Once more, he sits outside the gates of the Sanctuary.

But this time is a little...different.

More often than not, he eschews armor - after all, when you can heal nearly any wound in a moment, why do you need armor? - but for this point in time, he can see a need for it. After all, he may be immortal, but he's not invincible. One is not as good as the other.

And besides, he may be able to shrug off wounds, but that doesn't mean they don't hurt.

And so today, just peeking out from under the veil of his hooded cloak, there can be seen the dully shining scales of black armor, in place of clothing. It extends from his feet all the way up to his neck, and down his arms. The hands are covered in what looks like flexible metal gauntlets, the ends of the fingers, rather than the usual rounded points of human fingers, now terminating in the razor-sharp tips of claws.

He stands and, interestingly, the armor moves with him - still retaining the dull sheen of metal, but moving with his form as if it weren't armor after all, but instead a second, nearly impenetrable layer of skin.

He hasn't manifested his traditional battle armor in ages, it seems, not since the time of Avalon and the Guardians. He's had no need for it - after all, he hasn't been at war in all that time.

Now, though, it seems appropriate to have it on. This is, after all, a war of sorts, even if they can't yet see their enemy.

He walks over to the gate and leans against it, feeling the anti-demon wards mere fractions of an inch away from him. After waiting for an interminable period, the time has come at last for action.

Now he's just waiting for someone to call him to it.

Dusk.. Such a wonderous time.. The events of the day coming to a close, as the sun sets and casts a wonderous glow all over the lands, if the conditions and weather cooperated, of course. A soft *bamf* gave way to a small portal, and from that portal appeared the 'teddy bearish' looking Black Mage from Vana'diel, known as Jes.

The smallish powerhouse was garbed for evening in a light weighted dark mail suit of armor, complete black hooded cloak, and a rather menacing scythe. Well in all truth it would look menacing if it werent in such a scale that it would look like a children's toy. Regardless, the Taru Mage glanced toward the heavens a moment and took a deep breath, as a yet another small portal opened, and from that erupted the Spirit Wolf, Fenrir. Also known as Jes' mount.

"I see you took your sweet time again."

"Well, I couldn't very well show up unprepared could I? Besides, that damned Howler Monk--"

"Yes, yes, yes that damned Monkey, Jeskola. One day you will find you cannot blame everything on that damnedable primate. In any event, our 'comrade' has already commenced his patrol, he ventured that way along the outer belt, I suggest we go the opposite way, as I am sure he will be just fine and we can get a better lay of the land so to speak."

The sun had already been set a bit, as Jeskola grinned and hopped up on Fenrir's back. A few soft pats to the wolf's head, as Jes chuckled once more and gripped the custom reins he had made for this venture.

"Now my old friend, you speak like the wise tactician you once were. What would Carbuncle say to see you working as my trusted steed? Hmmm? Alright, jokes aside, we have work to do. We best be off."

Turning the opposite way that Lupinius had gone, Fenrir tore into a fierce run along the outer belt, as Jes set himself to making a mental notation of various landmarks, businesses, and more so. Having already been given a detailed schedule and command roster that reflected the watch's activities for the week, Jes knew he and Fenrir basically would be able to roam freely and if they were approached they would be in no true trouble.

So along they went, with no true problems for their first night. Nearly half an hour later they emerged in turn, and decided to head east since, Lupinius had gone west

Some time later, northwest WestEnd, near the docks...

Slavers.

He hates slavers. All of them. With a passion that is as close to being demonic as he ever gets, excluding any outside influences on his nature.

That could be because he was himself once a slave, of sorts. Having served for nearly a century without choice - without knowing you had a choice - as an evil man's personal assassin, bodyguard, prison warden, and bounty hunter, he's had some experience being a slave, and decided he didn't like it much, even if he had had some freedoms. After all, no matter how comfortable it is, a prison is still a prison, right?

Or...maybe he just hates slavers.

He watches from a narrow, shadowed alleyway as a group of guards escorts several people - a group of women, men and children, all looking quite beaten down - out of a small warehouse towards the docks. The group of guards with them is decent - at least eight that he can see near the prisoners.

He knows that, in a situation like this, he should wait for someone to help. It would be more prudent to do so, no question. But on their way to the docks, by the time help arrived, it would be too late to do anything.

And he really, really hates slavers.

As the group begins passing the alley he's in, he leaps up diagonally at the wall, touching the wall with a foot and pushing up and away, hitting the opposite wall, pushing up and over again.

He reaches the corner of the roof and, without pausing, leaps out and over the group of slaves. In midair, there is a flare of violet light, and the guards look up just in time to see a huge, grey timber wolf falling out of the sky towards them.

The wolf lands heavily on one of the guards in the middle of the group, who looks up just in time to see a big blur of silvery-grey fur and a mouth full of big, white teeth descending upon him. He has no time to react - the last thing he sees before his head hits the asphalt beneath him and cracks his skull is a burst of amethyst light behind brilliant blue eyes.

The wolf doesn't pause, using the absorbed energy from the impact to rebound and leap at the nearest guard. The guards are fast - this one has his crossbow halfway up when the beast's jaws close on his throat and the weight of impact bowls him over like a tenpin. With a jerk of its head and a sickening crack, the guard's neck is broken, and he falls limp.

The guards have recovered well from their surprise - there is the snap-twang sound of crossbows firing as the wolf leaps again, this time over the heads of the prisoners and to the opposite side, at yet another guard. the wolf tucks its head and begins rolling forward, just before it is enveloped by a violet flash of light again, switching back to his human form. He rolls in midair, bringing himself feet-first to plant his feet in the chest of the guard he's flying towards. The guard is knocked off his feet and Lupinius lands heavily on top of his midsection. There are multiple snaps as ribs break.

Lupinius draws his sword from his left hip with his right hand as he hears a guard behind him cocking his crossbow, getting ready to reload, and pivots, flinging the sword with all of his considerable strength, added to the centrifugal force of the turn. The sleek sword flips end-over-end twice and rams into the head of the man hilt-first. There is a loud crack! as it connects, knocking the man backwards. Lupinius beckons with his fingers, and before the man hits the ground the sword disappears in a flickering of violet light, reappearing in his hand.

Again, there is the snap-twang of crossbows, and this time three of the remaining four guards find their marks - he is hit in the shoulder, the chest, and the middle of the back, just between the shoulderblades. The pain doesn't really register to him, though. What does register is a scream from the group of slaves in the middle of this.

The scream of pain. The scream of a child.

A while later...

He walks up to the gates of the Sanctuary, looking...somewhat stiff. He hadn't been able to reach the bolt effectively enough to pull it out. An inch in any direction and he might have been able to, but it's stuck in that precise place where any humanoid has trouble reaching on themselves. And after being left in there for such a length of time, it's begun t hurt a bit. Nothing he can't handle, but that doesn't necessarily mean he likes it.

He's surprised that the guards had been so well-prepared, though. The bolts had been made of metal, a lightweight metal at that, probably an alloy of some kind. Armor is great at blocking sword blows, all right, but not so great at something that is intended solely for piercing. He'd had an opportunity before he left to take a look at the crossbows, as well - the heavier kind, these had been shooting bolts with enough force to pierce even his nigh-impenetrable armor.

Which means they had been counting on facing opponents clad in armor.

There is no question in his mind about betrayal - he's reasonably certain that none at the war council had leaked anything. But then, with operations being stepped up in WestEnd, he wonders if perhaps the Sisters might have tried being a bit more...subtle in their patrols.

He walks over and sits heavily in front of the gate. Hopefully, someone will be along sooner or later...he doesn't really mind the pain so much, but until this bolt is removed, the wound won't heal, and he can't shift forms while it's in.

What with his hearing, he?d be able to pick up the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle a good couple of miles away. And what with her hearing, well, she was able to catch the sound of that mournful howl. She?d gone without a helmet again, because being an immortal, she was prone to dare-devil behavior, and so there was little to distort the painful cry. She felt all her muscles tense as she pressed her body in closer to the bike, picking up speed as she sped towards the noise. She did not like the fact that it was coming from the direction of the SHQ.

As she neared her turf, she began the process of decelerating. She spied the slumped over form of Wolfe, her nose twitching at smells she didn?t think she enjoyed, and in her haste to get to him, she swerved onto the grass, grinding and sputtering to a halt. She had just enough time to let the bike fall relatively easily to its side before she was scrambling up from the dirt and torn up lawn. Not the best dismount, but whatever.

She rushed to his side, sliding into a kneeling position as the short blonde curls fell in every which wind-blown way. She could feel her knees beneath her black pleather pants get cut up by the gravel, but those would heal in a few minutes. Wide emerald eyes flashed from his face, to his chest, then to the object in his hands.

?Christ, Big Bad. What the Hell happen?d? You aight?? She looked back up into his eyes at the last question, actual concern plainly written across her features. That was a rare look for the Harlequin.

She watched with mild interest as he inspected the weapon that had done the damage to him, reaching out at one point to collect some of the black substance from the shaft. She held it up for inspection, before turning both eyes and the black streak on her finger towards him.

"For the most part, huh? An' yeah..." She tracked the movement of his eyes over her shoulder to her motorcycle. "We're both fine. Ya know, though..."

She lowered herself to sit besides him, wiping the bit of bloodlike stuff onto the ground at her side. "I shoulda been around. We're s'posed to be partners now, right?"

She smirked as she leaned back, tweaking her hearing to focus on his breathing in order to make sure the healing was going alright, still. "I woulda tried takin' on the lot of 'em by myself, too."

?Patience. Pfft. An? I?d be kinda a hypocrite if I said somethin? ?bout you going off alone.? She gave something of a snort as she had a sidelong glance his way, tongue tapping against her lip-ring idly. ?An? I understand yer slaver distate. I think you were justified.? Though, considering her best friend Kris was a slaver, she couldn?t really say anything more.

?Aww, Big Bad. How did ya know? It?s juss what I want?d?? She teased him with the usual, carefree Joker?s smile as she took the weapon in her hands, weighing it in her palms. The too green eyes left their study of the bolt to follow him, forced to squint some as she peered up at him.

?Well, you might be right, but until we flush somethin? significant out, we gotta keep up our business, you know? Show these guys we?re not scared off. Maybe.?

The little heart on her cheek bobbed up and down as her smile waned for a moment, then returned.

?But, I?m glad ya had fun. Who says work can?t be a jolly good time??