The Temple of Artemis(Pre-Event/Intro Thread)

[Ada Wong]

A quiet second broached upon by a murmuring susurrus of voices, and then Crowley’s feet lightly touched down upon the white and grey-veined floor. His jacket settled back along the hem of his shirt with a soft drag, having been plumed out behind him in a thin mimicry of flight before the demon made his semi-graceful landing.

It had been like tearing off the transient cover of reality, drifting sideways through time akin to how a gasping goldfish caught up in a bulging water-filled sack swims about. The light of the Nexus was gone: the soles of his shoes scuffed against the smooth, cool floor, bursts of gold and serene turquoise gleaming all around in conjunction with stately pillars of stone. Comparable to how a fluctuating film scene laid fluidly across another appears, inaudible, breathing bodies stirred around him.

The swirling throb between realities ceased at last; a pressure was lifted. Crowley looked up, tilted his head back a ways. Then, it craned waaay back, his sulfurous yellow eyes focusing solely upon the towering, womanly figure with the magnificent crown of her head just barely reaching the upper layers of assembled rock.

He knew this place. It was now a trickling cavern of rumor and guesswork based upon the— sometimes heated— murmurings of those around him, but Crowley recognized it nonetheless.

“Oh, the angel would love this,” he breathed, knowing that Aziraphale’s required, heaven-mandated reaction would have to have been quite the opposite. But what were friends for, at any rate? Live and let live and all that jazz.

A flicker of bluish aura approached from his side, patient and waiting. Crowley turned, understandably curious, a smell akin to lit cigarettes and fine leather withering about him in some warped parody of a halo. He was not expecting the blue spirit that stood there, solemn and with forlorn eyes seeking reprieve from some ancient prison.

Papa Smurf? Crowley thought. No, the ghostly figure went on to say, his name was Teucer. What an interesting name. Well, Crowley hardly thought so, but he should have.

As the phantom-like person spoke of relics, and curses and spells and everything of their magical ilk, Crowley felt a steadily sinking feeling in his breast. This was remarkably familiar. Papa Smurf seemed so hopeful, though— and, besides, Crowley wasn’t that sinister just to let some old ghost rot away in a jail such as this. Even if it did have some nice décor.

"Sure thing, Papa Smurf," Crowley said, grinning like the oil-slick guy he was. "Always happy to help a fine ghost such as yourself in need, that's me."

Besides, helping an elderly man cross the street— er, menacing magically-infused barrier, wasn't all that bad. It could definitely be worse; he might've ended up in the company of someone with a severe god complex, and wouldn't that have just taken the cake? Getting a few powerful items in return only sweetened the pot a little.

Speaking of powerful items— where was Koren? The Bejeweled Blade wouldn't be happy about being dumped again, that was for certain.