The ivory mountainside market was bustling, as usual on a particularly blustery Spring afternoon. Patronage, laughter, and shouting was naught but a subdued backdrop for two figures that stalked through the crowds, however. The tension between the two was palpable, one in flight, the other in pursuit. Though aware of the chase, the one who fled, a young girl dressed in heinously-stained rags, did not appear to be cognizant of even the most mundane details of their surroundings at first glance. Hair violently unkempt, and darting inflamed eyes feral, they anxiously weaved about through the throngs while scratching at their wrists and face so fanatically that blood seeped from the nail marks left behind.

Calmly following after the crazed individual…was Lazarus.

The cleric was dressed in plain earthen-toned garb beneath his faded and stitch-ridden black duster, and kept his broad-rimmed hat tilted over his face as he wove closely behind. He held a gala apple in hand, and casually stole a bite every so often. This strange spectacle playing out went mostly unnoticed by even the most attentive of observers. The guards at the fringes of the market were mostly concerned with the more shady of the merchants among the shops, and their customers possibly becoming irate. Little did they know, it was exactly this that was the cause of the this poor lass being in the sullen state that she was.
Everything came to a halt when one unfortunate soul made the mistake of bumping into the stricken girl.

Shrieking like a banshee, the girl impulsively tackled the poor man to the ground, and began to brutally claw and strike at him with a strength and unbridled fury far beyond what her slight, mousy frame would allow.

Cursing under his breath and dropping the half-eaten apple to the street, Lazarus pushed past the shocked onlookers to get to her. Focusing intent, he mustered a brief, but intense flare of sacred light from his palm as he approached. This caused the girl to recoil in pain and horror, stopping the vicious assault to clutch her face with her blood-stained hands. He took this opportunity to pin her to the cobblestones as her battered victim frantically crawled backward from the pair on all fours.

Uttering incoherently archaic, though authoritative words of power, Lazarus embraced her, to the deepening shock of the onlookers. She fought at first, but soon fell limp and unconscious. Sitting up, the cleric wiped the blood from his face, and tore a locket that she wore from around her neck. The very same behaviors that the girl exhibited seemed to strain at taking hold of him….her devils seemingly having been forced into a new host. His head rolled back and he shook, but he maintained his control enough to continue the prayer, focusing all of his energy onto the locket, the original prison of the malignant energy. An intangible force erupted from the man upon his success of containment, knocking some who stood too near to their buttocks.

Lazarus stood up, his fiery autumn gaze sweeping across the silent crowd angrily as he held up the locket. "Who's the snake that thought it would be a good idea to sell this poor lass a possessed trinket for some quick silver!?" his deep, gritty voice seethed. "Deplorable, even if y'all don't even have a pot to piss in! Must squeeze the crescent so hard the phoenix screams."

Once again Kohaku had changed his appearances before going into town. And it wasn’t until Nelanna had joined him this time that she noticed how big of a difference it made. Before, people stared at his tall ears and nine tails, watching with judging eyes and commenting on his clothing choices. It seemed that foxes such as him didn’t have a very good reputation among normal people. They were tricksters, masters of deceit and illusions. He would belong in the Spirit Realm far more than here. But now that he made himself look more like an average human, one without tails, ears and a kimono, he caught much less attention. Though Nelanna did not share the feelings of the townsfolk, she felt sorry for her familiar.

The two walked out of a small cafe, their bellies full and satisfied. Kohaku had said they would go to the bookstore next, explaining that he was searching for a book on herbs that would help Nelanna improve her remedies. She was grateful for his knowledge, and once again she wondered just how far back it goes. He always has advice to give with wisdom in each and every suggestion. Only recently had he finally opened up to her about some of his past, giving her every heartbreaking detail on his lover’s death and why he hated the Faes so severely. A curse was to blame, it was the roots of his pain and anger. It is what made him so disapproving of Cecil, considering it was his father, Oberon, who killed Kohaku’s lover.

Hearing his story answered many of her questions, but she’s become even more fearful of asking anything more on the matter. It took a lot to get him to tell her what he did, and she didn’t want to make him relive anymore tragedy.

She followed him down the streets with the silence of a mouse, her hands clasped behind her back. Suddenly a woman ran through the streets wildly and attack a random citizen. Nelanna was stunned at first, trying to make sense of what was going on. But by the time she reached the woman, a man had already beaten her there. He spoke something she couldn’t understand and abruptly embraced the woman. Then she fell unconscious. He proceeded to remove something from around her neck, then…what was it he was doing? She watched with confusion, almost to the point of bewilderment, until some unseen force knocked her back onto the ground.

“Nelanna, are you alright?” Kohaku asked, crouching next to her and offering her a helping hand. “Yes, I am quite alright,” she assured him, accepting his help and getting back to her feet. But the strange man wasn’t done. He proceeded to raise the item he took from the girl, a locket, and accused someone of selling her a possessed object. Her eyes widened, the pieces suddenly coming together. She gazed around, searching for anyone that might speak up. But no one did; everyone was quiet. Furrowing her brow, she approached the man. “Excuse me, how may I assist you?” She asked, using a tone that indicated she would not accept refusal. She was Champion of Zanar, a protector of the weak and punishes those in the wrong. If someone is selling things possessed, she would not stand for it.

"My, you're mighty official-looking, ain't you?" the cleric casually remarked as he eyed the red-haired woman who approached him up and down. Of course, he meant no offense by his words or his glance. This was just his way. There was no time that was inappropriate for jesting.
"Very well…if you could look after this poor duped creature a-lying here, that would be right as rain. Perhaps have the guards follow my lead?"

Lazarus held the locket up to his face and whispered to it intensely for several long moments. After a pause, and a furrowed brow, he muttered, "I see," in response to words only he presumably heard. The autumnal hues in his eyes shifted ominously as he smirked to himself in contemplation. "If you'll excuse me now, these uppity twits are being a nuisance. I've no choice, it seems…"
Throwing the locket to the ground, he stomped forcefully on it, breaking the warded glass, and bending the metals inward upon the cobblestones.

Immediately upon its defacing, great foul-smelling gales emanated from the locket underfoot. Disembodied cacophonies of sinister giggling hung in the sulfur-tinged winds that reached out beckoningly to the recoiling and screaming crowds of people that had been foolhardy enough to linger out of morbid curiosity. Lazarus was rather calm and confident about the chaotic display, speaking aside quickly to the woman and her companion. "Pray, mention that it'll be wise for the guards to mind their distance. These devils don't like being in my person even moreso than I. They can't help themselves, though. It's best that item and its inhabitants are taken out of circulation anyhow."
On cue with these words, the maelstrom of negative energy indeed did not wander far from its origin point, inevitably being drawn back to the cleric like lightning to a metal rod.

Writhing and convulsing as the entities entered him once more, Lazarus did eventually manage to still himself. Already, he began to perspire from the effort required to keep them contained. Black clouds smouldered through his colorful irises, making them dark as pitch. Glaring at Nelanna with a look of unspeakable hunger, his body nonetheless remained at rest. Whatever turmoil raged within his psyche, Lazarus was clearly the one in control. Neck muscles twitching, causing his head to violently jerk every so often, he made his way around the square. He gritted his teeth as he saw a rather anxious-looking man in Eastern garb abandon his wares and high-tail down an alleyway.

This was their man.

Body vanishing in a puff of smoke, accompanying the sounds of rustling leaves, Lazarus apparated again in front of the fleeing man. Grabbing his collar, he shoved him against the wall of the building with an unnecessary amount of force, knocking the wind from him. The cleric spoke with a choir of different echoed voices all chiming at once, some masculine, some feminine. His own voice could still be heard above it all, the tinge of his accent easily recognizable.
"Going somewhere? Hastier than a rabbit in a foxhole. Didn't even bother to close up shop, hm?"