shawnreed343

Will do! The next is already in the works, and I'll account for the time delay~ I've been gone to friends for the weekend so no real time to put up any more. But I thank you for letting me know someone's enjoying them. As for the idea of drawings... Well, it's been quite some time sinse I've pulled out the ol' pencil and done any artwork, but given a bit of time and I might try doing so. Don't worry- the next entry is on the way.

Rock on. It's been a pleasure to make your aquaintance so far; seems like most of the cool people come from Pennsy, or Colorado, or Oregon. With a few of us being native Californians. ;D Though I'm in Iowa. Surprisingly large number of gamers around here, and a pretty hardcore minis crew. I'm rather more a CCG addict, but I've gotten caught up in Hordes and now Malifaux. Would have been into 40k long ago, except the Necrons I bought (a shitton, I tell you) got packed before I could finish and never got dug out again. :\ Oh well. Look forward to more of your writing and hearing a bit about how your Ortega crew works out (seeing as I'm thinking of going Ortega when I have enough for a second box).

I really like the 'Bleach' like themes. What can I say? That's what I'm reminded of~ hello 14th protection squad? XD

114 PF, Sept 9th I’ve had truly a most interesting development today. Upon arrival at my overnight stopover, I came upon a most curious individual from the Souix tribe who goes by the name of Stone Crow. Word is he’s just returned from Malifaux after failing a personal quest to find the legendary Thunderbird, a fabled creature said to be hawk-like and larger than a man, with a great thirty foot wingspan. Truly, I don’t know if such a creature exists or not, but after a friendly chat I managed to convince him to join me when I travel back across the breach as a somewhat impromptu guide. He was certainly reluctant at first, not much of a conversationalist, just staring at me stone-faced and grunting every now and then. But when I showed him a few of my soulstones his eyes lit up. Apparently I’ve been sent by the ancestors to help him find his totem. I certainly mind this very little- I learned later that Stone Crow is a most excellent knife fighter who brings everything he’s got to the table. Most literally, hah! Though you probably miss the humor of it- I’ll explain later. He desired a certain number of the stones for himself for the blessings of the spirits, and so I made a call to the hut they call a bank in these parts requesting a transfer from the Lords of London, where I know my sizeable deposit of stones is safe. Lordy, you’d have thought I was robbing the man, the way his eyes bugged. I take it they don’t have many special order payment requests out here. A certain amount of complications ensued, but after some words with the mayor and agreement on a 1 stone tax I worked out the details. The shipment isn’t likely to arrive before we’re done with our business however, so I explained to Stone Crow that he would be paid after I had helped him and he had helped me. He grunted, which I took as a good sign. Apparently word got around town that I was packing generosity and value. Can’t fault the leak seeing as it’s not an actual lie, but it did tend to lose sight of reality after a few trips around town behind my back. It was after the sun had set, likely no more than three hours ago, when I was finally kicking up my heels with a bit of Blackjack eying myself a couple of particularly pretty Saloon dancers when a few of the boys started accusing me of cheating. Stone-face was there over in the corner, whatever pole he had shoved up his rear in too deep to sit comfortably down for a game of cards. Dastardly. Them boys were so darn terrible I hadn’t even needed to. I’d been holding a Jack up my sleeve, sure, but hadn’t even needed to pull it out. Well, they got the first punch in firmly to my ego. I got the second one firmly to the liar’s face. Them boys might have been knit pretty close, as they all took offense to my self-defense. Ganged up on me and I’d have probably drawn out serious business if Stone Crow hadn’t gotten to it first. I hear a war-whoop and then two of them are tumbling over their chairs with Bowie knives stuck in them to the hilt. Third one decided to run out and Stone Crow about had him, too, except the lad caught a bit of luck and only got his hat nailed to the doorframe. I tended to forgive Stone-face when I found out the pole he had stuck up his butt involved rather huge Bowie knives. Doubt I’d sit comfy, either. Good lad, Stone-face. Helluva fighter, too. He showed me the other five knives he had around his person and about scalped the lads on the floor for the spirits before I reminded him the barber might not take keen to someone trying to edge out his job. Had to smooth things over with the bartender but it worked out alright with a few requests for some of his finest vintage and probing questions regarding the prettier of the two dancing girls I’d been eying earlier which turned out to be his niece. Could have been worse. I do have a thing for redheads and raven-hairs. I showed him the Guild documentation and explained that he should forward his request regarding compensation, considering I’m on Guild payroll at present. Well, the candle is burning low. Truth told, I’ve simply neglected attempting to sleep just yet in anticipation of tomorrow. It’s approximately a thirteen mile hike to the nearest crossing and apparently fifty back East and Southward to find a crossing into California. Stone Crow informs me that prides of Hoarcats are uncommonly thick this year, and I’ve taken the hint by requisitioning a typically unheard-of number of Colt .45 bullets I’ll pick up tomorrow before being off. Also bought some fine oil for my blade and a few hours with a certain redhead. Invigorated as I am, if I don’t put the pen down tomorrow may end up more like work than I desire, so I shall retire for what remains of the night. And I say adieu. For tomorrow the real fun begins.

To indulge, it may be. The Gunslinger, Roland, is the main character central to the story~ though I'm aware there's also a comic book line based on the world, which is not the same. Much like The Old Republic line of Star Wars comic has no similarity to the games. In any case- the Dark Tower series is loosely based on the poem, that begins 'Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came...' If you're familiar with any of Steven Kings other works, you'll find that they connect eerily through this other world, my favorite example being the appearance of Flagg who also appeared in both 'The Stand' and 'Eyes of the Dragon'. (two of King's other best works, imo) I suppose to explain as best I can, imagine a fantasy world transposing eerily with our own. And losing itself. Dying. Like the transition is a sort of worsening post-apocalypse where time and distance have gotten weird. Letsee, there's a suicidal train that reminds me of a male counterpart to GLADOS from Portal, individuals from different times in our world, mutants, monsters, the city of Ludd which might as well be a place from 40K that the Empire forgot. XD It's a great mishmashed setting that just really works great together.

Couldn't bring my own crew because I don't have one yet. XD I was told about the demo and given the URL for this website, and like a smart lil' fanboy I decided I wanted to read up and decide what I wanted to start with before selecting my first box. I really like the Witchhunters, especially considering I see already I'll go up against Pandora and Rasputina part of the time. I also really like Rasputina and if I get more any time soon it's either 'Tina or the Ortegas. Inspirational thoughts!! You know, maybe that would be worth the thought- having a 'create a Master/minion' contest of some sort. It would definately spark one heck of a group creative spurt. And I like the idea of best case scenario, though I'm quite happy with worst.

I've played a demo game so far, using Rasputina against Pandora. It was entertaining- my opponent was using Teddy instead of Woes. I'd been mostly unsuccessfully trying to nuke my opponent through the golem most of the game and managed to take out Candy and Kade late game, but not before losing the gamins. So then my opponent takes down the golem and all I have left is Rasputina. Then that turn, I get a severe hit with my AOE and off Pandora and his Poltergeist and damaging Teddy. Pop off my 0 spell successfully on both initial and free recast bringing him down to 1, then unsuccessfully try to nuke him for the win. He activates, comes up and flurries, I spend some soulstones to negate chunks of damage. Last turn, he wins initiative and it's game. I probably would have had it, otherwise. Anyway- I like the idea about injecting your own original ideas. Like, I know with Warmachine/Hordes they've had 'fan made caster' tournies~ I figured hey, maybe I could off-the-cuff my own Master for Malifaux. And tell an actual story (in steps) rather than a small little section. I'm one of those people who does not believe that an action sequence a good story makes. On the other hand, a story without action can be lackluster sometimes. So I hope y'all might join me with my Journal of Farrahn Moriaden.

Yes, The Dark Tower series is very nifty- and really very Malifaux like, as I think about it. I've read up through Wolves of the Calla so far; it is a great series.

114 PF, Sept 9th Hello once again, compatriot. Unfortunately my prior volume has been lost, nearly two years of records either whole or in part somewhere in the ocean depths several hundred miles off the coast of New York. My passage from London did not, as you may imagine, fare well as an unseasonal storm brewed and capsized our vessel. A small number of us were later picked up by the U.S.Santiago- though I shall skip many of the unimportant details I may wish to recount later should the mood strike me. Though Earthside I nevertheless suspect certain circumstances taking place off the harbor while in London may have brought attention from some undisclosed party operating out of Malifaux. …Considering I had the good sense to seize such an opportunity as a lightly guarded schooner with a sizeable stash of soulstones aboard. Someone had been overconfident in the secrecy of their schemes and opportunist I am, well, profit. And a personal profit, quite. I’ve still the crushed velvet bag containing eight of the precious dears tucked under my duster close to my heart. I worry about my morals, upon occasion. For the uninformed, soulstones are aptly named. Call me pessimistic or optimistic or fatalistic, facts are what they are. A human dies earthside, and in Malifaux a soulstone is created. Some believe it’s the person’s actual soul, others say it’s the power of the individual’s last breath, others that it’s the unrealized potential- whether mundane or magical, that the person possessed and never realized. I took a request several years back for a good Doctor in the Western US conducting a study on the composition of the strange little stones. Privvy to a few secrets, I am. And let them remain so, even here, lest I inadvertently spark a world war with innocuous carelessness. Let us suffice to say I have the capacity to use these little beauties in Malifaux. Ah, and that’s one secret I don’t mind, seeming harmless enough. MOST of their unique properties can only be unlocked on the other side of the breach. It’s been a fine, fine life sinse then. Well, if you’re half as crazy as me loving the adventure of it. On consideration most folks Earthside wouldn’t consider the gamble of their life for fame and fortune and possible infamy so much a matter of ‘fun’. Ah, to note- I write currently in transit on the Waubash line Westward, again out through the Western US, and we are near ready to cross into the northernmost Spanish territory. Hah, perhaps I am taken of myself, but I nevertheless believe that someday these records I keep shall find a very special place perhaps even in the National Library in Washington. While I remember, I should reintroduce myself, as I momentarily slipped in not introducing myself straightaway, this being afterall, a new volume. Now, I am no man of science, but a man of letters and civil grace you may consider me. Farrahn Moriaden, at your service. I have taken under my employ men, women, creatures, and demons of all backgrounds. Seeing as we are all created equally in some respect; with our dependence on the soulstream. Ah, er-herm. Let us forget any mention of such a thing. I’ve found most individuals to be quite reasonable if idle to authority and my place then to grant such inspiration as often comes from great men and leaders. Though a number of factions eye me with reasonable suspicion. Call me an outcast if you wish, I bear no true ill-will towards those against me as, after all, we all go to ground someday. But, will upon will, I accomplish that which I currently pursue. Enemies have at times become friends, other times friends have turned traitor. So? It is the nature of life, change and it’s fickle fate. Personally, I wouldn’t tempt my luck so often were it not so insidiously, addictively fun. But, I digress. May history remember me. I am Farrahn Moriaden, Master and commander. Buccaneer and swashbuckler. Were I to describe myself, first it would be that you might notice my telltale hat. Wide-brimmed and brown, one side upturned. I cannot even recall whence I came upon it, though sometime later I added the feather of a red pheasant for prominence; it simply seemed quite fitting. My hair is a most gallant blonde tussle approximately shoulder length and prone to blowing in the wind. I’ve my knee-length brown duster that I picked up in France, old South Republic jeans likely several generations old, fine leather boots and gloves of significant comfort, and my trusty rapier and one of the newest Colt revolver models currently in existence at my hip. I’ve fine contacts, you see. I suppose I’ve a fine look to me, thin but perhaps dashing, with a ready smile and a somewhat animated, charming way. But I’ve tricks, you see? As I’ve mentioned, but perhaps needs clarification, I’ve unlocked certain secrets achievable with soulstones. There is arcane knowledge behind these eyes, in fact, shock you though it may. Ahem, I came upon it. Not exactly quite deliberately on accident. So you may wonder at my current adventure? Fine, I say. I shall divulge your curious mind. I am making my way to San Diego, as during my stay out east I was contacted by representatives of the Guild requesting a joint operation with a posse known as the Ortega family. I am presuming we shall meet earthside and perform our operation breachside, but in truth I am without serious details as the Guild neglected to grant a compatriot of enough understanding to answer my properly-placed questions. However, I shall spend part of the length journeying breachside, in Malifaux, considering the railway has not been finished oh-so-far just yet. I hear they’ve brought crews from China over to tunnel the mountains, which I shall believe when I see it. I’ve always been much more partial the Irish, claiming some of the fine heritage myself and considering the virtues of a proper rogue, and familiarly outcast, people. Why Malifaux, when travel can be so dangerous breachside? Well, simply put, travel on the other side is faster. Perhaps best I can explain- you have a turntable upon which you set properly pitted wax and lo, music is heard? Yet you need to go round and round through the song to get from the beginning to the end. Imagine traveling through Malifaux as being like your finger bumping that needle across the wax. Suddenly you’re near the end of the song. It’s no more precise a science, either. You can guess your whereabouts, but it’s rather more blurry over there when it comes to borders, seeing as everything has the feel of an amorphous mass. Granted you’ve a clean recognition of certain areas if you’ve been there before. But directions… ah, it’s tricky. Let’s just say tricky. I’ve not the ink left for such explanation. Indeed, my bottle runs low. I expect to make the crossing tomorrow near the Rockies. I expect I shall come out somewhere near the Dragonspine, though if it’s to be an early winter this year I may end up in the Hoarfrost region. Which would be bothersome, as I would need to backtrack in Malifaux, lest I breach hop and end up in Russia. Tonight, however, I’m keen to catch a few shots of fine Tenessee whiskey and ogle a pretty lass or two. Enjoy the finer things earthside while earthside, and the excitement and danger breachside, while breachside. Ah, Malifaux, you shall wait another day, shan’t you?

Well, Malifaux is inspiring to me. I've actually never written fanfiction or for a pre-prepared world before deciding to do something for Malifaux just the other day. But writing for something already established is a unique challenge. It's perhaps not so bad when not a lot has yet been established in cannon, but wondering what liberties are allowable (and won't piss off fans) is certainly a question in a writer's mind when tackling something with a fanbase. Thing is, I'm actually interested in tackling this challenge. I'm almost completely new to the game, but already find myself involved and invested. Still- I feel that I'd like to probe a bit before continuing: what do the fans think? Should I pursue a viewpoint involving original characters in the Malifaux setting with occasional known characters popping in, or should I stick with what's established regarding characters and liberties?

Considering my taste in books is primarily sci-fi/fantasy, I'd like to give some thoughts and opinions for books and authors if anyone is interested. Like many, I've read Robert Jordan's 'Wheel of Time'. It is enjoyable, but I would not call it my favorite. And unfortunately I think Terry Goodkind smacks a bit too much of Jordan influences. Great things about them- they're expansive, they have a wide scope and vision, and they give you those moments that are like 'I KNEW it would happen!' and it's a joy when things go the way you think. But it feels like you get lost along the way and the urgency seems to go out of it as the series keeps going. George R.R. Martin is another author I quite like- his Fire and Ice series is gritty, and I especially enjoyed the first couple books. I felt let down with 'A Feast For Crows', though- in part because it seemed he focused on most of the characters I had little interest in while setting aside many I do enjoy; and I still fail to find any connective cohesiveness between the divergent viewpoints other than a loose nationwide level. He's not afraid of being brutal to main characters, though- something I actually like in my way. It almost feels like a reality TV series where you hope your favorite main character won't be offed. Honestly, I'd have to say my favorite two authors are Brent Weeks (The Night Angels Trilogy) which is written very masterfully and simply gets better the further along you get. And Glen Cook (Chronicles of the Black Company, and other Black Company books)- who writes in an almost journalesque fashion giving a truly refreshing style to the fantasy genre. His stories make what would be the epic-level villains still human, simply posessed of power. Not always do they have the capacity to use such power smartly- while other times they display suprising cunning. I think that us vs them rather than good vs evil viewpoint is something I admire deeply simply in being difficult to come by in traditional fantasy. Other great reads include Frank Herbert's 'Dune', Mercedes Lackey's 'Griffon' trilogy (part of a larger series, though I enjoyed the rest much less), and 'Rider at the Gates' (a 2-part story). Many of the earlier books in Anne McCaffrey's 'Pern' series (some of the latter get a bit weird), Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman's collaboration on 'The Deathgate Cycle', as an enjoyable traditional high fantasy romp, and Terry Brooks with his Shannara books (some are better than others and they seem quite familiar after a while, but still enjoyable). Likewise an author I can't remember the name of who wrote the 'Redwall' books. Also very familiar after a while but enjoyable- my favorite among them probably 'Salamandastron'. Hope I may have helped.

Just for ideas on large buildings I bet are contained in Malifaux: A Hospital, An Iron Mine/Smelting Factory, A Train Station, The Star Theatre, A clocktower of some type, A pub/inn, A graveyard, I would imagine a Cathedral (though perhaps nightmarish and Neverborn controlled if not Guild), and some creepy old haunted-house like mansion on a hill (doubtless).

Hey y'all. Added the location I just got started at and some of the people there I know that play.

(authors note: Story contains mature content, including mature language and themes. Reader discretion is advised. Also note, liberties have been taken with certain characters that may or may not reflect cannon. I hope however that you are entertained with my portrayals.) The smoke drifted up in lazy little rings, eventually disappearing into the haze above the fogged-over streetlamp. Old force of habit that came mainly from being lost in thought. She blew the rest of the smoke out in a huff, crushing the cigarette against the streetlamp. It didn’t even taste right. Not tonight. Her eyes fell back the weak line of illumination disappearing around the corner of the foggy street. #&(% Samael. Her brows drew together in an angry crease, and she pushed off the streetlight with a snarl. It was across the street and into the pub that had been cleared out by the Guild earlier that day. The light through the windows from the streetlamps outside could have passed for moonlight, stretching shadows of tables and chairs across the floor in strange, eerie patterns. None of which caught Sonnia’s eye. She went straight to the washroom, pushing through the swinging door with a surprising amount of silence for the amount of force used shoving the door, as it caught on it’s hinges and lightly creaked back, then back again several times before coming to rest. There was only enough light to see because she had become used to the dark. “You indiscriminate soulless STUPID bitch!” she screamed, the only witness the age-smudged mirror in front of her. “Why not let the rift just rip you a new asshole? Did you even think beyond the capacity of a lilly-brained schoolgirl? #&(%! That assaholic! Ego-maso-#&(%in-cistic! Man! No, wait. No, #&(% YOU! You’re the dumbass might-as-well-be whore who can’t let well enough alone!” she screamed at the mirror, her face distorted in passion and rage and bitterness, making angry pointing motions seemingly at random. The one thing no one could see. Must never see. She leaned in closer to the mirror and her own tortured reflection. And wiped her eyes clean from the mist of not-quite tears. The anger broke, and she heaved a broken sigh, letting her knees give, easing herself against the sink, sliding to the floor. Banging her head lightly against the cabinets several times. It was supposed to be distant past. Before her great change. Things like… trusting, or …admiring… those don’t belong any more. Wanting. She buried her forehead in a gloved hand, rubbing along one brow. “I’m …losing it.” There had been a time, long ago, she had been called Livian. Another when she had been Samantha, a passing memoir of the younger sister she once had. Samantha had hated her name. Had gone by the name Sam J. Sonnia now had her real name back, but she hated it just as much as Samantha had hated hers. And their last name… The corner of her mouth curled up in a leer without her even realizing it. It was easier in those days, in some ways. Those days between. Between the catalyst and the Creed. Her head tilted back, and she stared past the ceiling, off somewhere into the past. Once she had stayed with a gambler. In those years when she had tried to lose her identity, had handed out lies as often as she smoked cigarettes, had leeched from the souls of both good men and those stained… or perhaps they had been stained by her presence. Whether they turned sour before or after she ran from them didn’t matter. Everywhere, inescapably, was her own failure. Both to save the innocent bits of the world she loved that, bitterly, always would lose their innocence at some point, and to ultimately fulfill the vow she had made. Her Criid. “I will scour the stains from the soul of this earth. I will live until all is as clean as at birth.” She spoke into the darkness, softly, passionately. The moment stretched on, until her sword settled, slipping slightly upon her back. Sonnia frowned. For years she had been trying to exorcize the world of the monsters that ripped at reality. Cheating fate. Destroying her fate. She had been happy as a girl. Well, happy enough. Even if she had been corrupted by lesser evils all too young. But it would have been a life. A worthwhile life. Hell, maybe she would have grown up to have married a man by now, have a family… She turned her head to the side suddenly, violently. Stupid thought born in ignorance. Who could say it wouldn’t be much the same? Maybe worse. She was the one touched by the demon, wasn’t she? And something caught the corner of her eye. A pair of small, bare feet under the swinging door in front of her. “Yes, you are the one Sonnia.” It said from the other room, the voice of a little boy. “And you know why we come, don’t you? That little spark of hope you have, that soft spot for children. That love for men who deserve nothing and deserve far better than you. Until these die completely, we will come to you like a moth to a flame. It is anathema. It is beautiful. It burns and hurts and you wield this, so we wield you.” “You lie like a clockwork whore, D.” she said softly, with a strange hint of compassion edging her tone. And sighed deeply. The demon out there, that Neverborn, had taken the likeness of her little brother David. She couldn’t be certain if it had been the demon itself that had possessed her brother, or her brother who had created the demon… blood dripping from his hands, eyes closed, calling out as she hid under her bed in desperately frightened tones about the monster in his closet. So long ago, and none of them had believed. Chompy Bits, he had called it. He had walked down the stairs… and fallen. She had escaped onto the roof, run to the authorities. But he hadn’t been there when they returned. Apparently, instead, he had chosen to haunt her. But only when she was alone. Only when there could be no witnesses. The medallion around her neck always grew uncomfortably hot, but never actually removed the presence of this particular perversion. “You know you haven’t come just to bruise my ego, D. Not a hell of a lot you can do about that. So what’s the news this time?” “He comes. But not alone.” Her eyes widened. “You’re sure? How is it you always know what’s on my mind, anyway?” “I want your dreams more than any other. Until you let them go, they are not yet mine.” “So why don’t you crush my hope and lie to me?” “They draw me because all the little dreams you discard so readily make me see how delicious those you hold on to will be when you eventually give them to me. Why take them before they are ripe and rotten?” “I #&(%ing hate myself, you know that?” Sonnia said, figuring her own personal demon as good an audience as any. “I get my head messed up about a man after I foreswore men, love, my old life, my old way. I’m supposed to burn you to ash. It’s what I’ve sworn. It’s my Criid. But it’s me, D. I’d have to give you up. And somehow you have me thinking I’d screw myself over if I forsook one of the few things left that defines my humanity. Sometimes I think it’s the humanity that needs to get burned out of us all. Sometimes. But then I remember. People like Sam and you and dad. Or who you used to be, anyway. And I think of other people. Hell, I do sometimes think of Sammael. Even if I’m the worst hypocrite on Malifaux, I’d die before giving up on them. Potential, I suppose you could say. And I hate it. I hate the people who abuse it. People and #&(%ing… people that shouldn’t be called people, twisting and perverting… making the lie real. Doing the same damn thing I did back before I understood the things I needed to learn. Idiot girl that I was. Why the #&(% didn’t you just let me die, D? Why couldn’t you have just let me #&(%ing die?” “I love you. You keep the monsters away.” Sonnia’s brow furrowed. She didn’t understand. “Like hell. You are a monster, you little shit.” Just then, the medallion on her chest pressed into her bosom with a painful weight and there was a silent sort of thump from the other room. “YES, AND SO ARE YOU.” Spoke a voice pulled straight from your worst nightmares, a huge silhouette rising even above the top of the swinging door. Before it was gone after she blinked. “#&(%.” She swore, rising to her feet. Pushing through the pub in a rush back to the street, the mist had thinned and the light from the streetlamps seemed much brighter than before. She had just enough time to pull out a cigarette and light it when she saw the silhouette in the mist coming toward her from the end of the road. “You BASTARD!” she yelled at the approaching silhouette. “Next time, you say when you want to meet you’d by all the rifts better be FIFTY MINUTES EARLY!” “Sorry Sonnia. She got away. I only managed to off another of her golems, and had to catch the next train. If it’s any consolation, I learned they make great icecubes for margaritas.” A witchling trailed out of the mist behind him, eerie shriveled little thing that it was. “So why do I put up with you? Give me some sign way above Guild level or so help me, Sammael…” “Whoa, speaking of Guild level authority, boss, I’ve got a request. Seems like there’s a new Neverborn around they’re calling Dreamer. Got the tags, time to bag.” Sonnia rubbed her temple. Sammael actually took a few steps backward. “Sonnia,” croaked the witchling, “I feel something near here, like you…” “You are in violation of your privelages!” Sonnia snapped acidly at the witchling, flicking her hand at it and snapping her fingers. The witchling burst into a ball of eerie pale flame and was gone. “I don’t like to repeat myself. To you, I am Master. I #&(%ing hate my name.” she said, tossing her cigarette aside not even half finished. “Come, Sammael. We have a lot of work to do.”