It'd been several years since Reginald had gone into the Helscape. Several years of peace, quiet, and simplicity. Missions into that God-Forsaken place were probably half the reason for his gray hair. No one expected to come out of that place alive.

And yet, here he was: Longbeard the old man, sliding through the desert like a bird through the air. Why use a horse when he could just launch himself forward and slide? He was probably moving at least as fast as any rider, and he didn't have to worry about taking care of an animal.

Not that he didn't have a horse: no self respecting Mage would be caught dead without one. Jonathan was his name. The stallion was a newer one, because to the surprise of many, Reginald had outlived his old horse. Poor Malkovich. Jonny-Boy was a little bit more nervous than his last horse, so Reggie had decided to leave the beast behind at one of the Mage stables. Easier to move on two feet, anyhow.

Normally, he'd have to keep recasting the spell, but since he wasn't doing anything except moving forward, it was kind of an automatic reaction to keep the spell going.

So he skated along, muttering, "Gettin' too old for this nonsense." It was not the first time he'd said it, and it wouldn't be the last. Really, though, what was he supposed to say? Any time the Mage Order caught wind of a trip to the demon domain, someone put him on the job, just because he was one of the few mages to continuously return alive from the damned place.

Jefferson always came back, too. Damn Jefferson. Longbeard pulled his trusty  revolver from it's holster and blasted the earth a few times as he slid by. Behind him, a pair of stalagmites erupted out of the ground, then disappeared just as abruptly. Damn kid thought he was hot shit, always blowing up everything within a half-mile. Some day firepower wouldn't be enough.

A shout of alarm surprised him from his front. Apparently he'd reached the city without even realizing it, and a young woman hanging her laundry out to dry had heard the shots and yelped in surprise.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat as he slid by. "Just thinkin' out loud." She gaped at him as he practically floated along, and Reginald realized that it might be best to walk from here. Normal folks didn't take too kindly to his particular method of movement.

It only took him a few moments to locate the meeting spot. Not a ton of places called 'The Devil's Claw' were around the town of Devon. "Gotta be the place," he figured, and pushed inside. Right away he knew he was spot on.

Arryn Flynt stood in the center of the room, alongside The Job and another youthful looking guy. Flynt was the important one: they had worked together once before, and Reggie had a good bit of respect for the man.

He sidled up to the small group of men, nodding in recognition to Flynt, then turning to The Job and holding out a hand. "I'm told you're called Essex. Reginald Dubois, pleased to meet you. Most folks call me Longbeard now'days." He smiled slightly and retreated to the bar, where he ordered the strongest drink in the house.

Sparkling water it was.