room.

"Ah been sittin' 'ere for thirty years, Ah'll be sittn' 'ere for..." The man who shimmered into existence beside her was grumbling to himself, shoulders hunched and arms propped on the table.

Maka gritted her teeth. Ignore him. Ignore him, and he'll go away. That tended to be the best way of dealing with ghosts. If she pretended she couldn't see them, they eventually left her alone. Her hand moved to the choker around her neck and squeezed, an unconscious gesture.

"What'll it be, dearie?"

She started and looked up at the girl who'd come to serve her. "Water," she murmured. "And whatever's hot."

The serving girl quirked an eyebrow, but nodded.

[Wycliff]

The young man at the bar takes notice of the new arrival. Glancing past the rambunctious group of drunks sitting in the table between him and the corner table, he cocks a eyebrow. The figure seemed to be hiding from something, or someone. A curious gesture with his hand causes a minuscule  black particle to appear in front of him, barely noticeable, which wavers before floating slowly toward the figure. The youth gestures once more, the particle winking out of existence. So they're a Mage. That explains the secrecy. He faces forward once more, his short black robe ruffling around the stool as he shifted. Let's just hope the patrol passes as usual.


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[DragonSong]

Maka waited, on edge, her fingers tapping insistently against the table as she studiously ignored the ghost rambling away under his breath beside her.

How long could it possible take to serve some water?

[Wycliff]

The young man has trouble not sneaking a second look at the stranger, as several unsavory characters around the tavern are taking the liberty for themselves. What is that person doing? They're drawing too much attention, the corner table is already a dead giveaway that they're hiding something! His silver eyes wander to one of the onlookers, a tall, lean man with a a dark leather jerkin and various belts with curved knives sheathed along them, most likely for throwing, and a dangerous look. Could she be wanted?


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[DragonSong]

Her food eventually arrived and Maka had to hold herself back from just about attacking it, ripping into the bread and guzzling water like she hadn't had any in days.

Well. That was actually true.

[Wycliff]

The young man finishes off his drink, wiping a few black particles off his mouth. His attention stays fixed on what he assumed to be a bounty hunter, trying to gauge the man's intentions. He's been here since before that hooded figure entered, and I've neither of them frequent Gelda's. It's simply too much a coincidence that his target would enter this specific tavern, and if he was tracking them beforehand, he could have dispatched his target before they reached the public eye. He shakes his head lightly, dismissing the possibility that the newcomer was being targeted specifically. However, the fact still remained that the man was armed to the teeth, not a set of equipment one takes on a casual night out, even in these dark times.
In a split second, his eyes dart to the door, as he feels the foreboding sense of his magic slipping away from him. Of all the rotten luck, Mordecai, too? He sets the empty glass on the far side of the counter for Gelda, along with the money to pay for his drinks. Time to leave. Judging by the strength of that aura, either their radius' are very small, or there's more than four of them.


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[DragonSong]

Maka seemed to be intentionally shutting out the world, but the slight glimmer to her eyes and the hunch of her shoulders, the set of her jaw, betrayed the wariness f an animal too used to being hunted.

[Wycliff]

The young man rises from his seat, making his way casually toward the exit, his step rolled and proper. Too late, however, and the door bursts open to the tune of three armed and armored members of Ansgar's Hand. The youth spins on a dime, startled, and hastens to take a seat somewhere inconspicuous. The booths beside him are full, and he strides along the row until he reaches the corner table, taking a quick seat across from the newcomer, cursing late judgement. Smooth, you took the MOST conspicuous seat in the tavern. 
He glances quickly at the Mordecai, who claim a hastily vacated table in the middle of the room. He turns his eyes forward, in an attempt to not draw any unnecessary attention, when he notices something he didn't expect about the figure in front of him, now that he could see a bit under their heavy hood. Is that...?


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[DragonSong]

She started and jerked back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Maka hissed, her surprise making her surly as she frowned warily across the table.

The ghost to her right muttered something about wanting to drink alone, and she had to resist the urge to tell him to shut up.

[Wycliff]

The young man was taken aback. A girl?! He struggles to regain his composure, which had just shattered into a cluster of tiny pieces. His voice drops below a whisper. "I-I apologize, I panicked." He makes eye contact for the first time, and the poor boy's face flushes, prominent against his pale skin: despite her expression, her eyes strike him like lightning, a deep amethyst that draws him in. In the moment, his concentration falters, and a flow of periodic black particles begin to float across his irises, if only briefly, before hastening into nonexistence at the edges.


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[DragonSong]

Maka frowned, first at him, then at the group that had so carelessly barged into the tavern. "Why? Them?" She jerked her chin toward the men.

An almost palpable relief rippled through her body as the mordecai settled themselves and the aura seemed to properly adjust itself to their surroundings. Necromancy was different from other magic, in that only certain aspects of it would be repressed by a mordecai's presence, but it was enough for the image of the ghost beside her to flicker, his constant chatter growing quieter.

[Wycliff]

The young man labored to drain the unbidden color from his cheeks. He shoots the Mordecai a nervous look. "Yes, them. As easy as it would be to escape, if I reveal my identity as a Mage, I won't be welcome here anymore," His lower lip becomes a slight pout, "This is my favorite tavern..."


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[DragonSong]

Her eyebrows crept up. "Why the hell would you tell me that?" she murmured, sipping at her glass of water. "What makes you think I won't just turn you over?"

[Wycliff]

The young man cocks an eyebrow, his voice still a whisper. "Because you're also a magic user?" He lifts a finger, and on it lies a single dark particle like those that were present in his eyes. It begins to float toward her, before he snatches it with a swift motion. "They're attracted to magic. In any case, you don't look like you want the attention any more than I do."


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[DragonSong]

Maka's shoulders stiffened. "And what difference does that make?" she hissed through clenched teeth. "You're far too trusting, stranger."

She got to her feet, shoving away the chair behind her. "For your own good, I'd suggest you keep your distance," she muttered curtly, dropping a few coins on the table and moving away.

[Wycliff]

The young man watches as she retreats. Probably for the best, I shouldn't have been over here to begin with. A sigh escapes his lips, and he stands up as well, making his way as casually as he can toward the door. The man with the knives shifts ever so slightly in his seat, a movement that the young man doesn't seem to notice, as his attention is fixated on the Mordecai. One of them gives him a strange look, reaching into his satchel to pull out a paper. By then, the boy is out the door, and the paper is revealed to be a rough sketch of his visage, with a very generous sum of money posted underneath.
The Mordecai rise from their seats in a rush, and pursue the young man with vigor, and bounty hunter follows suit.


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[DragonSong]

Maka reached back to grasp her staff as she hurried out into the street, making sure the weapon was within easy reach as she kept her head down and moved further away.

[Wycliff]

The scene in the street is chaos: two of the Mordecai that chased after the young man are face down on the ground, unconscious, while the other two are desperately battling against two shadowy tendrils that rose from the ground. The one of the two jettisons a battle-axe around his person, ramming it into one of the tendrils, only for it to push the shadowy attacker away, unscathed. He grits his teeth savagely. "What are these abominations made of?!"
The other flourishes twin blades, cross-guarding against a swift strike of a second tendril, bearing a similar expression. "Bullshit, that's what!"
Two more tendrils rise up behind the two of them, striking at insane speed at the back of their necks, causing them both to crumple into a heap. From the shadow-cast wall of the tavern emerges the young man from before, his robe billowing around him as his form separates from the darkness. His eyes are a bit droopy, as though he were tired, and he gestures to the tendrils of shadow, which dissipate in an instant into a mass of black particles, uniformly flowing into the young man's shadow. Behind the boy, the bounty hunter can be seen at distance, winding up to throw two knives at his back.


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[DragonSong]

Maka growled.

She couldn't just leave the idiot.

With a muffled curse, Maka turned and drew her staff from the strap across her back. "Behind you, kid!"