Chapter VI - Asunder

Completed chapters of the serial storyline are stored here after completion.
Locked
User avatar
IamLEAM1983
Site Admin
 

Posts: 3707
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:54 am
Location: Quebec, Canada

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

The office proper wasn't quite oval and it also didn't have a centuries-old and lovingly-maintained desk standing in pride of place. This had probably been a second living room for an optionally partitioned second suite, but the Krieger's staff had supplied Jones with a still ornate-looking chunk of oiled Neoclassical wooden perfection - not quite the Resolute Desk, then.

Zebediah tried for an uneasy smile. "If this isn't the Resolute Desk, could it serve as its close cousin, I wonder? The Obstinate Secretary, the Pugnacious Pulpit?"

Jones laughed, but the sound felt more like an attempt at politeness than outright humor. "Maybe, maybe," he allowed, smiling reservedly. "Humor's good; I used to be the jittery type before public addresses, back when I worked and lived in Philadelphia."

Eliphas nodded. "Back when you headed Philadelphia's Greater Metropolitan School Board," he said. "Before your claim to fame.
- Yes," agreed the President. "It's... more than a while ago, now, but I used to like to open speeches with jokes, dig into all that useless trivia that ends up clogging your average dragon's head over time and find something to enliven the crowd. I wanted to do it when I first addressed this sanctum's workers to thank them for their generosity and, well..."

His smile looked contrite. "I couldn't make it work. I think you understood why, mister Whitney."

The Weaver nodded. "Sure do, sir. S'hard to crack a smile when you've got none left. Nobody held it against you, of that much I'm convinced. Only, now..."

Something passed between both men, leaving Dafyd to nod. "Now, we've got something to smile about. We play our cards right, we'll have enough joke material for years to come."

General Hodges walked in from behind the group and stood beside the dragon. He nodded at her.

She cleared her throat and looked at the others. "Simply put, we're Leonidas' Spartans, and out there is Thermopylae," she said. "We have the Fourth Airborne, guard posts each staffing two hundred men for every focal point along the city's outer circle. There's five points, so you do the math. Ten thousand men against the Goat's infinity. Luckily for us, we have our own version of infinity on our side, with Messenger's people constantly tossing millions of angels from a fixed Celestial tear in the sky, a few miles south of Houston."

She pointed her chin at one of the windows, where a brilliant pillar of gold-white light shone in the sky, like a fixed aurora borealis. The angels might've looked as small as mayflies from a distance, but each of them was carried atop blazing wings, all of them headed straight for them, on a direct path to another glow that could be seen in the opposite window, low and red against the darkening sky.

"Without Celestial Command," she said, "we'd be toast. As it stands, though, parts of Earth where resistance effectively formed are likely going to turn into physical relatives of Limbo, if nobody's done to break up the stalemate. We can't push against the Fiends, and adding mortal lives to the mêlée would force the Host to issue protection details. They can't afford to redistribute their attention and we can't afford to lose them. Walpurgis is on the front lines - the Goat has no plans for this place. Intelligence suggests he intends to raze the city, wipe it and any main Nexuses from the map. Paradoxically, other cities with large Nexuses are viewed as already conquered. We already know he intends to keep Hope for his own designs."

She flipped a convertible laptop into Tablet Stand mode and set it so the others could look. 

"The plan involves our using Walpurgis as bait. We've transacted with the local Fae and curried enough favors to call for a major cantrip, one that would effectively trans-locate the entire city half a plane away. Suddenly, all the Fiends would see would be open fields and riverbanks. They'd see it as our having surrendered and would immediately set to work in claiming this new space for themselves - as if the Texians and German nationals never had."

She shifted her slides around. "We open two Gates from there. One leads back to Hope: we send you all through it. The catch is we've set the Gate to lead you to the mayor's mansion - and to Allocer. Your end of the deal is simple: he has to understand that we're effectively holding Hell's commanders for Texas hostage. One word, and we can reset Walpurgis' place in reality. Seeing as two objects can't occupy the same space, and seeing as Pride won't be able to resist sending in the Goat and a few lead commanders to gloat - we'll literally crush them. He won't care about his footsoldiers, but he will care about his commanders."

Another slide. "While this is happening, we send everything we've got through to Hope, around Magnus Tower and Centennial Park. It'll be one Gate for two fronts, so it can't be any standard aperture - which is handy for our third group of allies. The local Summer and Winter Fae are allied with us, and they'll add their numbers to the group. Short-term, we hold our ground. As soon as the Weavers' package hits and Lightbringer returns, we attack."

Hodges closed the tablet. "Ancillary plans are being developed by the dragons exiled in Vienna. There was talk about storming Fae Gates and forcibly removing their demonic administrators, then organizing the largest trans-planar mobilization the world would've ever seen. All Gates pointed to Hope, all of the world's dragons raining fire and acid on the Pitspawn."

She pursed her lips together. "Then, there's the simplest and most dangerous element of the plan. The Conclave is to open a corporeal Gate here, in the sanctum, that would lead directly above the Goat's main barracks, just east of the Inverted Spire that Shield's last raid in Hell destroyed."

Another slide, showing blueprints for an MIT-developed hybrid tech device; a nanotech-hydrogen bomb. "We crack Riona's prison open with ordnance that makes Chernobyl look like a wet fart and cripple the Goat's means of production. A team of remote-piloted armatures descend through the rift and recover her."

Amy parted with a terse smile. "We anticipate that Wrath is going to want to put its trump cards down - either by cracking the Hole in Riona's absence or by supporting the Goat's sending-in of Azazel. In the case of Option One, we've been covertly opening small rifts above the Hole for weeks, dropping in corpses from our own Wrath grunts. We gave the Others a taste of demonic blood, and their thralls are going to be wholly focused on decimating those who tried to free them. With the Gentlemen and Lucian Rothchild, removing them from the battlefield is a definitive possibility. If Option Two is played, we play Option One unless some other contingency arises. If something else does come up that gives us an edge, we support it instead."

Archie looked thoughtful. "Allocer will request a deal; he's tasted power and now represents his own demonic constituents. I could see him stating the need to uphold democracy, to give the enclave's law-abiding demons a chance to decide their own fate."

Dafyd nodded. "He'll have his deal," he said. "Fair elections once a détente is declared. If his people feel like voting for him to lead Hope, they'll have the chance to do so. If the remainder of the populace decides to reinstate Wallace Doherty, he'll have fairly obtained a seat in the City Council's opposition.
- His Pride will show through," reminded Holden. "This might strike him as a pithy deal.
- Then you'll remind him that him holding a seat means he'll have benefited from a full pardon. If he doesn't appreciate that, you'll remind him that the alternative is spending the next several millennia trapped in a five-by-five ritual circle. Not in Chimera Row, but here, in Walpurgis - surrounded by people who have centuries of experience in withstanding the Damned's wiles."

Jones sniffed lightly, looking away for an instant as he contemplated things. "Democracy is its own gilded cage, Archibald. I'm a dragon. By power and might alone, I could overpower everyone in this room. I could end what we've all worked together to achieve over the centuries, shutter all hopes for further equality and progress by sating my hypothetically massive Ego. I could instate a monarchy, crown myself as America's eternal King... The fact is that I haven't, and that I've never so much as entertained that thought beyond rhetorical exercises like this one. Do you know why?
- I can think of a few things, as a pluricentennial man, myself," admitted Holden. "Lawful behavior is peaceful by default. Respect breeds peace. You, by and large, have more to gain in treating all of us as equals, in knowing that we named you for office and that once your term ends, we'll have raised our expectations towards your successor in accordance."

Dafyd nodded. "Allocer needs to understand that all of us empowered beings, from angels to the Fae, to demons or Void Weavers, have the privilege of meeting our mundane compatriots as equals. It's not a duty or an obligation, but it's a sacred right. I am what and who I am because I listened to my constituents, because I attended boring town halls with bad coffee and stale donuts, and because I displayed the one, true gift a long life gives us: maturity. More than two thirds of the world's population will never live past a hundred years; they're the ones who should be given stewardship of the world. They ebb and flow as Nature ebbs and flows. The world as we know it wouldn't survive immortals taking the reins for more than normal democratic terms allow."

Zebediah nodded. "Besides, the immortals have had their time in the limelight: they've founded civilizations, structured myth and legend, inspired belief systems..."

Hodges nodded. "I see where you're headed, mister Buck, but our being immortal doesn't render us forfeit from existing as citizens. If it did, the Vienna Accords would've never survived their first draft and wouldn't be General. What Allocer needs to understand is that it's natural for us immortals to live alongside mortals, by their rules and in accordance with their cycles. The Accords' Employment Act of 1981 states that I'm allowed fifteen years in a position like mine. This is my tenth. I'll retire in five years, gain the benefits I'm owed for ten more years and then will receive assistance to re-integrate the job sector elsewhere. Seeing as my bloodline comes with no overt drawbacks, I'll have my high-interest savings taxed to fund social programs for the mortals and mundanes."

Zeb seemed surprised. "Seeing as you date back to the Civil War, one could've assumed you would've turned to idle wealth, since then."

She shrugged. "There's no law against it, yes, but I can't see myself pulling an Alexander Ruthven. I believe in this country and in its people enough to willingly chip in, and the Vienna Council spent so long promoting concrete capital investments as a means of diversification and re-integration that I can't see myself not wanting to lead by example. That's what Allocer's peers need to understand, and what the Socratic types already knew. If one good thing came out of the incursions, it was our ability to chart who happened to fleece cash from Mammon to further Progressive causes. You know a few of them by name, I think: Melmoth, Naberius, Bob O'Malley..."

Helena leaned on the doorframe, having refused to sit down. "This is all well and good, but noble intent still does not speak to Pride. You have not spoken the sham mayor's language yet. You have not slaked his Pride."

Smirking, Hodges slid a manila folder over. "Here's something you'll carry over. Feel free to browse through it; it took a lot of work for our friends from Upstairs to consent to give us proof of a decades-long municipal career that hasn't even officially begun, yet. The short of it is that Allocer eventually comes to do a lot of good for Hope, in a lot of concurrent potential futures. It takes some doing and there's a few severe missteps, but there's a chance the Infernal poster boy could turn into the ideal conscientious objector for a baby superhuman walrus who'd sometimes rather pile-drive nosy taxpayers from the opposite ideological end of the table."

Brenner blinked. "Is he that bad, in the future?
- Not with anybody in particular, no," reassured Jones, "except demons. He'll develop a very narrow view of the Pitspawn - not that he can be blamed - and might only grudgingly tolerate those Shield associates with. Everyone else? Potential freeloaders one bad idea short of possessing a gaggle of innocents while going on a crime spree. Allocer more or less picks up after Baverly Walton - acting as his more stable surrogate, there to call out racism when it does rear its ugly head."

* * *

Hogarth pushed, groaned out of pure rage - and the more he pushed, the less like Hogarth he looked. Facial tendrils turned shorter, his build turned lankier and more top-heavy, fingers growing almost claw-like. A maw of teeth formed even as the Void Weaver's inner beak receded back into the upper curve of his gullet. All the while, Magnus kept a careful foot forward while the other Freaks pushed and penned the adversary away. In the meantime, Grimley's loud sobs went from expressing rage and regret to finally evoking sorrow. For a few minutes, he didn't evoke distress or the mocked falsetto sobs he'd used to produce to deflect shows of concern, instead allowing himself to fully feel what he felt - to healthily mourn for those he'd lost.

Then, the barbary organ and calliope etched out a melody Aislinn might've been too young to recall, unless she'd been a diehard Robert Zemeckis fan. Desolation Jones picked up on it and turned around, keeping his back close to Hogarth even as he hooked his thumbs in his jeans' belt and tapped his foot along, as if waiting for the right cue to start singing. Then so did Adora, Konrad, Doctor Dickens and Hermes the Great - the weightlifter whose wardrobe Tom had drawn on. So did Sasha and Vanya, the Russian twins-turned-undead contortionists and trapeze artists that weren't above using their state for shock value. A few other faces were present, some of whom Aislinn wouldn't recall. There was a bearded lady, ostensibly dating from one of the production's earlier shows, and a mustachioed magician Amazo would've probably accused of stealing his limelight. There was also was what had to be the troupe's former token World's Largest Baby, ostensibly a grown three-hundred-pound man who looked like a diaper-wearing and obese cousin of Fester Addams, along with a few more. All carried the troupe's signature look of off-kilter awareness, all of them grinned from ear to ear, and all of them sang on cue:

Smile, darn ya, smile
You know this old world is a great world after all
Smile, darn ya, smile
And right away watch Lady Luck pay you a call

Things are never black as they are painted
Time for you and joy to get acquainted
Make life worthwhile
Come on and smile, darn ya, smile

Smile, darn ya, smile
For there is nothing that you cannot overcome
Smile, darn ya, smile
And where the clouds appear you soon will find the sun

Life is really only what you make it
Stand right up and show them you can take it
Make life worthwhile
Come on and smile, darn ya, smile

At each verse, the orchestra, organs and calliope all seemed to get a tiny bit out of tune, perhaps intentionally - slowly sliding back from the Merrie Melodies-worthy jauntiness and into a funereal dirge twisted into something lively and uplifting by sheer dint of effort. They looped back into the intro, setting the stage for a second run - at which point Horatio wasn't sobbing anymore. The glow of Aislinn's joy was seeping into him, now, visibly questing along his veins, and hit his heart like a jolt from a car battery. Shadows partially enveloped him, Aislinn would feel the cold of the Void slip against her limbs, the music partially covered Hogarth's screams-

And Horatio laughed. Quietly at first, almost intimately, but with a dark and lively energy that slowly gained traction and grew, gained in dimension and power, until his shaking frame gently released the roane. He winked at her as he sank into the darkness, Shadow-Walking as Calhoun had, earlier, as he, himself had back in the waking world.

"Oh, Morris, Morris, Morris... Is it alright if I call you Morris? You're insignificant to me, so it feels à-propos of me to leave you with the name of something that usually leaves me doubled over in fits. To think you believed yourself capable of fooling them, of defeating some of my closest allies in centuries - people I've barely interacted with - is an absolute riot!"

He madly cackled for a bit, the troupe joining in for a few seconds. "Do you really think you would've fooled them? I can't see you pouring your heart out through fiendishness and trickery, or marveling at life's beauty from the twilit promontory of undeath - do you? You, caring for little ones and their stained cheeks, for their oblivious parents and friends, even if it means unsettling them under eerie late-summer moons? You and wisdom sprinkled through nonsense, knowledge doled out like corkers and gut-bursters? No, of course not! You're a figment of Wrath; you'd miss the point and think I scare them because I resent them! No, you poor fool! No, no, no! I scare, you wretched Fiend, because I love!"

His voice turned grim, like it had when he'd threatened Aislinn, Hannibal and Tom. "Although in your case, I think I'll make an exception. Anyone who messes with family is made an example of, as per tradition. I think..."

Evil relish tinted his voice as shadows in front of the selkie and warlock deepened. Out walked Grimley, clad in his usual Ringleader regalia, eyes low, lit with murderously gleeful energy, painted tentacles flaring menacingly, following the mockingly playful twirls of his reed cane.

"I think we'll keep him, dear friends..."

The troupe laughed at that, the sound of it both playful and sinister, the projected audience laughed along with them, even while Tom gave Grimley an uncertain look. "Horatio, keeping one of Wrath's goons in your own psyche is the worst idea imaginable. You've beat him now, but who's to say he won't find something else to pull at, some other way to diminish you?"

Horatio wrung his gloved hands together, his head ducking between his shoulders as he chuckled. "Demons aren't the only ones with schemes, Tommy boy. I'll need our friend here as reference material, see? Nothing too complex, just a little half-hour back in Sandhill, in what's left of Goliath's warehouse after Wrath took it over! All I need is willing bait - I mean, heroic new best friends - time enough to get reacquainted with the flesh, and a few minutes to wash this makeup off."

Tom followed along. "You want to get close to Valefor, make him think the upstart's succeeded...
- If I'm close enough for a promotion, I'm close enough to rip his throat out and Shadow-Walk back out here before his guards will have time to stop me," explained the blighted Void Weaver.

Magnus was about to object when something made him narrow his eyes. "Wait - how deliberate was your decision to stick so close to Centennial Park, exactly?" he asked, which made the Ringleader widen his eyes and belt out a guffaw that transitioned into a wheeze. He pointed at Magnus as he did, as though the warthog had said something truly ridiculous.

"He thinks... He honestly thinks... I'd want to get possessed! No, you adorable dolt; I was only thinking in terms of selflessness and sacrifice, when I opted to stay so close! With Sophia and Arthur around, I thought nobody would so much as get to me! Then Arthur slipped and the mayor turned and, well..."

Recovering from his latest bout, he took a few seconds to hug Aislinn back. "You live long enough, you sort of learn to turn lemons into lemonade. If you've tasted ours in the past, then you're not without knowing we food-deprived wretches still know our way around a well-stocked concession stand."

He grinned. "In this case, though, I'd be the lemon and you'd all be sugar!"

A few cackles were parted with, Horatio then turning gleefully morbid again. "First things first, though: after I exfoliate, we're Shadow-Walking out to Celestial Command - and I'm getting my friends back. As much as I love the two of you, I'm not comfortable with shipping all four of us into a demon-infested warehouse. We'll need able hands."

Tom caught the slight inference. "You know we weren't alone?
- Tommy boy, it takes a vampire to know another vampire by scent," explained the Squid. "For prophetic auguries like my troupe and myself, there also has to be one or two sociopaths with fangs - and they need their own control mechanisms. Hannibal Calhoun likes to think he's sane, but Lucifer's marked him all the same. He'll snap for certain, if he spends enough time in Hope."

He then glanced out at the troupe and their continued mockery of the demon's diminished form, his gaze turning wistful. His frame stopped shaking. "Family," he said. "It's crazy how our loved ones aren't necessarily those we're born with," he observed, sounding oddly lucid in the moment. "I barely remember Hogarth's birth parents... How do you feel about the others in Shield, Magnus?"

Tom glanced at Aislinn with a smirk and placed a hand on Horatio's shoulder. "I feel the same," he said. "Welcome to the family, Horatio."

* * *

The atrium was soon evacuated, safe for the Jabberwocky, Abdiel and Melmoth. The Jabberwock was the first to lift his head with a groan, his hands coming up to massage his temples. "Oh, my aching head," he muttered, his eyes looking unusually focused, even behind his heavy eyelids. "Who - Who turned up the brightness on those neon bulbs?" he asked, wincing. "I can hear them buzzing all the way down here!"

Melmoth took a cautious step forward. "Do ya feel any different, fella?
- I feel like I spent the last several centuries on one of those newfangled party drugs the mortals keep inventing," replied Ethelred, "and now I'm on the come-down to beat all come-downs!"

Melmoth scoffed lightly out of empathy. "I'll bet. How's the conscience?
- Fine, I guess," muttered the insectile dragon. "I feel as though I could track exactly where my own sense of guilt ends and Abdiel's gifted perspective begins. I can see all the cues I used to miss, all the signs of a life still well-lived, but self-forgiveness isn't something you can just magic into being," he said. "I'm a genius with mechanics and micro-electronics, but a complete dunce when it comes to my inner workings. I'll need a little while so I can picture the Orkneys without my guts quailing."

He then smacked his lips together. "Dearie me, even stringing normal sentences together feels alien! You'll have to forgive me if I slip back into Lewis Carroll on occasion; I feel like someone's forced me to slip into a store-bought waistcoat!"

In the back, someone chuckled weakly, perhaps disbelievingly. "I feel... better!" lightly exclaimed Seward. "There's still a certain distance, a certain je-ne-sais-quoi of utter boredom; but its pull isn't inexorable!"

His working around the bleachers and towards Tanner and Aspasia might have looked a little plodding, but it was obvious he was comparatively whizzing about, in opposition to how lethargic he'd previously been. "Cordatus old boy," he started, "do me a favor, would you? Say something boring!"

Glancing back at Amaterasu and Abdiel, Tanner lightly stammered and then half-convincingly blurted out the first few Latin words of one of Caesar's Senate speeches. Interest lightly waned from Seward's eyes and he noisily stifled a yawn. "Pity," he then said, "I thought I'd have all of my old interests back... I don't imagine the fair lady thought it wise to lift my narcolepsy, did she?"

Amaterasu nodded in uncertainty. "We thought it wiser to maintain your unique perspectives, while gifting them with clarity and surety of purpose. I consider it a success, Theobald - you'd never have spoken to me, previously. Speaking of - what you are isn't narcoleptic. I think you should know this by now."

Theobald yawned again. "I know, I know... I suppose I'll just have to find out how irrepressible episodes of deep sleep coupled with sleepwalking are beneficial to me. At least, now I have impetus enough for active research, and for my honorary post as Avalon's Chronicler to be worth a damn. For now, I'll settle with cleaning up my mess and then seeing about preparing for a few outcomes once we come out on top."

Melmoth was a bit confused. "We're not even sure the world's dragons would be enough to defeat Hope's Pitspawn!
- I am phlegmatic by default, good sir," replied Theobald after yawning and snorting. "That, however, does not make me a pessimist."

* * *

Leaving the main path resulted in Drake and Aspasia being blasted by even more colors, sounds and scents, as if the Wilds themselves were trying a fair bit harder to have them succumb to their wiles. Still, as the main group disappeared behind them, so did a small grove open onto their right. There, the trees were far less clustered together, and the wider spaces between them had created inviting pockets of shadow. It was in one of those pockets that Isaacs waited, kneeling next to a man who wouldn't have been out of place in South Africa, during Colonial Britain's heyday. The fellow had a sun-kissed complexion, sunken cheeks and a Roman nose, dark blue eyes waiting below bushy blonde eyebrows. With mid-length hair and friendly mutton chops that transitioned into a chevron mustache, he looked faintly familiar to Aidan. With blood-stained khakis that were constantly oozing with seeping blood near his abdomen and a glint in his eyes that seemed suspended in that instant of clarity before death, he didn't exactly look too good. What didn't help was the four wooden spokes that were jammed into his lower chest, connected to a crude bamboo and rope assembly. Someone else had laid a trap here, fairly classic Guerilla Warfare spokes designed to either severely injure or outright kill whoever wouldn't notice the bent poles straining with tension. He clearly hadn't.

Still, Aidan didn't choose to dwell on the man's attire - khakis and an authentic pith helmet - and went straight into triaging him.

"How's the mesentery?" he asked Isaacs, as he got closer. "How are the other arteries?
- None of my implants work here," tersely replied Rupert, "but he's bleeding like a stuck pig, losing the stuff as fast as he's producing it, somehow. I'd bet on the mesentery, possibly a few other abdominal vessels. If you'll lean in, you can smell burning wood. His system didn't enter shock and he's still producing gastric fluid. I couldn't pull on the spoke assembly on my own, but the smell is wretched. I think he's digested part of the bamboo even with holes through his stomach."

Aidan then looked back up. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"

Light crept back into the man's eyes, and he smiled weakly. "Ah," he weakly said, "I must have nodded off there, for a second. My apologies."

The hunter then weakly coughed, closed his eyes and gasped for breath, then forcing a smile on his face. "Commander Regis Woodford, Madras Europeans... I don't suppose you've found a chap by the name of Archie somewhere nearby, have you?"

He tried to go for a chuckle and then winced, instead laying a bloody hand on Aidan's tee-shirt. "My, what peculiar clothes! You must - You must be one of these Yankee reservists we so seldom see, hm? You're a mite too pale for a Sepoy, if I might..."

Three swallowed uneasily. "Let's get you out of here, first," he said, then looking back to Aspasia and Isaacs. "Follow the assembly's shaft, there must be some kind of knot or some sort of crude joint you could undo or smash apart. Rupert, I need you to pull evenly on the assembly's head, alright?
- You'll kill him if you let his wounds bleed freely!" opposed the cyborg scientist, which made Three's jaw clench. "Not in here, I won't - at least not going by Morgana's rules. We don't have a saw handy, the bamboo looks green, so the best option we've got involves pulling him out by hand."

Drake parted with a few more soothing words and went to help Aspasia. "Look at the size of that stalk," he said, even as he tried to pull away at a tangle of jury-rigged rope made out of threaded weeds. Whoever cut it must've had access to modern tools," he said, "or they're giants with saw-toothed blades the size of ironing boards."

Isaacs sighed in impatience. "This could take forever, you know. 
- Then it's a good thing that we've got forever to do this while in here," Aidan retorted. "Either this budges somehow, or I pull out my pistols to try and shoot off enough bark and pulp to tear the pole off of the hinge."

* * *

"Oh, he's already proud," reassured Kevin with a smile. "if I know him well enough, he had you Blue Chimeras pegged from the beginning. There were stories about him arguing with the other breed representatives, back in Avalon. The Blacks thought Elysium should've been wiped off the map, the Westerners weren't sure if they needed to focus on helping the survivors or keeping Rendell from reaching Nexuses or relics, and Shen and Amaterasu were the only ones saying your mother's people needed help, too. They knew someone who suffered from a lack of perspective when they saw them, and they knew that was the Chimeras' only real fault."

Leonard smiled. "Case in point: your parents, Miranda."
User avatar
TennyoCeres84
Site Admin
 

Posts: 2929
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:59 am

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Crystal was the one to take the folder from Hodges and opened the flap to peruse what was inside. Given the loss of her post, she was curious as to how the false mayor would change to become a beneficial member of society. She still found it mildly surprising that he would undergo such a significant transition, but then again, stranger things had happened.

***

"Welcome to our family, Horatio," child Aislinn beamed She gave him another hug and then released him.

She glanced over at the Wrath demon and sighed. "When we are in the warehouse, how do we keep him from blurting to others who might be there? It might be a silly question, but I still think it's worth considering."

***

Abdiel nodded in agreement. "Even when things are dire, you have to maintain a certain amount of positivity," she noted. "Otherwise, it's easy to give into despair and you lose your edge and light. That's what the likes of Wrath and Pride thrive on. They don't necessarily expect the diversity of our numbers to be a boon. After all, as I recall, that's what Meris' intended plan was. Gather allies of varying backgrounds and have them work as a single force against Wrath and the Goat's more single-minded types. I think we're reaching the crescendo of that plan."

She placed a reassuring hand on the demon's shoulder. "We must have the confidence to see our plans through to fruition. Too much is at risk if we don't. Things may likely get worse, but we can't stop."

***

"Thankfully, we do have time on our side in this place," Aspasia murmured, going into medic mode. She carefully examined the deadly spoke and frowned thoughtfully. "This definitely looks like it could be the work of a jungle troll. I remember reading about them, and this sort of trap is part of their MO."

She plucked a knife from her belt and presented it. "We can cut away at the larger pieces with this," she added, then pulling out a small lighter and sighing. "We can cauterize his wounds. It's not the optimum choice, but we have to work with what we got. I have a small first aid kit, but we're playing Medical McGuyver right now, unfortunately. However, if he started bleeding profusely, I don't think he would die here, based on what Siv said. That'd be too merciful of Morgana, too quick a death. She might favor the Dragonborn's sense of honor, but she's still a cruel bitch queen if slighted."

***

Miranda couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, you're right," she said. "Mom had some initial doubts after Rendell's flawed ideals and questionable sanity, but Dad helped to secure Mom's breaking away from her past. He accepted her and became a listening ear. They grew from comrades in the Battle to friends, and then they come to love each other in order to have me."
User avatar
IamLEAM1983
Site Admin
 

Posts: 3707
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:54 am
Location: Quebec, Canada

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Crystal would find newspaper clippings organized chronologically, the first one on top closest to the present day. It started with Allocer delivering a contrite speech in the aftermath's early days, vowing to support those who had opted to remain by his side, while respecting those who had voted otherwise. Then came a few investigations, showing that the former Pride Knight likely had a hard time sticking to purely legitimate avenues of influence. He'd build bridges with the city's criminal element - and notably, with a corporeal Belial - while keeping his hands relatively clean.

Then came a few shots of Allocer without his jacket and with a SWAT vest on, standing in what looked like a Sandhill industrial lot, megaphone in hand. Someone was being led out in handcuffs, Doherty walking behind the procession with slightly rumpled clothing. Other snapshots and articles followed - the 2028 Policemen's Ball, his own former pick as Deputy Chief for South Little Italy appearing before the Court, Rhadamantus giving a heavy glare to the possessed orc...

Allocer's arc seemed to be largely comprised of blue-collar corruption motivated by a desire of optimization or more expedient handling of certain local issues, but the investigations would seemingly peter out by 2030. A snapshot showed Paimon shaking hands with a bedridden Allocer: something might seemingly drive him to accept the local vigilantes' help, and his life would be saved by the only other Pride Knight in town - or rather, by his blood, donated and supplied as a transfusion.

"Someone had to show him Pride could be selfless," stated Paimon, bouncer at Club Ishtar and frequent spokesman for Pride defectors in Hope. "There is still much I hardly grasp about this world, but the honor and strength of its inhabitants is clear to me. There is so little left to be done, so little to be said for those like Allocer to truly grasp what drives us. If the Goat cursed us to only withstand blood from our own kind, then I hope mine will mark the beginning of a new era for us exiles, and for Pride itself."

Zebediah glanced at the files. "I find it hard to believe that documents reproduced from an unrealized future could trigger such a profound change, with all due respect."

The President nodded. "I can understand your skepticism. That said, change is rarely an all-encompassing and sudden motion. You've seen how he's likely to try and buddy up with the wrong people, how gradually his old habits will fall by the wayside. All of us undergo change, and it happens to us in leaps and bounds, short hops and long moments of stillness. The mortal plane's very nature demands change - and he's already done so even if he'll deny it. Before reaching Earth, Allocer was just as much of an armor-clad bruiser than the rest of his peers, just slightly more given to playing politics intelligently. What did he do, as soon as the Goat bestowed him with a municipal charge? He took it seriously in his own way, and traded breastplates and pauldrons for a tailored suit. The only other Pride Knight in Hope who's reliably put their sword down is Paimon."

Jubal shrugged lightly. "I mean, look at my people. Go back a few centuries 'fore Meris, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who'd so much as have the courage to stand up against the Others. A lot of us kept kindness for the darker hours or more intimate moments, but embracing the Architect openly woulda spelled death for your average Dalarath native. It all started the same way the Usurper first took us down, hope creepin' in like kudzu or barnacles, sense and decency hidin' in the nooks and crannies, in Rothchild's old slave pens or the last few Augurs' halls... Nereus an' Meris lit the fire, but the embers were already there."

He gestured with a hand. "If he came here of his own free will, if his first move didn't involve possessing someone and if he's walkin' 'round unarmed, then maybe he's gettin' it. He just hasn't realized it yet."

Hodges nodded. "Besides, the Pit's loyalists are going to appreciate having a known figure near the higher circles of power, someone they trust to lead them well. If the seed sprouts and takes to its soil," she said, pointing at the folder, "then he'll make a more fitting example for those who'll surrender than even Tom Magnus could. Better someone who sees the light than a perceived renegade, at least from their position."

* * *

Horatio sniggered conspiratorially and then stepped forward. "Esteemed friends! Hold our guest, would you? I'd like to test a theory..."

The troupe parted from the Wrath demon, who'd fully reverted to a lanky, almost skeletal being, with serrated teeth and spines haphazardly covering its bluish-gray flesh. The clown outfit had been partially torn off, the being's own black blood dribbled from a number of tears and gashes, and its throat had turned into a ring of rash-laden skin, several puncture wounds marking it.

Grimley's tremors stopped, his tone growing more steady. "And how are we faring, hm? How has Wrath fared, when faced with faithfulness, perseverance and insight?"

The demon's voice had turned weak. "Your world is ours, now... Kill me or don't, it doesn't change anything..."

Horatio briefly turned back around, glanced at his saviors, smirked, and then turned back to face the demon. "You're right," he said, "it won't. Killing another demon out of an infinite horde won't amount to much. Unfortunately for you, you're forgetting one crucial detail..."

He leaned in and whispered something in the demon's ear, the Fiend's expression immediately turning horrified. Now seemingly desperate, he locked eyes with Aislinn and Tom.

"No, no! Stop him, please! I'm sorry for what I did, I'll - I'll even turn coat! I'll join you! I'll-"

The Squid laughed, the sound of it low and menacing. "Not in my mind, you won't."

Still smiling, he leered towards the warthog and selkie. "You can head back, now," he said. "Keep your circle primed once you'll have emerged, you'll find our friend here should be hilariously easy to expel from my noggin. I do have one request, however."

Tom looked equal parts curious and apprehensive. "Such as?
- Once you'll have sensed it leaving me, don't simply banish it. You'll find I'll have given him more than reason enough to be brought about corporeally. Don't open a tear, though - just keep tabs on him for now, will you? Keep a weather-eye for our friend until I tell you to do otherwise.
- And what about Aislinn's concerns?" he asked.

Grimley cackled, the troupe joining along as if they knew exactly what he had in mind. "If he blurts anything, the sounds he'll make will signal the end of Wrath's time in the spotlight."

* * *

Melmoth smiled and tried to make it seem like he had no doubts, but there was still a bit of a moue hiding behind the upturned corners. "You're the only one of the four Elements around here, I'm just one of the Big Guy's bottom-tier speculative whatsits. Doubting's kinda my thing, but heck if that optimism of yours doesn't feel good."

In the back, Enlil glanced at the stirring Jabberwocky and then approached Tanner. "So, is there a consensus?
- Within reason," nodded Cordatus. "We'll keep the Gentlemen abreast in Walpurgis and negotiate points of forward deployment, to cut back on transit. As for the Gates, I suspect the Draugr will handle this matter."

Another one of Solomon's surviving servitors raised a hand. "I noticed their presence - they're not exactly dragons, so what are they doing, participating in draconic affairs?"

Cordatus nodded graciously. "Ah, I see. Well, this is a rather long story. Suffice to say, Lilith's curse involved not only decrepitude, but also restlessness. A gnawing lack of purpose, as it were. Blood was to be their rare solace, but a few of their numbers seemingly hit on something, in pledging their unlives towards the preservation of mortal villages the Black dragons and my Scandinavian cousins ruled over. Over time, they became inextricable from greater Norse culture, and a subculture of vampires wholly devoted to the mortal serfs of their dragon lords. Time allowed for a dragon's lordship to become less necessary, and for their accrued sense of duty to sate their curse's need for a greater purpose. Now, they gladly surrender the physical marks of their humanity in the pursuit of watching over their family or clan's successive generations.
- So why send a Draugr for a meet between dragons?"

The lawyer shrugged. "I'd consider it a courtesy, at this point in time. Some Draugr still do exist that hold onto old oaths of servitude towards my kind, or especially the Black ones. Aldergard Kuhn's demise left many of them indignant, with Under-Jarl Hroki Sturlesson - whom you've seen seated here today - having already called for a Moot with his fellow commanders. Him joining us today was pure formality."

* * *

"Let's make it quick, then," agreed Drake. He then quickly placed a knee back down and woke Regis up again. 

"Commander, we're going to start by sawing the spokes going through your lower chest, first. We'll pull you free afterwards and work on pulling what's left of the spikes from your wounds. Aspasia and I only have small blades and Rupert's tools aren't functional at present. This might take a while."

The hunter laughed weakly. "Capital idea, my good fellow; I hope you won't mind if I make myself comfortable."

Three smirked as he began working. "Looks like she didn't take your sense of humor away, at least...
- She?" he asked. "Who might you be referring to? Not to mention, you'll really have to explain this short-sleeved canvas garment of yours to me."

Aidan grunted as the wood protested, then gave way under the blade's teeth. "Morgana, right? Oh, wait, let me guess - you're the disappeared family friend from Casa Holden's old Fifth Coalition snapshots - Regis the Fidget, who wasn't ever as happy as he was with a local baggage boy in tow and some local mythical panther or tiger to stalk after?"

Woodford tried to go for a scoff, winced, seemingly "died" for half a second and then came back to with a shake of his head. "How - How could you have known all this?" he asked. "Last I remember, I'd only just rounded a corner with young Holden in tow and then ended up here - wherever here is."

Aidan kept working, grunting again as he sawed through one of three spokes. "One of out three," he said, both for Regis' and Aspasia's benefit. "What year do you think we're in, Commander?"

Regis looked uncertain. "Late January 1827, why?"

Three grunted again as he attacked the second spoke. "I don't know how else to say it to you, but out here is the year 2026, from our perspective. I'm an American, so are my friends - and we're in the Wilds, Queen Morgana's realm. Long story short, Automatons got better, magic was incorporated into an increasing amount of technologies, America seceded from Great Britain, and, um..."

He grunted again as he worked. "Most of what you probably see as myth or legend is actually true. The Sidhe exist and so do their Courts - and we're in one of their traps, now. You'll get to meet an Archmage, a gaggle of demons and a huldra, if we make it back."

In pushing too hard against the knife, Three managed to cut his palm. His grunt was barely louder, ending quickly as the shallow gash in his palm barely had time to well up a single drop of blood before it closed on its own, not leaving so much as a scar behind.

He scoffed as he went back to work. "Thanks for nothing, Morgana - woulda loved to have this around back in 'Stan..."

As for Regis, he'd gone for a look of amusement that had withered into a sort of dread realization. These newcomers weren't joking, so either they were out of their minds or they were being honest!

* * *

"See?" added the panda, lightly thumping the girl on her shoulder. "Take a moseying skele-wizard and a badass Space Marine chick, toss that and some eggs in a bowl, mix it up good, and you get Hope's very own Wire-Fu spitfire. I kid you not, Little Miss Robertson, Joyful Death is going to get you Ang Lee-ing or John Woo-ing the Goat in his ugly face but good in a short while!"

He looked back to the comatose dragon and squeezed one of its hands, smiling as he did. "I used to question his judgment a fair bit, and I didn't always get to be reborn in the most workable of bodies imaginable, but this is one of those times where I have zero doubts whatsoever."

Haraldson nodded thoughtfully, hands in his pockets. "An appreciable feeling, to be sure. That said, I think he would rather Miranda returned to the tower."

He smiled at the girl. "I'd loan you Spearhead's training facilities, but your form would leave his soldiers more than a little perplexed." he explained, amusement making his glacial eyes glitter. "He and his men are more familiar with developing their raw strength or torque than trust a magic sword for their footwork. I doubt either Joyful Death or yourself would be on the market for scathing critiques."
User avatar
TennyoCeres84
Site Admin
 

Posts: 2929
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:59 am

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

At the sight of a corporeal Belial being involved with the city's criminal elements, Crystal felt a tightening in her gut, like this was a clue that would clarify everything. However, she understood she was missing other pieces of the puzzle and could only focus on Allocer's development.

"However incredible such a change seems, it makes sense. Allocer's gradual change is more realistic and more approachable for them than someone who "saw the light" and rebelled quicker and more drastically than they could relate to," Crystal observed.

***

Aislinn couldn't help but quirk a brow at Grimley and wondered what he had threatened the Wrath demon with, then trustfully smirked at the vampiric Squid. "I'll take your word for it," she noted, then looking back to Tom. "Let's get going and then we can see about being a thorn in Wrath's side even more, hm?"

***

"While it is a formality, it's good that the Dragur are involved. Every party must be deeply involved in the coming conflict, and we must reinforce old bonds so that we remain resilient through what will be trying times," Abdiel mused.

With the Jabberwocky tended to, she looked over at Melmoth. "Given that Meris and the others were headed to Faerie, we likely have some time on our hands before we might meet up with them again. We should plan our next moves and figure out how to deal with the issues we are aware of, along with the ways we can help here."

***

Aspasia set to cutting with the knife, working the small serated blade like a saw through the bamboo. To keep the commander focused as she worked to free him, the fauness asked, "Since you've been here for quite some time, have you managed to learn the terrain?"

Given her sex and caprine appearance, the field commander silently mused Regis had only seen someone like her in statues, woodcuts, or old prints that would have been borderline tasteful yet salacious for someone of his era. However, she hoped her medical expertise would have made up for for any odd questions he might've had for her, but she also mused that it might distract him from discomfort for the time being.

***

Miranda nodded and smiled. "I'll find some way to practice and get better with the Joyous Death. Though, I think I need to see Anjali and check in with everybody. Things feel relatively calm in contrast with what's happening elsewhere," she said.

At the mention of the Red, Nami frowned thoughtfully. "Probably not. Apart from deeply ingrained honor codes and amazing reflexes, I haven't heard of any Reds connecting with their Dragonborne selves, in contrast to some Blues. So, arcane weapons and martial forms would probably feel somewhat alien. Japan's Wyldfae are heavily linked to Oberon's Court, so I don't imagine any of their ancestors might have been influenced by any of the Asian Fae's predecessors, as far as I know."

She glanced at her watch. "Besides, if you're wanting me to look into Harker, I'll need to start getting ready soon."
User avatar
IamLEAM1983
Site Admin
 

Posts: 3707
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:54 am
Location: Quebec, Canada

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Eliphas sniffed at the folder and then looked back to the dragon, his throat working as he pushed human words through it. 

"A lich, three werewolves and an android against a former Pride Knight in his own house... I don't like our odds, Jones."

The dragon seemingly chose to ignore the down-playing of his position. "You're forgetting Mrs. Nasir and mister Whitney, along with a special detachment we have on loan from Gabriel: five Danish sailors from the height of the Viking age, fresh out of Valhalla, led by a very particular angel. How familiar are you with Norse mythology, mister Buck?"

The cursed werewolf's ears canted sideways, his eyes turned thoughtful and his nostrils palpitated. "A valkyrie," he then deduced. "You're letting one of Odin's battle maidens help us."

That got the President to smile. "I'd rather think she decided to help us. Valkyries aren't exactly from Uriel Lightbringer's half of the Host, and they're definitely not the type of women a lowly mortal such as myself could so much as presume to affect to a battalion.
- Even so, you'd think that Aldergard's death and Oberon's virtual imprisonment by dint of Fae politics would have made it difficult for those from the Scandinavian stretches of their spheres of influence to act," noted Zeb.

The lobby's door opened and stiletto heels clacked, the staff outside falling silent as someone walked past them with both grace and inhuman focus. The Secretary of Defense was heard weakly asking the woman for clearance, but she merely kept walking and entered the office the group stood in, closing the doors behind her. She wasn't particularly tall, at about five feet seven, and seemingly hid a well of grace behind her steely composure. Her power suit was dark, as was her hair, neatly tucked away in a ponytail, with her right eye marked with a tattoo of the trident-shaped algiz rune, right underneath it.

Dafyd lightly straightened himself. "Ladies, gentlemen - Lady Sigrun of Valhalla. If mister Messenger here is Gabriel's current incarnation of his watchful eye over mortal technology, you could refer to her as the semantic offspring of Gabriel and the Horseman War."

Brenner blinked. "Wait - War is female?"

The dragon allowed himself a quiet laugh. "Gender hardly matters for those of the Host, or for the Four Horsepersons, if you will. Messenger just told you how some of his kind's own aspects can become their own persons, and these mantles can also be passed along to other angels, instead. Concepts can also mesh together, leading to the rise of more complex incarnated concepts. Sigrun, along with her sisters, represents mercy and effectiveness on the battlefield."

The Pilus tried for another smarmy grin. "And where are these other charming women, if I might ask? It seems like a waste to meet only one."

Sigrun's voice had a light Icelandic accent, but her English was otherwise perfect. "My sisters are busy following in Death's wake, mister Brenner. Those who died with a weapon in their hands and in defense of this plane are to be given honors - and their second life must now be protected, if and when they choose to remain here to keep fighting. As for those who choose to leave our halls to join you, they've long made their desire to be led by one of my kind. With Gabriel offering, I thought it wise to pick those who had grown tired of our provided leisure and longed for more."
be
Zeb blinked. "You're bringing in more Soul-born," he said, "like Archie Holden's little girl. Is this wise?"

She smiled. "Ask the Marine and Army detachments in Hope, mister Buck. My sister Gunnr brought several of the fallen back a mere few weeks after the incursions began in earnest. You've probably heard of a few heroic pushes into Renton, detachments that seemingly are indefatigable. To be Soul-born is to live beyond life itself, in a manner that even the undead and immortals cannot grasp. They are unending, now, and their strength only grows with their resolve. They have a close cousin in Leonard Ephesian, now that he stands as an incarnated soul speaking for the unjustly deceased. The limit of their power is the extent of their belief."

Archie blinked. "So why isn't my daughter out in the open, dispatching our enemies with ease beyond my ken?
- She died a child and must mature first," explained Sigrun. "The Soul-born are not invulnerable, their power lies in their innermost beliefs at any given moment. If an innocent is pinned and one of their numbers believes it may lift the stone or vehicle pinning them, then that obstacle will be lifted - but only for this one, single event. Beliefs change, and so do the Soul-born's abilities. If no great need is present, they are identical to a mortal in every way. If felled, however, they will simply recover, no matter how grievous the injury."

Zebediah seemed lightly concerned. "I can understand why Gabriel was antsy about letting her through, considering. That said, I fail to see how a child could suddenly grow to pose a threat to anyone.
- There's the rub," replied Holden, "she isn't a child, anymore. Or at the very least, the current events are causing her to mature. She's seen extraction and retrieval teams return to the tower bloodied or missing members, and has seen me at my most despondent. If she grasps the current conflict, then she is fully capable of electing to put herself in danger for someone else's sake."

Sigrun took a seat. "Then your Anjali should be trained soon, Archibald, Son of Hiram. She will always remain your daughter, but leaving her defenseless does her a disservice."

Even without his painted irises, the glance he sent Crystal was fairly eloquent. He'd hoped to spare his daughter from bloodshed, and wasn't keen on making the relationship she shared with the both of them one of trainers and trainee, as well as adoptive mother and father. He didn't want to destroy whatever was left of the now-seemingly teenage girl's innocence.

* * *

Tom placed a knee down on the floor, which briefly elicited a collective Aww from Grimley's troupe. "Alright," he said. "You brought us in, you'll have to carry us back out," he explained. Take your joy and pull it back - turn it into a protective glow that's enveloping the big-top. Then move on to the beach beyond, the road behind us, and an increasing chunk of the coastline. Cover the peninsula, then the province - and then feel it encompass the first few Northern States. We're moving back to Rhode Island, drawing everything in with us - gently and lovingly..."

Eventually, the haze of dreams returned to the surroundings, consciousness faded and then bloomed again, as Tom stroked the adult selkie's forehead as he smiled down at her.

"There we go," he said, his tone comforting. "Welcome back, honey. Horatio was right - I don't know what he did to the Wrath grunt, but he popped right out as soon as I supplied a bit of arcane authority. I'm keeping a bead on it in the Shadowlands."

Grimley was still in the circle, but he'd apparently collapsed on the floor and had since curled up in a fetal position, tentacles weakly stirring as he'd stuck a thumb between two tendrils. Weak chuckles escaped him every now and again, along with soft snores.

"I probed him a little," the warthog explained. "I'm no telepath, but I think he's cleaning house, metaphorically speaking. I feel him spark up, in a sense, whenever he chuckles - and a large portion of the same dark weight Ephesian used to carry seemingly falls off. At least, that's what it feels like to me, seeing as I'm an incubus. At the rate he's going, he should wake up in a few minutes."

Calhoun crouched down next to them and observed the Ringleader for a few moments. "There goes that neuroplasticity I spoke of, back in your penthouse," he said. "You'll have changed him in some small ways, I think, but he's obviously on a fast track to recovery. A very, very fast track."

Tom glanced at the dreaming vampire Squid. "How is it do you think he'll change?
- You're the only ones with anything approaching clues on this; I didn't follow you wherever you happened to go. All I know is that bloodlines be damned, we vampires tend to remember when someone does us a solid. We remember for a long time."

* * *

"I'm all for it," replied the Broker with a gamely shrug, "but we've had an eventful day so far. Howsabout we break bread over it? Not that I wanna steal some of Gluttony's thunder, but we've had a lot of walking, a lot of life-saving and a lot of info to process."

He lightly pressed a few fingertips on his stomach. "I could do with something thematically appropriate. Vending machine cruft might work in a pinch, but I'm still a minor aspect of Greed..."

Enlil smirked at the pair as he heard that. "Cross the main lobby again, take the southeastern stairwell up a flight, and you'll find the Danube Lounge, our executive restaurant. The maître d' might object, seeing as you're not section heads or CFOs; but you can tell him I sent you. One look at your armor, Abdiel, or at Melmoth's wings, and he'll at least realize money's no object."

Melmoth's eyes turned wide at that, and he couldn't repress a small smile. "How's the weiner schnitzel?
- To die for," replied the Security Director, who opted for dry amusement rather than emphatic endorsement.

"And the palatschinke?
- Hungarian or Austrian, depending on if you're looking for meat or chocolate. I'm more of a straightforward crêpe suzette type, myself.
- Funny, I'd have thought the originator of Mesopotamian mythology would've stuck to baklava or lokums."

Enlil shrugged at that. "Eh, they were occasionally fun for a few thousand years, but it's hard for the tastebuds not to follow along, while you're travelling."

That said, he refocused on Abdiel. "I'll leave you to it, and try and secure lodgings for the mesa's survivors. The fifth floor's call center should have their details in a few hours and we should have someone attempting to relay information to Meris and the others - if they've survived. I'll also add your affected biometrics to the upper floors' lodgings registry; someone should be along during dinner time with a suite for the both of you."

Melmoth smiled uneasily at that. "Oh, um, we're not, well, yet, exactly-"

The vampire offered them a fanged grin. "Really, now? Could've fooled me. Just don't go around tweaking your assumed DNA too much, whatever you do - we wouldn't want either of you to end up locked in your bathroom in the small hours of the night. I'll specify you need two queen-sized beds."

* * *

Regis looked like he was very pointedly trying to focus on Aspasia's face, ignoring her greater posture or her current efforts. "To be honest," he said, "all I've been able to ascertain is that this wretched forest grows deeper the further one strays from the path. There is a stream southeast of here that connects to a river that partially flows underground. Follow it, and you come across a glint in the canopy, straight to the north. Some sort of large structure I couldn't quite make out from the riverbank..."

Three grunted. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you just described Mexico's Yucatàn Peninsula... Ancient civilizations, miles and miles of cenotes, underground caverns and rivers, rainforest in every direction... If we weren't so pressed for time and if you weren't in such a bad way, I'd maybe want to check out the jungle trolls for myself..."

Woodford grimaced. "Trust me, you wouldn't. The only green and blue blighters I've crossed shot their blowguns at me, cackled at me from outside the treeline's horizon and generally conspired to make me lose my wits!
- Well, you are on their territory," noted Drake.

Regis looked a tad scandalized. "You can't possibly believe that these savages have any right to do as they do," he said, wincing as he reminded himself not to raise his voice for fear of hurting himself. "I am a citizen of the British Empire, for God's sake!"

Three winced lightly. "Something tells me you'd hate our time, Commander. What we call progress, you'd probably call pandering to the masses. My point is that if this is Jungle Troll turf, they're the second best bet we've got outside of Siv. If anything happens to her, they're our fall-back resource."

In mentioning Siv, he seemed to remember the others. As he removed the final spoke, he drew in a breath and shouted. "SIV! MERIS! WE'RE FINE! KEEP WAITING, PLEASE! WE'RE ALMOST DONE!"

With the last spoke severed, he looked back to Rupert. "Alright, Isaacs - you'll grab him by the legs on three. I'll take the armpits. Aspasia, try and see if you can't bend the assembly back to where it was before the trap sprung. We'll be quick, I promise."

He then looked back to Regis. "Alright, Commander - this is probably going to hurt a lot, and I'm sorry. We still have to remove the spokes from your stomach and abdomen, afterwards. If what happened to my hand happens to you, you shouldn't even be at risk of infection."

Woodford grunted. "Do whatever you have to do, lad - anything so I have a chance of standing again!"

The two men assumed their positions at Woodford's head and feet, and Drake glanced at Aspasia. "Alright, on three... One, two, THREE!"

* * *

"We'll have to drop Miranda off first," reminded Ephesian, "which should give me time enough to snag a plus-one. I've never represented myself following a nightclub brawl, and I'm not looking to start now."

He briefly closed his eyes, his form rippling as his preternatural rage and focus altered his appearance. His suit turned slightly sleeker and darker, a dark burgundy tie waiting against his now-black shirt and jacket. His golden eyes gleamed as he exhaled, now looking both pristine and dangerous. "I'll need Herbert as a wingman," he explained.

Kevin looked a bit uncertain. "You look a bit old for the type of crowd we'll be blending into," he admitted. Ephesian's lips hardened at that. 

"I don't care," said the goat. "I have hundreds of deceased patrolmen and City Hall workers on call, all of them demanding I visit some justice on our fair Deputy Chief. If Miss Harker objects, I'll have to remind her the end result is the same, no matter who pulls the trigger. Bathory goes back to Hell or she lingers here, locked in a cage."

Haraldson looked displeased. "Her actions have been cruel and unusual, yes, but I haven't sacrificed my life and that of my men for our stand against the forces of evil to be bereft of noble intent, mister Ephesian. She deserves a fair trial, constituted by the very same man whom you've assisted in Hell. Lowball Rhadamantus, and I guarantee you he won't hesitate to make you stand before him - as a defendant."

Leonard's temper flared. "Then it wouldn't be the first time a client would've forced me to play semantics with the book, wouldn't it?! What difference does it make if the Blood Countess is made to suffer? She deserves it!"

The Draugr looked like a statue carved out of ice, radiating cold disapproval. "Righteousness is not justice, Ephesian. I have never raised my hands or bared my fangs unjustly, and I will not see my stand in this city, this final honor to Aldergard Kuhn's memory, be sullied by someone's desire for morally-justified sadism."

The goat held his gaze. "So what are you going to do about it?
- I'm coming with you," he then said, his previously-statuesque disposition springing back into lifelike motion as he all-but-sprinted out of the room, walking as fast as his supernaturally-augmented strides allowed.
User avatar
TennyoCeres84
Site Admin
 

Posts: 2929
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:59 am

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Crystal pursed her lips. "I understand that you want Anjali's innocence to remain intact, but the factor of conflict will decrease any chances of that. Plus, if she's vulnerable, that leaves you open to being vulnerable as well. If she's capable in a fight, that will better her and our chances at surviving," she stated.

***

Having mentally swathed most of the East Coast in a soothing and happy aura, Aislinn left the tent and its surroundings behind, returning to her own adult consciousness. She clicked her tongue. "Based on what I exposed Grimley to, he might be a hybrid of who he was prior to being turned and the one we've come to know as a friend. He might be more tied to the sea than his turning might have allowed for previously."

***

The angel's dark complexion might have hidden the flushing of her cheeks at Enlil's suggestion, *but she was thankful that Melmoth indicated what they were. "Thank you, Enlil," she said, then turning toward the Greed demon with her pearly smile. "Shall we?"

***

Grimacing lightly at the needed action, Aspasia nodded and moved over to Regis's side. She gingerly pushed the contraption back to where it would have been located, prior to it being sprung.

***

"Calm down, Mr. Ephesian," Nami countered. "We'll make sure we get her. I have to agree with Mr. Haraldson; Bathory deserves a trial. It's probably whatever justice-imbued inheritance that I got from my dad, but we can't just deliver a satisfying punishment because we feel like it. That's something Pride would do, specifically tilting a trial to their favor."

She then quirked a brow and shrugged. "I can be your plus-one. It'll help us blend in better if the patrons assume I'm just some tantalizing thing on your arm. The age difference might lend to our favor as well," she suggested.
User avatar
IamLEAM1983
Site Admin
 

Posts: 3707
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:54 am
Location: Quebec, Canada

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Archie looked as though Crystal had spoken an inconvenient truth. "While you are right, I do find myself resenting our current predicament for what has been done to her."

Hodges' posture relaxed slightly, and she leaned over the desk, having rested her knuckles on it. "As much as I can empathize, Milord, innocence isn't something that's meant to survive for long. Its absence also doesn't necessarily turn someone bitter. I know I look imposing in that court uniform, but part of me still is the twentysomething woman I used to be. Catch me in better circumstances, and I'll let my hair down. I'll knock drinks down, go shopping with a few girl-friends or shoot some pool with the guys from my last unit... Being a Cabal, I can still eat food and I still occasionally end up scarfing down half of a small Häägen-Dasz jug in front of a dumb rom-com. I'm just Amy, on most days. When it counts, though, the court uniform comes out, I pocket my smiles, my laughs or my sobs - and I act the way General Hodges should. It's either that, or the girl whose life ended in Virginia breaks down.

You'll still get plenty of tender moments with her, and we're all working so you do know peace again. Until then, I'll agree with miss Lowell's assessment - self-defense matters more now than finding some means to cozy up with Kiddo on the eve of what's probably a turning point in this war."

This seemingly reassured Archie, who straightened himself somewhat. "Alright - when do we start?
- Soon," explained the President. "Our allies in Pandemonium are asking that we wait for an obvious signal from Hope, before beginning our push in earnest. We think they're referring to Lucifer's return. In the meantime, you're in need of armaments and a few hours' worth of recovery. It helps that we've elected Hope's own group of gifted to serve as the first greater keepers of the Gentlemen's existence. Considering, it seems appropriate to have you grasp the full measure of their capabilities while there's still time."

Jubal smirked. "You'll find we've got well-stocked bars an' celebrated sommeliers; but if you've got the right tender an' the right words, they'll show you a lot more than just grape juice in fancy bottles."

Holden nodded. "Your coins - such as those you left on the group that attempted to attack our meeting, last fall, and the one you slipped in the space-compression booth to clue us in."

Whitney's eyes twinkled. "Yarp. Why don'tcha feel your pockets for a sec, hm?"

The group followed along, Archie and the others all pulling out two gold coins from one of their pockets. "Compliments o' the house," said the Squid. "One consultation per coin, whether that's at a bar, in the restaurant or with our researchers or weapon racks. All the fun stuff's hidden away, so don't be too scared 'bout worrying the other patrons.
- And mister Belliard?"

Jubal's smirk didn't waver, but shifted to a more wry look. "He at least gets a good Scotch an' a free meal. I don't think I need to elaborate on why I ain't too keen on passin' him a coin, or why I think you oughta keep things to a minimum with him."

Zeb nodded thoughtfully. "This seems reasonably astute... What are the local code phrases, however? I doubt I can simply waltz my way to one of the lower suites and be spirited to your research division on the mere premise of my unfortunately famous appearance."

The Squid laughed. "For weapons, you'll find the wine-tasting rooms to either side o' the front lobby. Ask for the Orcadian Merlot. Don't be surprised if they look shocked - I warned 'em, but didn't tell 'em to expect y'all at a specific time. For Linguistics, stop by the hotel library on the second floor, and ask for Jules Verne's Latin phrasebook. I can take you to our Ops Center, or you can hand a coin to either o' the two lobby clerks an' ask for travel accommodations. They'd normally ask for what you're looking to do - a covert way of askin' where your assignment's takin' ya - but they'll know you're all greenhorns and they'll just let you through."

Brenner looked surprised and glanced at General Hodges. "Did you go through all this?
- They showed us the ropes," she said, standing straight again and sparing an amused glint of an eye towards Whitney. "Here I thought Elysium was organized."

Eliphas grunted in approval. "And the Conclave?
- Miss Devlin an' the rest officiate in the Hellfire Club, our more, erm, exclusive venue. That's through the basement's maintenance level, past the laundry room. Pay the toll with a coin, and they'll let you through. Good jazz, Big Band shows on holidays - and the biggest gaggle of allied Pitspawn and slightly atypical angels this side of Solomon's Mesa."

* * *

"So long as he doesn't figure he needs to make synchronized swimming fit with big-top shows, I'd say his budgetary margins should be fine," joked Tom.

Hannibal parted with a bloodless smirk. "I wouldn't joke around with this one, mister Magnus. Legend says that the Grimleys have always existed in some form or another, that they're at the very root of what it means to be what the modern world derisively calls a Freak. They hail from the first of us; everyone else only ever receives some muted form of eccentricity, some diluted form of insight. Europe might have its Belfry Bat, but even he can't claim to trace memories back to ancient Greece."

Tom blinked. "The Belfry Bat? As in the expression?
- Yes, although this is more of a moniker we've offered him than an official title. You might better know him as Sir Francis Varney - or just plain Varney, now.
- So Rhymer and Prest..."

Calhoun smirked. "They interviewed him, yes, and greatly romanticized his life's events. The real Varney never threw himself into Mount Vesuvius, and seems to be far older than even what he deigned to leave for the two novelists to use.
- What's he like?"

Calhoun shrugged and pouted lightly. "I haven't met him. For comparison's sake, eyewitness accounts and notes from meetings with the European Ringleaders make me think he could be behind Arthur's strain, removed by several generations. He's... Vincent Price and the Muppets' Uncle Deadly chucked in a blender. Completely self-absorbed, utterly in love with his condition, and as sharp as a knife if you push past the ghoulish affectations."

Tom clicked his tongue at that. "Sounds like Arthur, alright. I'd chuck him a vial of this guy's blood, if it could somehow make a difference."

He'd finished speaking that Grimley lazily rolled on his back, pulled his thumb out of his mouth with a popping sound and slowly, luxuriously stretched himself, tentacles slowly flaring as he emphatically yawned. He then stuck his arms behind his head, giving his friends a leisurely look.

"Well, then: I've got our common acquaintance locked away in a corner, half-screaming and half-laughing, and I honestly feel as though all this melodrama popped an oozing cyst I'd been ignoring for far too long! Someone should pitch demonic possession as being good for the skin! If I were the type to believe in chakras or meridians, I'd consider them thoroughly cleansed, by now!"

The warlock nodded, arms crossed on his chest. "That's good, and are we supposed to leave you here, or are you planning on getting up sometime?
- Right, right! We've got Moon-Mad to pluck out of Heaven and demons to rout - and I've got a persona to sell..."

His eerie, wheezing laughter ended as soon as it began, and he kicked himself to his feet with a front flip that would've made a gymnast blanch. "Aislinn, dear - savior o' mine, new best pal, apple of my eye - would you terribly mind rooting around my desk's ruinous remains for a bottle of makeup removal lotion? I probably finished an already-moribund box of tissues in the minutes leading to your coming here, but there still might be one or two dust-covered hankies around I could use."

Hannibal hadn't been clued in, so he was obviously a bit surprised. Horatio Ignatius Grimley - without whiteface? In any case, the Squid seemed to get a kick out of the Councilman's bewildered look. "Worry not, my madness-challenged friend, I'm merely following through with the role my unbidden visitor hoped to foist upon me. Besides, my mascara's running, my lipstick is a mess - no decent carnival barker would be caught undead looking like I do! If I'm going to redo it all later on, better to wipe this off, first."

He then gave Tom a glance - who broke the circle with a foot - and then headed over to what was left of his desk, where he began lifting the pieces he knew Aislinn wouldn't be able to handle without assistance.

* * *

Looking like a million bucks, Melmoth didn't so much as spare a thought and looped his left arm around Abdiel's right, following Enlil's directions more out of sheer memorization than out of any conscious effort. He might not have been displaying his mist form, the simple thought of having time to spend with the Fire Throne visibly left him feeling elated, the dragons' problems and the logistical efforts to follow having been banished to the rear of his mind for the moment.

"I'll have to ask you to keep me on speed-dial," he said. "Helping Meris' folks with you felt good, Abbie. Really, really good. The only thing I've got that compares is those few times I ended up summoned here for the right reasons. No greed, no easy way out - just honest trouble joined up with a can-do attitude."

He kept their pace slow for now, happy as he was to watch the Vienna Council's bustle unfold around them, justice and efficiency unfolding one chip at a time. "Aside from all this," he then asked her, "when's the last time you went local, hm? I mean no big Fire Elemental stuff, just you and, I dunno, whatever civilization you woulda fixated on for a while."

The Broker shrugged. "Or maybe it's more of a place or some kinda social current? I'm predicable as heck but - for me? Renaissance-era banks. I just love the quaintness of it all, y'know? The ornamental bench that doubles as a counting coffer, all neatly ordered with different tenders in little drawers in silk on wood frames, the idea of being asked to travel around by foot or by horse to help folks count their cash, helpin' folks with no grasp of math to finally get a sense of what their hard work gave 'em, sittin' on that bench and makin' the abstract concrete..."

He sighed contentedly. "I loved those few mortal lives I spent as Italian bankers. Loved 'em. You'd see folks' eyes light up, uncertainty turning into possibility, desperation turnin' into hope... When it didn't happen, I could at least point 'em in the right direction, show them how money pays for itself, turn some far-off, pie-in-the-sky notions o' theirs into something they'd reach with the right roadmap... It could be as simple as buyin' a new horse, a pair of oxen or sendin' a kid to school, or it could be as complex as turning Venetian time and aristocratic goodwill into the Mona Lisa, or the roof of the Sistine Chapel."

* * *

Woodford moaned as he was lifted, Isaacs and Drake being both as careful and as fast as they could manage. "Leggoleggo!" the soldier quickly seethed at the Chimera, once they were in the clear. That done, Aidan helped Regis to lie down.

"Alright - now we're going to pull these spokes out of your gut. This is going to hurt."

Drenched in sweat, the Colonial-Era soldier huffed out a few quick breaths, closed his eyes and then nodded. Gripping a spoke, Aidan pulled it out as slowly as he could manage, Regis tensing the whole while. What likely felt like a tense five minutes passed, until the last spoke was removed. As expected, the soldier's flesh began to mend before their very eyes, the sudden absence of pain leaving him to pant while staring out at the small slit of blue sky that was visible, overhead.

"Can you stand?" then asked the soldier, hand outstretched. Regis took it, pausing briefly to grab his pith helmet. "If only I could find my way around this blasted forest, I might have a prayer of finding my rifle!"

He'd no sooner said this that a few soft cackles were heard from the underbrush, at various points around them. Three spared their surroundings a wary glance. "Looks to me like the locals disagree, sir. Let's just get back to the main path while we still can."

Strangely, the particulars of the path leading back seemed to have grown lenient. Regis walked without knowing the steps Aspasia and Aidan had taken, and they reached the main group without incident. Siv looked like she didn't know whether to be relieved or suspicious, but Naberius was still the Court's Steward. As such, he took a step forward.

"Good, erm, day, sir. Might I introduce Meris, Archmage by trade, Consort of Dalarath's Augur and Heiress of Solomon... I am Naberius, Steward, and these are the Court's advisers, rare seats of nobility within Hell's reaches."

Regis took the group in and blinkled. "Erm, Regis Woodford, Madras Europeans. Much obliged, gentlemen - miladies."

Siv eyed the path ahead. "We only have a few branches to follow. We'll be on Thorn's doorstep shortly.
- Thorn?" asked Regis.

Three glanced at Aspasia. "You could consider him an illegal border-cross agent. The boundaries between the mortal plane and Faerie used to be open. Crossing wasn't ever entirely harmless, but if you had a guide or you knew the way, or if the Gate was well-traveled, the way could be shortened. Back home, before the incursions, our Gates were so well-charted they opened directly onto wherever you intended to go. The longest Gate I ever heard of before Hell wrecked things was Eien-No-Yuki's storm wall. A Fae horse we're familiar with had no trouble charting the way by scent and sound alone.
- Eien-no- what in the Devil is this?"

Drake pursed his lips together. "We'll info-dump you later on - we've got an impatient huldra to follow."

* * *

Leonard looked a tad displeased by the way his opinion had been discounted, but he wasn't exactly as petulant a sort as the Black Goat. He seemingly spent a second or two brooding before sedately putting the matter aside. "I suppose so," he admitted. "I'd consider that distasteful, but I suppose distaste would exactly fit the bill."

Something made the panda's eyes light up. "Wait a sec... The Goat's taken after you once he freed himself from your body, you're apparently some kind of soul-based shape-shifter, now - do you think you could sort of approximate what the Goat looks like now? If it looks like we're on official business with the big cheese himself, nobody would so much as dare to turn us down!"

Ephesian looked uncertain. "It wouldn't work on the long term; the Goat made sure everyone in his staff and close allies would know that he took my body for himself. The local Pitspawn know exactly what I am, so I wouldn't stand up to close scrutiny. If the Witch House has mortal guards, that approach's odds of success might be greater. If immortals are serving as bouncers, our odds would be slim to nil. I'm more in favor of exploiting the fact that the enclave's Infernal citizens know me as I am. The freak that's half-ghost, half-Judicator waltzing in with the daughter of an Elemental Throne at his arm would be arresting enough - and much less dangerous."

Magnus nodded. "Besides, fröken Harker should be left with the, erm, dubious honors of rousing the rabble on the premises. The longer we can defer our own direct involvement, the more easily we'll be able to approach her."

Kevin looked like he was repressing an amused snort, Shou sharing the same basic look with him. Haraldson rolled his eyes, but also didn't look terribly offended. "I forget - Swedish isn't something you hear often around Rhode Island. As phonetically amusing as I'm sure I was, I was only being polite towards a fellow warrior."
User avatar
TennyoCeres84
Site Admin
 

Posts: 2929
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:59 am

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

The werewolf puffed out a breath and asked, "So where do we start? Some of us would be better suited for different tasks than others," she mused.

***

Aislinn ventured over to his messy desk and searched around for the makeup removal ointment. She first found a couple of tissues and then the requested bottle, handing them off to her new friend. ""If you're following through with the ruse, what's our input into it? How long are we going to make Wrath play along until the charade is dropped?" she asked.

***

"Frankly put, Mr. Woodford, you're in a game of Morgana's making. We were in route to a Faerie gate when Issacs departed from the group and found you. We're most certainly being watched by jungle trolls and should leave as soon as possible. We were lucky enough to reach you and get back to Siv, probably with what could be considered under Morgana's good graces. Hopefully, they'll last for the time being," Aspasia stated, her lips pursed with uncertainty.

***

Abdiel smiled approvingly. "I'll definitely keep you on speed dial. I think we made a good team back there," she said.

"As for my days sepent as a mortal, I typically drifted around India and other parts of Southeast Asia acting as a muse. I helped the earliest mortal communities with ovens and kilns, but that was something that didn't take long for them to get the hang of. While fire is commonly associated with martial aspects, I found my taste for it soured by the War and zealots. I found it more fulfilling to meander about this area of the world, offering insight or helping some author through writer's block. Being a wanderer didn't make enough of an impression for cults to arise, but I was still able to help promote artistry in different periods of history," she explained, smiling. "In my opinion, you can never have too many artists of one flavor or another."

***

Nami scoffed. "I agree that it would be better for Harker to approach Bathory. She's probably got enough expertise to deal with wannabe vamps with arcane or Infernal ties, so we'd be acting more like backup in that regard. Or possibly as a decoy, depending if we were to somehow distract the some of the attendees."

"Sounds like you guys will be winging it," MIranda mused.

The Nephilim nodded. "We essentially are. Hopefully, with what we're doing, nothing else will occur and Bathory will be caught."
User avatar
IamLEAM1983
Site Admin
 

Posts: 3707
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:54 am
Location: Quebec, Canada

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Jubal shrugged. "That's largely up to you, all I'm offering is a tour o' the premises, so you're not caught off-guard in the face of what we can do. Research would better fit the scholarly types, our weapons development program would be more of a focus for martial types such as yourself, and Linguistics is, well..."

The gunslinger stopped and added a smirk. "It's more of a sunny days corner of the hotel, I'd say. While some of us are focused on takin' down demons, Abominations an' Loyalists by gunfire or subterfuge, others prefer to look to the future and build on what we'd like to bring to the table in times of peace. That, however, asks us that we rediscover what we lost to the Others. We've made some strides thanks to Meris and Lucian, but there's still so, so much to relearn. It does confirm the thesis sayin' we weren't warlike at the onset, however - our own clout is something the Others forced us to develop. By and large, the Architect seemingly made us so we'd speak protection into being, and so we'd be able to marshal Humanity away from the maddenin' stretches of the arcane arts. If the angels guard your souls, our job is to guard the intrinsic laws of this plane of existence."

Zeb gave it some thought for a few seconds. "I think I'll spring for Research. It'd be a shame if I visited alone," he noted, glancing at his travel partners.

Archie smirked. "Consider me stiflingly predictable, I've long heard of George Gammell's concoctions for Meris, and have yet to see what Nereus' peers can fashion for a good cause. If your sommeliers also know their way around a decent Cabernet-Sauvignon on top of it, I'll be as happy as a schoolboy in June."

He looked back at Crystal. "Shall we, darling?"

* * *

Horatio needed a few seconds before he was able to answer, as preoccupied as he was with wiping off every last stretch of his ruined makeup. Once that was done, he rummaged through the desk's ruined panels and found a small tin of hair styling gel, which he used to re-sculpt his now-drooping aberrant facial hair into a proudly curling handlebar mustache.

"Not too long, I'd hope," he then replied, seemingly forcing himself to stay on a leveled emotional state. That apparent seriousness didn't really suit him, which resulted in Tom and Calhoun giving him slightly disturbed looks. Grimley rolled his eyes at that, but couldn't quite keep himself from a lopsided grin, his eyes twinkling with the mad joy he was now either repressing - or trying to channel more constructively. "I'm trying to get into character," he explained, "I might as well tackle the hard bits first, no? Once we'll be done, I'll have the rest of Creation to laugh my cares away, so I'd call that a minuscule sacrifice for a good cause."

Recovering his gibus and cane, he then faced his allies while pacing towards the partially-wrecked stairs leading back down. "The idea is we get my old troupe members back and then Shadow-Walk to the rear-most guard of Wrath's forces in Sandhill. The good doctor felt like the type to brag about his achievements for Valefor's benefit at the drop of a hat, so the plan is I step out near his personal quarters and you lot hang back while I lower his guard. I'll maybe need a minute or two, but I'll eventually give the signal for you to step into the limelight. The troupe takes the rear, we subdue Valefor, and then I employ the Celestial detachments I'll bribe Gabriel for to help us make short work of Wrath's controlled rift. We close it, decimate Wrath from the rear, and let our friends and allies mop up the front. They'll eventually realize we've turned an unlimited amount of foes into a very finite quantity, which should make things easier for everyone."

Tom followed along but still looked rather skeptical. "What are you going to bribe Gabriel with?
- Why, but with what Hogarth showed me, of course! Some of Heaven's numbers directly disobeyed him and aggressively worked to cure the fallen of my bloodline! Lilith's boon and Lucifer's curse were never designed to be removed or altered by anyone other than the chief interested parties, so you can imagine the amount of metaphysical agony they've all been put through! If this were peacetime and the Vienna Council had any reach, Forsythe Holden would be on every tribune and in every newscast, demanding official reparations! If they haven't been rendered as docile as cows by an overexposure to excessively caring and ignorant Celestial principles, they'll all be more than ready to step forward as the first vampires reclaimed from Heaven!"

A few seconds passed, Tom then realizing Horatio hadn't simply opted to Shadow-Walk out of the building. "You could've warped us out, you know.
- Not yet," replied the Ringleader, "I need to see what that loathsome interloper made me do..."

He stopped on the first landing and looked out at what remained of the ground floor's office space, at the devastation he'd caused and the mess he'd made. Even with his tendrils, you could tell his lips were curled in a nauseated grimace.

"I'm going to enjoy this, I think," he then said, his voice low and steely.

* * *

"What could this woman possibly hope to gain by keeping us here?" asked Woodford, his tone indignant. That led Three to shrug.

"You might as well ask why God tolerates injustice and suffering, or why nobody in Heaven ever decided to step up to try and excise evil out of Creation altogether. The usual Fae Sociology byline is that the King and the Queens' motives are inscrutable. Oberon and Titania can at least use empathy as an excuse, but Mab and Morgana do whatever they need to do to achieve whatever it is they want to do. The Queen of Frost is the only one of the two with some sort of excuse, seeing as Winter's original rebellion didn't quite pan out like she'd expected. The subservient Fae integrated mortal society and hid within it for thousands of years, the more rebellious ones were stuck to arcane confluences or specific ley lines around the world, when they didn't just stick to Darkest Winter's realm. Morgana, in comparison, strikes a lot of scholars as amoral. Almost alien - like she's retreated to pure instinct without losing sapience."

Woodford didn't look satisfied. "But why this, if she's so bloody powerful?"

Naberius gave their surroundings a wary glance. "We've always posited that she found the trolls' native lands to appeal to her ruthless nature, and opted to take steps to preserve the Wilds while allowing them to serve her purposes. Considering her designs for the original Raptors, I imagine she sees this place as a gauntlet of sorts, a means to sort out the wheat from the chaff.
- This still doesn't answer my question."

Amduscias clicked his tongue. "Look, mate - Mab made herself right scary enforcers with the White King and Queen, ol' Morgie probably just figured she'd skip Eldritch eugenics and skim the cream off the top of a barrel's worth of dead adventurers stuffed with poisoned blowgun darts. Targeted natural selection, more or less.
- How horrid," gloomily noted the Colonial-Era soldier.

A few more cryptic twists and turns later, Siv stopped in front of a set of branches that curled together and formed a crude arch. The path seemed to go on past that point, but she gave the group a pointed look. "Do as I do one last time," she said, "or else you'll never leave this place."

Drawing a breath, she steeled herself and called upon her surroundings' ample arcane reserves, then raising her left hand about at a level with her waistline, as if she were reaching for a door handle. Her hand closed on thin air, which she ignored as she etched a turning motion - and seemingly vanished. As she did, more ghostly cackles were heard somewhere above, a few guttural words etched seemingly in mockery of their group. Two or more jungle trolls were exchanging observations with one another, and you didn't exactly need a diploma to figure out they didn't have much of anything nice to say about the travelers.

Even if the language wasn't recognizable, Naberius coughed uneasily and tried for a stab at Haitian Creole, thinking some of Morgana's cohorts would've appropriated that language for themselves, among a few others.

"Ou ka soti, si ou renmen! Nou pa pral fè ou mal!" he called out, the words still marked with a strong British accent. You can come out, if you like! We won't hurt you!

That only raised more clicking cackles out of the group. Strangely, another one responded in Xhosa's musical tones. "Asothuki. Siyahlekiswa!"

Followed more mocking laughter, as Naberius provided a translation. "They're not scared, or so they say. They're rather amused by us, it seems..."
 
Three looked about and chanced a stab at it in English. "We're just passing through! We're sorry if we've invaded your territory!"

Rustling leaves were heard, along with a dull thump as something hit the ground, somewhere just out of view. The voice that sounded felt raspy, somehow both congenial and threatening - and distinctly Jamaican. "You're de first ones to make it through to here inna long, long time, mon. We'd be fools ta mess wit da Boss Lady if she says you can go."

Three searched the treeline. "Where are you?
- Right here, mon," said the voice, this time from the other side of the path. The low brushes moved strangely, as if covered in a heat haze - then followed by what had to be the world's most advanced chameleon hopping onto the path, his form a mere suggestion as his skin reproduced every detail of the path behind him. The visual fidelity then decreased gradually, until the path and forest's respective hues were mere mottled suggestions on the lizard-like skin of what looked like a particularly diminutive goblin. It had grotesque features, with a long nose, a pot-belly, a set of tusks poking through his wide mouth, and an equally expressive set of yellow eyes. It didn't so much have a hairline, as an area where a mixture of feathers and spines started to grow in a lush and colorful mohawk. It was wearing what looked like a Modern Primitive survivalist's attempt at replicating slim-fit jeans using locally-sourced leathers and ad-hoc sources of twine for the stitches and seams. At barely four feet tall, he somehow made the act of looking up to the others feel like a badge of respect.

He pointed to Woodford with what had to be a blowgun. "You pass, you pay de tithe," he said. "He stays. He'll make good game for her children."

Three's jaw hardened. "We can't do that. He's been stuck here for over two hundred years. He deserves to be free."

The troll cackled darkly. "Ya, sure - tell me how e's gonna fit in with your world, eh? Your computers and machines and tings, your social progress - your war with Hell? Long time, used to be the Boss Lady sometimes let deserving ones back home after many a moon here. Dey all go mad, gov. Too much time run on both sides."

Drake huffed out a breath. "What's your name?
- Dey call me Scooter Garvey in Frenchtown. You couldn't speak me Forest-Name.
- Scooter Garvey, I entreat you in the name of Hope's Summer Lady and Winter Lord. We'll find another way to pay our debt of honor with Morgana, of whom we recognize the graciousness-"

He couldn't finish that Garvey's cackles turned into more frank laughter. "The Lady don't play your politics, lackey - only her own Oaths have any sway here, an' she decides when we pay lip service to de English. We sure don't do now, or else I'd know."

Aidan's posture shifted slightly. "What if we just took him?"

Scooter's features lightened out of what felt like contemptuous mirth. He smiled, pointed teeth glinting in the forest's low light. "Do it. See what happens, eh? Boss Lady won' lift a finger, it won't start a war and she's got a broad enough back to take your slights all adult-like - but something'll happen."

* * *

Melmoth gave her an approving smile, then seemingly turned thoughtful for a second or two.

"You ever push things as far down as Italy?" he asked. "I mean - I loosened purse strings for a few artists, you inspired a couple more... Maybe there's some interplay here we didn't notice. I wouldn't have noticed anything, I was usually stuck countin' coins in low light, destroying my latest vessel's eyesight by degrees."

* * *

"From mead halls through to modern nightclubs, gatherings where alcohol is involved tend to be a smidge more unpredictable than others of similar types," noted Haraldson as he adjusted his jacket. "We can only plan for so much, in terms of potential hazards or outcomes. We'd also lose the element of surprise if I used my men to remove a few variables from play."

Kevin sighed and looked down on Shen Long. "Don't forget to drop Miranda off - I'm staying here for a bit. They'll need you at the temple, John," he then told the panda. The corner store owner looked like he didn't exactly want to leave, but he still gathered his wits with a sharp inhale.

"You're right. Think you could manage these two pit stops?" he asked the Draugr, to which the vampire replied with a smile. "Of course. As soon as peacetime allows it, I'll authorize a donation for the temple. It'll be sizable, let me assure you. It's what Aldergard would've wanted."

The vampire then looked back to the Blue Chimera nurse. "I'll leave him in your capable hands," he said, the statement being one of trust as well as a stern warning. He then looked at the others as he walked off. "We'll take one of our armored limos, it'll leave more time for the pad crew to finish repairing Nami's shuttle."
User avatar
TennyoCeres84
Site Admin
 

Posts: 2929
Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:59 am

Re: Chapter VI - Asunder

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

The idea of having a drink after leaving the previous chaos behind seemed like a nice break for the former deputy chief. "Sure, it sounds good," Crystal replied with a nod. She clasped his hand ventured off in the direction with the newly reborn android.

Not wanting to be a third wheel, Andrea eyed the lich. "I'll help you in the Research department," she stated.

***

"Fuel for the fight, then," Aislinn added, smiling. "Let's get your friends out of Heaven and put Wrath in its place!"

***

The something happening comment tightened Aspasia's stomach into a knot, as though she knew what that portended to some degree. What she had read of mortals leaving Faerie didn't always end well, especially if they had been there for centuries.

"Speaking in absolutes about a person's ability to adapt to change doesn't do anybody any favors. He might be able to, similar to his former comrade with time," Meris opined, despite knowing the troll wouldn't care or agree with her.

Still, the Fauness sidled up to Aidan and leaned in closely, whispering in his ear to avoid Woodford from hearing. Her expression was that of someone preparing for a grim reality, jaw partly clenched and ears pinned back against her head. "I've heard similar tales, Drake, and his survival through that gate is a gamble." She wasn't sure if Garvey could hear her, but at this point, she didn't really care.

***

"I dabbled some in Italy," Abdiel explained. "I did some modelling for some of Titian's works, mind you with changes to my appearance. The inspiration part manifested in more of a general fashion with regard to lighting and the overall ambiance of the painting."

She then pursed her lips and said, "While I know she's considered more of a Baroque painter, I aided Artemesia Gentileschi through some of her paintings and the themes they displayed. Inspiration isn't always a state of serenity, after all," she started. "Sometimes, it's finding a means to cope with one's anger."

***

Nami and Miranda gave their wishes for his well-being to the comatose Shen Long and gathered their things, following after the Draugr.
Locked