[h2]Ezekiel[/h2]It had only been three days, but the three days had proven themselves an adventure, to say the least. His mask was gone by the end of the first day, stolen by a curious child. He didn't mind enough to get it back. The dragon was perfectly content with the skull. Ezekiel even had a few of the young dragons convinced he was a ghost. Not that he went out of his way to do so, he simply went along with their initial thoughts. Albinism was a bitch to deal with, but sometimes it served him well. aside from the occasional mischievous dragon trying to take his eye patch, he didn't run into many problems. He respected the dragons against his presence, the looks they gave and the outright warnings, staying as far away from them as he could get; otherwise, he had been quite social. Still showing the utmost devotion to his god, but he wasn't about to pass up the chance to ask questions of dragons who would ask him just as many questions about himself and his own culture. He spent most of this time with the children and the teens, preferring the younger generations and their natural curiosity.

The aging ceremonies themselves were incredible to behold. Even the younger dragons had more magic than Ezekiel had seen any human use, the hunters and their blasphemous equipment included. When it came to watching, he kept his questions to his god a minimum - He didn't need much information to devise the rest for himself. The historical and cultural value of the ceremonies was beyond him, but he understood the basics. The scraps of cryptic information a dragon enjoyed giving him ("One range, total freedom" and "A decade, reborn", to name a few) were finally falling into place as he observed proceedings. 

In the short time he had been with the tribe, Ezekiel had also learned about his own god. Draken was often one to be cryptic, and he respected the god's right to want to remain largely neutral in human affairs. Did that neutrality break when it came to him? Sometimes, when things got out of hand, but in the end Ezekiel was still largely responsible for his own actions, mostly only receiving abstract advice or the occasional warning. There were some odd rumors about the elder. Did he really kill his own father? While a strange thing to say, he wouldn't put it past his god to kill anyone who got in his way. An event he was connected to was brought up a few times when discussing the grandfather, to which the priest would only laugh. After all, was it really his place to tell everything? He felt it better to keep some things at rumors.

"Makes sense. So being a grand-grandfather can be considered more of a hassle than its worth?" He asked Draken, leaning to his god. Ezekiel was always cold, as his multiple layers of clothes proved. As he idly looked around he made it a point to avoid eye contact with the dragons he knew were against his being there. He didn't need to start anything that could be loosely called a fight. Of course, any dragon here could kill him, so maybe calling it a fight wasn't fair. There would be problems for everyone in that situation, but it still wasn't worth challenging the dragons. 

[h2]Milhoro[/h2]
Everyone was in such a hurry to leave. It's not like Milhoro couldn't understand why. Being trapped for so long could make one stir crazy. He even found himself losing his patience, near the end. The hunters threw a lot of bullshit at him, and it got old, fast. But that was all over now.

He thought about his village, and what had become of the social order he had painstakingly perfected over the years. It all probably went to hell. The thought of it was frustrating, but he was sure nothing happened that he couldn't fix, that he couldn't restore to a proper order. If it took another century-long lesson of teaching the masses why questioning him was a bad idea, then so be it.

There were screams coming in all directions, abominations running to the outside in any direction possible as he calmly glided out of his cell. It was a symphony, fit to perform to the Great Ones themselves. Milhoro had always held faith in his fellow demon, today reminded him why that was so. 

Most of the complex had fallen, and the parts that were still standing weren't long to stay that way. However the demon fought against his brothers and his sisters to explore what parts he could get to. The hunters had valuable information, and he wasn't going to leave before at least attempting to see what he could. The effort proved largely futile, except for the few scraps of data on other demons. They were left rather carelessly; the man in charge must have been in a hurry to get out. Figures, that humans would be so cowardly. They had names on the ones that they could manage to get the names from. Besides that, there wasn't much. It would be too easy if he could find valuable information on what would surely become his aggressors soon enough? 

Accepting the lack of useful info and cutting his losses there, Milhoro headed out of the underground. 

Bright. God, was it bright. Had the Earth always been like this? Fifteen years never felt like much to him, but apparently his body felt otherwise. Once he had adjusted to his surroundings, he noticed a few stray demons still climbing out of the ruins, confused, one could almost say scared. They were feral, of a lower class. Poor things. But Milhoro had bigger things to concern himself over than the ones who had lost their minds, and whether they had the unfortunate circumstance to be born like that, or if the hunters had driven them to it. The fire and ruins he stood in would hold significance to him - A cleansing, a new point to be rid of the vile injustice the humans had done unto him. 

Soon the screams from his companions and the screams of rage and hatred separated themselves. He headed towards the latter, figuring he would observe more there. It looked to be a very pretty, orate marketplace. At least, at one point it was probably that. The market square was shaping up to become like the prison in which they had just escaped. Milhoro made sure to stay clear of the demons' strife. So violent, right off the bat. Figures. In his opinion, he thought it better to save his anger and his energy on the humans that deserved it, fighting the brothers of the empire would get them nowhere. "An vitroc." (How trivial.) He couldn't say he wasn't impressed with them, though he was sure they could certainly be doing better.