"Holy freakin' hell!" Genevieve gapes with her head cocking back to the clouds. Her gray ash coated arm points at the two colossal serpents that wrap tightly about the two pillars between the entrance of the floating ship. Loud hissing seeping between their hundreds of decaying, sharp teeth. Drool dropping from their fifty- story tall heads descend by the bucket-fulls to the ancient wood floors. Their milky white eyes staring hungrily at the new meat that has just freshly set themselves before them to come aboard.
"Name the store, I will get myself one of these. I swear it."
"I don't believe that you could handle such a beast as a pet." Death doubts as he helps her off his glowing horse, being wary of the green fog about it's legs. He says planting her on the ground, "Plus, leviathans are not purchased, they are caught."
"Have you ever caught one, Death?"
He reaps the opportunity to boast, "No, never caught one, I did however remove one from it's tongue for a demon merchant once." Genevieve has a look of disgust on her open mouth and bares astonishment in her dilating eyes.
"Tell me the story." She sweetly demands.
"Another time," The Nephilim rider tugs Genevieve's hood over her eyes, her big smile deflates. "What you need to focus on as of late is keeping your head down, do you follow me?" She raises one side of her hood to show one eye. "Why?"
Death pauses, thinking over the Dead Lord's advice, then finally replies, "I would prefer not to find out and I'm sure you would feel the same."
Genevieve cocks an eyebrow that is quickly covered by Death tugging her hood down once again with more aggression. The purple enchantment hold their palms on the fortress doors. "Stay behind me." He reminds, "Don't make eye contact. Don't speak if spoken to. I shall do that for you." The spell presses the fortress entrance ajar. Revealing the shanty yet vast deck of the Eternal Throne.
They begin to walk, cool and collectively in each stride. Genevieve is more cautious, walking slow and silently behind the Grim Reaper, as if she were to make a small creek on the brittle wood, the entire guard would be after her. Her head faces her boots with eyes zipping in all directions. Recalling her bodyguard's assertive instruction, the disguised woman still peeps through her hood ever so slightly to peer at her new surroundings. There aren't as many of the dead as Death had emphasized and it made it all the more nerve racking. Less people in the courtyard means less people to blend into. Which in alternate words, meant she stuck out like a sore thumb with no place to hide in the plain gray daylight. Thankfully, most of the ghouls are huddling in a circle in the center of the area, testing their fighting skills on one another while others evaluate from the sidelines in silence. Genevieve does feel the stares of the guards along the rims of the courtyard, gawking at the unfamiliar and dim frame sticking so close to someone known to be so infamous on the ship.
The travelers are more than half way through the deck. Almost to the cracked stone staircase that held the Dead King's throne at their top. Death's pace started moving slightly faster, eager to find some sort of answer to this obnoxious twenty-two year old under his wing. Genevieve's pace quickens as well and has to gawkily power walk to catch up to Death, she merely wants to be out of this kill-box as much as he does.
"Horseman!" A hooded, heavily armed ghoul calls out to Death. The human jolts from the sudden call, her eyes squeeze shut and she hisses a near silent curse through her gritting teeth. Death, handling the situation, merely sighs and turns to the source of his calling. "Draven." He acknowledges.
Draven, an experienced swordsman trapped under the rule of The Lord of Bones. His many swords and daggers decorating his belt and stabbed into his back clank and jingle loudly as he jogs to the Nephilim. His hood and green aura flowing in his trail.
"I offer you and your scythe to take part in the arena." The mummified Master of Blades proposes. "We are holding a battle among the other warriors that wish to try you in combat. I will bestow a promising prize for the champion."
"My thanks for the offer," Death denies turning his back so that he may reach to his destination, "But perhaps some other point in time, I have more important matters to attend to."
"Very well." Draven frowns at the answer. Then glances down to the small frame following coolly behind the being much greater than her. His eyes narrow, attempting to make out if she is angel or demon, if she were a girl or a boy. He notices the cat ears on her head, the mismatched armor and her gangly discolored arms from the overpacking layers of dirt and ash. Pieces of dried, once molten rock still stick across her forearm and near her shoulder and could be mistaken for scales. Thankfully enough, Draven cannot see her face from her avoidance of his glance as if she were greatly ashamed of her looks.
"Might I ask of the demon child nestling behind you as if you were it's mother?" Death stops abruptly and looks over his shoulder grimacing with his fists tightening at his sides, ready to rip the sword out of Draven's back and slice him until he were a powdery mess of ancient entrails. But, the Reaper of Souls persuades himself to do so later, he wishes not to make a scene at the moment. Instead, he raises a fist at the corpse, his forefinger outstretches.
"Mind your tongue, bladesman," He warns gravely, "Though, if you so wish to pry at something that is not of your concern, I will tell you that it is the business I must attend to, now I advise you leave me to it." He throws down his arm, "For your sake." Death turns from him in the opposite direction to the staircase to the King's throne. Draven remains, his suspicions itching at him as he glares at the small vagrant following Death like an imprinted baby bird. He finally shrugs off his intuition, returning to his comrades fighting in the small ring.
"That creature could not possibly be human." He concludes as he resumes watching the battle of his fellow dead ensue in the small ring.
They continue to the steps only thirty feet north of them. The cloaked human leans slightly over to the Kinslayer, "'We in the clear yet, Skullface?" Before Death could answer no, an ancient, husky voice makes himself known.
"In a hurry I presume, Horseman?" The smell of an herbal aroma similar to burning tobacco tantalizes Genevieve's nostrils that make her eyes rise forward. Guiding her to look to the large engraved pipe hanging off a wrinkled goat's face. The great manlike beast towering on the side of the steps ahead. The bearded goat holds a four foot long woolly beard with a hunched over yet tall human like body. His heavy robes are tied with crystals, bottles, furs, and many other wares down to his two feet. It is obvious that he is quite the traveler. His glowing toad's eyes along with the contents of his pipe glow brightly into his petite person of interest.
"Now is not the time, Old One." Death dismisses, avoiding eye contact. "Why must the whole ship bother with me at this very moment?" He growls under his breath, trying to make to the stairs in peace with Genevieve trustingly at his right side.
"Of course Horseman, I understand," The olden goat says to the less distant individuals, "But I may have wares that hold concern to your fellow traveler." Genevieve's eyes raise, her curiosity heightened under the shadows of her hood which Death tugs down once again, this time grabbing some of the hair at her scalp. She tries to snuff out a growl with her shut lips, now reminded of his instructions. At the point of passing the old being, their bodies opposite of each other, yet close enough to hear a raspy murmur.
"Your human traveler, if I infer correctly." Death stops momentarily with his eyes thin and fiery, but he continues past him in any case.
"We are not interested." He flatly spurns without passing a glance, beginning to climb the curving stairs, he wanted to be out of plain sight before anyone else turns wise of the human girl. But she on the other hand, had her full attention peaked, high enough to pull herself from the pale warrior and run back down the stairs. She stops in front of the goat looking over her, grinning as he takes a large breath of smoke from his pipe.
"What do you have for me?" She questions curiously, "And it better be some important 'concern.' Don't waste my time, goat man."
Ostegoth chuckles, smoke puffing from his mouth and snout as he speaks, "I am never one to waste time, young child." His wrinkled claws disappear into his petticoat. "I had purchased this eons ago from a strange, dark creature. He told me to hold it for someone who would fit such a small uniform, a child from a kingdom unknown to the other two. For she will pay the highest price. I don't know what he exactly meant by that," He pulls out a large U.S. Army survival backpack, it looks to be from her time so it is old, but looks to have kept it's sturdiness. It's covered in faded digital camo, large pockets and even had a canteen clipped to the side. Genevieve's hand reaches for the bag, which is pulled up from her before she could get a grasp.
"Unless he predicted that you have the sufficient currency." The soul frowns, feeling the only thing in her jacket's right pocket, the meager glit pieces she had taken from earlier. Then a shadow comes over her face and she looks up, a familiar bone encrusted gauntlet presents two large green relics to Ostegoth. Who smiles as he takes in another breath of smoke. "A fair trade," He takes the stone emblems with one hand and hands over the bag in the other by the handle. Genevieve takes the pack and puts in on, Before she has a time to say thank you, Death is nearly halfway up the staircase.
"How did you know I'm well... Human?" Genevieve asks soft and awkwardly, she's not used to having to refer to herself as a species. "I am an old merchant, I have years and years of wisdom underneath my belt when it comes to presuming my clients." Ostegoth takes another hit from his pipe, and gets down to the girl's five foot nine level. "Not much gets past me these years." His nostrils exhale a thick white cloud of smoke In her face. She makes a quick thought, "And another thing..." she pulls out her three coins, raising it up to the end of the goat's pipe. "How much of that stuff you're smokin' will this get me?"
Ostegoth pinches the coins and reaches into another pocket, pulling out a puny sack about the size of her coins with string tying it shut. As soon as she clenches it in her palm, the mitt that paid the merchant now grabs her by the handle at the top of her bag. She lets out a small yipe as Death literally drags her up the stairs. Ostegoth guffaws a gravelly laugh, "It has been a pleasure doing business with you both!"
"You are the only one allowed beyond this point, reaper." Death turns around to the Chancellor in his usual stance. Floating with his nonexistent nose in the air with his hands cupping each other at his abdomen.
"I cannot have her just standing out here alone." Death reasons. The servant's attention is caught at the word, "Her? Well then that is a shame for you, horseman. You will simply have to go inside without your pet and hope she is not smited." Death looks down to Genevieve, looking up to him gingerly. "Perhaps you could make an exception due to her condition." Death softly pushes her forward, motioning to stand before the King's loyal servant. She obliges and the Chancellor raises an eyebrow, but he bends to get at the girl's eye level. He raises her hood, revealing her fearful yet fair looks.
Genevieve wears a heart shaped face of both fear and confusion, mainly fear. Her slightly rounded eyes gleaming wide from the nervousness. The dim, dark blue is a perfect contrast from the glimmering shaved gold lines about her irises that pierce brightly even under the shadows of the hood. Her skin pale from the lack of sun it hasn't seen in at least a century make her lightly parted lips appear rosier as they adorably tremble. A golden red curl had pulled free from Death's tug on her hair and now flows softly on the right side of Genevieve's small, dotted nose. She does have purple shadows under her eyes and too many freckles on her nose and body, but the Chancellor doesn't seem to mind. A big, wicked grin that could reach his ear lobes told the girl he didn't. The look is relative to a child staring into a candy shop window. But the look is on a grown man instead, so it is more perverse and much less desirable to the young woman being stared down. Genevieve knows that gawk all too well and hates that she does, but she sweetens the deal even farther, by revealing the glass skull about her neck as well. The King's servant rises to the Kinslayer.
"Send her in." He agrees. Genevieve sighs, relieved to be away from the decomposing stranger. The great doors open slowly for their passage. The two finding their way in. Genevieve's heart slightly dropping when the second in command chuckles softly enough for only her to listen. "My King will take very kindly to you."