The Things That Bind Us- Damirae

Chapter Five

The dark strum of the elvish band's eerie tune submerged Raven's senses the moment she stepped in to the building. It had happened a million times before, but she could never quite get over that feeling, like wading beneath water. She shut her eyes steadied herself in the vibrant auras around her. When they opened once more, resolute, Raven sought her target.

Through the slowly writhing figures occupying the centre of the club- towering orcs, lithe elemental spirits, wanton succubi and the like- she scanned. The one she searched wasn't found on a stool, being served by the barmaid; Raven caught her eye and smiled at the old flame- long extinguished and replaced by a kindled friendliness.

Anneh the bartender handed a tall glass of green, thick liquid to a wisp. She frowned at Raven, a silent 'you good?', fixing the bone through her septum. Raven raised an eyebrow to the witch doctor and she understood the 'yes', moving to serve another creature.

Raven moved her cloak away from the spikes of a tall, brown marsh troll, slipping around the dance floor to the more private sections at the back. A demon on her left tipped his hat to her as she passed the ethereal elvish firelights that hung over the entrance to the enclave of seatings. She accepted the recognition of her status with a nod. 

Alas, across the black marble-top tables and leather sofas, her target evaded her.

"You lookin' for someone sweetheart?" Called a familiar voice from a table.

Translucent, bold, and dead as fuck, Boston, known to some as Deadman, greeted Raven with a familiar grin. By his side sat an equally ghostly figure, scrawny in a tweed suit, who looked about awkwardly as Boston made small talk. Raven understood the itchiness of being around the friend of a friend and not being able to share in their familiarity.

She cut the conversation short.

"I'm looking for Klarion. The Witch Boy."

Boston frowned, "I uh...I think he's downstairs. You take my meaning..."

Raven nodded, unsurprised. She glanced at the ghost besides Boston then walked away, through two black double doors that flowed with a red light from behind. A tunnel of stairs led downwards, in to a blackness that her eyes couldn't make sense of. There was no pure humanity in her, but there had been, she sheer hell in the air, l'appel du vide, would've thrown her headfirst to death down those stairs.

As it were, she shook off the sweltering heat and descended. Her skin was red now. Painted with blood. Roaring with hellfire. And as Raven, Pride of the Seven Sins, slithered down those steps, her vision cleared with her blackened eyes. She saw the sign, felt the swelling crescendo of violently bad auras, and grimaced in satisfaction.

The VIP section.

At last Raven's heels clicked from the stairs and on to the flat ground. She'd fallen far through the realms. Another set of double doors faced her, labelled 'VIP' in neon red letters. She threw them open and was permitted entry, as ever.

Muffled was the sound of her path through the corridor thence; the carpet was rich, patterned brown and red with paisleys. Single, numbered, metal doors lined the corridor that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, winding through a hell. On some doors signs were hung, declaring 'Occupied'.  Others were void of extra embellishment, even handles.

Hm, Raven thought, they've re-designed...again.

But the magic ought to have remained the same...