The First Sound (Open)

Sesame kept moving around trying to find a way our someone that would know something about this place. It didn't seem he was going to find such a person, untill he heard a voice calling out asking if anyone was there. He turned his head to where the noise had come from. He turned his head as he saw a green-skinned man had arrived. Sesame hid behind a pillar observing the figure. They were well built, a warrior of some type. That was the assumption Sesame made about the man. Should he attack him or should he approach with diplomacy? And how would he communicate his intentions? Those were all questions that flooded his mind. He didn't much want to have a dialogue. He was not much of a talker. After a few moments though he picked up a rock. He had an idea.

He came out of hiding and walked towards Shakuhachi. He tilted his head looking to see if anyone else was behind him. It seemed it was just the two of them. He drew the rock and began to push it agiasnt one of the walls to write. "CRRRRCK" The wall creaked as he began to write something on the wall. It took him about a minute or so. Hopefully, the guy would be able to read it. He didn't know if they all shared common tounges. The words on the walls read out as 'I am Sesame. I am Mute and Lost. Where are we?' He was hoping this was a native who could explain exactly what was going on for him.

Within the ruins of the Old Castle, what was thought to be the once great center of power of the Mazoku– Cello had, once again, been meditating on his lessons – allowing his senses to expand far and beyond to continue his mastery of his Shadow Warrior lessons. Master Mandolin had always brought him here, as a youth, to seep himself in the power steeped within every stone. Every brick. It was here more than anywhere else on the planet besides the great tower of Escargo Village, that the Mazoku power could be felt in the most palpable ways. Intense. Raw.

He had been close to a breakthrough in his solitary training, the violet energy seeping out of his pores like miasma, had intensified. Sharpened. He was growing stronger by the minute in this place. Yet – as a sound echoed and reverberated off of the walls, the Namekians senses would cause him to wince as his focus was shattered and soon his aura dissipated into nothingness. He had come out to this place, specifically, to steer clear of interruptions and eyes – having always found this place devoid of the mutants or other Mazoku; this holy temple, this beacon of shadow on a planet of light.

“…Who in the Blazes…?” Muttered Cello, already focusing his senses outward like a radar, feeling the ambient pings of energy throughout the area. His master had taught him this before all other things, his lessons on ensuring you did not get snuck up on, like he had tried to on the old man when he was but a hatchling, had lasted in his mind. Beyond the normal ambience of the area, he was picking up a very distinct, and recognizable power.

Him? Again? He does not take the hint very well does he…?

It seemed a familiar presence once again made itself local to him. One that he had encountered a few times prior – though to what end, they seemed to always be at ends, or at the very least – there seemed to be a misunderstanding between the two. Yet the opposite energy, the more alien of the two, was of more import. How the hell did an offworlder make their way to one of the most holy relics in their lands? The castle was barely even accessible to most of the Mazoku, let alone the visitors from the stars. With a heavy sight, he would uncross his legs and allow his battle skirt to cascade down to the floor – hiding his feet.

He would make his way through the corridors – oh so familiar after years of traversing. It was here that he was taught most of his lessons, only training on the Tower when it was deemed a necessity. Master Mandolin had enjoyed the privacy these walls had offered, yet even now what once was seemed to be threatened by what currently is. It was up to the Mazoku to ensure the safety of this holy place and so, when he came upon the two, hearing the other ask his string of questions, Cello positioned himself to ask his own.

“In regards to that…I have my own curiousities. What are Both of you doing within the Palace? Whats more…are you stalking me? Following me? Do we have Business? For every time I turn around, Dragon, there you are. Its beginning to seem more than coincidence.” He taunted the other, even teased him at how ironic it was they kept running into one another. It was a mocking tone if anything, but one that still demanded answers. It was clear, he wasn’t looking for a fight from his relaxed expression – but the ten foot tall Namekian simply looked imposing. It was a biproduct of his stature.

Sesame frowned as Shakuhachi who once didn't believe that and two also told him maybe he should not be so keen to tell people he was a demon assassin. He found that quite annoying. This guy seemed to not believe what he was saying. Why would Sesame lie about this? It was lucky that he was trying to figure out where he was or maybe he'd of attacked Shakuhachi. Instead, he just crossed his arms in annoyance. As for the other Namekian, Shakuhachi seemed to want to get that Namekian with him for some project. Something about helping the Mazoku clan. Where these some sort of demons as well? Mazokus he had heard of some demons choose to call themselves Mazoku. He never understood it. These two didn't look like demons either. Regardless, they seemed to think of themselves as a demon and that explained the castle. They must have been influenced by demons that once came to this place. That what he was going to assume on the matter.

Cello then spoke talking about something about clan politics. So the Mazoku were not the only clan on this planet. With this castle though, he imaged they were one of the stronger factions. If not then this planet must have been quite a powerful one. Considering how these two didn't fear him, he assumed it was possible that both combinations could be true. Cello introduced himself and it seemed he was welcome in this land and welcome on the planet called Namek. Sesame could not say he ever heard of the planet Namek. He gave the Namekian a nod before drawing the rock agian. He wrote upon the wall scrapping a weak couple of sentences. Still, he was getting quite tired of this. He usually didn't need to talk that much. He just killed people or walked alone listening to the tunes the world provided. "Tell me about Namek?" Was he all wrote for the two Namekians.

Cello watched as the creature picked up the stone again and began to carve into the stone of the wall once more. This was getting a bit out of hand, so he’d hold his hand out before him and concentrate. As he focused his magic on manifesting a new object out of nothing, he would respond to the Namekians commentary;

“…I trust my kind just fine. Being polite is not a sign of weakness or trust – simply a common courtesy to offer at first. Besides – If he’s right, he’s a Demon. What do you think our clan struggles our whole life to even ascertain the existence of let alone see evidence before us?”

He could’ve made a sly comment about trust – about earning it through action and how the Namekians of the Blessed land had earned his distrust in many ways, from his treatment as a child just hungry for nourishment and attention to the more recent occurrences and conversational treatment sent his way. Nevertheless he focused on the task at hand and suddenly before the creature a pad of paper and a writing instrument appeared. With a nod he’d indicate to the parchment;

“There – that way you can stop carving words into the walls…The paper shouldn’t run out but if you need another I can probably do so….now; Shakuhachi is correct. This is a planet located in the solar system, no where nearest to any representation therein of the Demon plane…so I’m confused how you got here myself...a portal, as you wrote, must’ve taken great magic to conjure. How curious…”

He wondered how a tear in the fabric of reality could’ve occurred so easily and with it a denizen be dropped off. For the Magic wielding Mazoku, it was something of a testament if one could even perceive demons through the use of foul energy, the same that crafted the mutations that permeated the Plait. So to see someone claim to be a demon in the flesh? Well…

Returning his attention to what the Dragon had said, he contemplated for a moment before inquiring further to that line.

“-Whatever your desire is to speak on, as I said, I am willing to hear you out on this so called Initiative, as well as entertain the notion of our mutual guest here. Even still, I guess my curiosity is simple to what an Assassin and a Healer would need from the Mazoku Clan. An Assassin makes sense – we’ve seen all natures of brigands from this world and off in these areas, its not uncommon one might show for work. Many of my kind leave this world for better pastures off, hoping for better lives. Yet I am most curiously interested in your demon heritage…where exactly do you hail from, Seasame?”

There was much to be discussed – but it all came down to who wanted to start. Cello was simply here, meditating as he had been known to do. This was his homeland, where he’d grown – to him this place was sacred, so he would stand in the stead of a guardian to ensure the structures safety, scrathes not withstanding.