Chapter VII - Healing Pains

This is what you came here for. Adventure, intrigue, murder, mystery and action - plus a healthy dose of boring everyday stuff. One continuous story-line, broken up into smaller themes for easier consumption.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Vernon gave his charge a quizzical look she’d have seen before. He wasn’t judging her or doubting her insight but was attempting to compare her input with his available facts. Considering how he hadn’t seen the better years of Tom’s still short presence
on the mortal plane, he didn’t have enough information to concur with her or contradict her. A simple “Hm,” was all he offered, initially, then spending a few moments looking around as if their surroundings held tangible clues.

“Nothing would please me more than to offer you my implicit confirmation, darling, but while I am no dryad, I’ve also not been here long myself. I’ve heard of mister Magnus’ other accomplishments – elevating Aislinn, counter-cursing Eliphas Buck and recovering our friend Randolph, not to mention the friends he saved from the Pit – but haven’t witnessed them myself. I’ve only seen the man as a wartime strategist, as morally grey as the rest.”

He contemplated the picture Alex had isolated. “I’m familiar with this notion, you know. Sacrifice, that is. Before breaking to have you carried to the Cradle, I was asked to lend a hand both in Hope and London’s defense. I was offered the Bean, symbolically, and was tasked with delivering the full scope of Winter’s wrath against the demons. I hope you’ve since understood, Alastriona, that
Winter is Life at its most passionate – and defiant. The Yule King or Oberon himself, whomsoever leads the Wild Hunt – are to know no mercy. They are to show no pity, give no quarter. Those who fell before me could either join in the Hunt as my Hounds – or die by my hand.”

A few seconds passed, after which he gave the dryad a soft and frank look. “Love and attachment are powerful forces, Trina. You may be of your Tree, but I hope you will understand that before all of Heaven’s angels and Hell’s demons, you are my daughter. I was charged with your keeping and shall keep you longafter you come of age and your Tree reaches maturity. No amount of gained independence shall ever change that. You may come to harm one day and Eirean may wish me to moderate my transports, act as a Lord should, and perhaps delegate someone, send some of these new friends of yours off to rescue you.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I will do no such thing. Instead, I shall cleave my way through whomsoever should have taken you. To these poor souls, I will seem a monster – and I honestly don’t give a toss. You are my daughter, andI will give my life and my Mantle before you see so much as half of the horrors Sophia endured. Therein lies the issue. Was mister Magnus always justified to act as he did, during wartime? I doubt it. I do know, however, that he reached the same impasse that would force me to act as I’ve described. He likely saw no other way. This does not excuse his actions, it merely explains them.”

He sighed gently. “I pray you know love as I have, one day, as I’ve no doubt the Warlock has. You would understand, then – the depravities we would commit, the mistakes we would make, willingly or otherwise, to draw breath one more day. To see our
loved ones or save a world we’ve grown fond of. By the end,Sophia would have choked the city in a maze of brambles, if it only would have saved but a handful of innocents. She would have poisoned the ground, fouled the air with spores of her design, and would have made Old Jack’s boggarts seem like gentle hunting dogs. She knew it well – and asked Ciaran to pass her burden on to someone else, before she would do something she would have regretted, and before that final sacrifice could taint her.”

***

Nereus being who he was, he couldn’t quite help the slight wince of empathy that escaped him upon seeing someone as dignified as Christopher Wesley Chambers hop overboard, longcoat flapping in the wind, with a massive sear mark staining his English officer’s pantaloons. However, he also couldn’t help the giggle that followed. Archie had settled with an exclamation of obvious approval, while Spector’s smirk had deepened. As the vision’s spectral camera revealed Meris, however, Nereus’ eyes almost smouldered. He gripped the Archmage’s hand tightly, his amorous lust rather obvious.

“You would’ve needed your whole crew to keep me off of you, after that,” he whispered in her ear.

“Down,boy!” teased Coach, which led the former Augur to jokingly wave him away. “Don’t make me fuse your teeth together, mister Robertson,” he warned, the following smirk making it clear he hadn’t taken it personally. “Besides, I have it on good authority you’d practically build your wife an altar yourself, assuming her Fae roots do awaken!”

The lich didn’t even try to deny it. “I damn well would, it’d be the culmination of decades of efforts on her part, enough soul searching to more than match for my own centuries of research. I started out as a fleshless Muggle beset with an arcane sensitivity I didn’t know what to do with; she doesn’t so much as have that luxury! Even if some half-assed Genie gave her something like Zeb Buck’s haphazard connection to the Nexus, she’d probably consider that a marked
improvement!”

He gestured at Aspasia. “I don’t want to discuss this with you in the cockpit, you don’t
need me to fight your battles, honey – but I can’t let Party-Size Chtulhu here think I wouldn’t hoot or holler if you or Miranda reconnected with the Fauns’ past.”

That ripped another poorly repressed round of laughter from Nereus, who’d finally been brought to fairly happy tears, all things told. He needed a few moments to speak and might’ve sounded like he‘d been crying, but he honestly hadn’t been so relieved in centuries. He needed a few tries before being able to finally manage properly articulated words.

“I’m the worst Eldritch Horror Rhode Island will have ever seen!” he managed, before breaking off to laugh for a few seconds longer. “Party-Size Chtulhu, now 90% less likely to successfully start a cult! Get yours now!”

Archie made a face. “No, thank you; I’ll pass. Party-Size Chtulhu sounds like it’s terribly high-maintenance, I’ll stick with Werewolf Girlfriend.”

***

“Noclip, at my size?” noted the false Squid. “Hm, yeah – nope…”

From upclose, a few details became clear: this wasn’t any house from Faerie, and even its dilapidated state allowed for a few markers of its origin to stand out:this was a Void Weaver construct, like a poorly researched rendition of a Fae cabin, modelled after one of Dalarath’s houses of flowing stone. It seemed solid enough, even if the door’s hinges gave out at Shamus’ slightest pressure.

He hadn’t unintentionally made an Asterix joke – the hinges had quite honestly been poorly assembled.The wallsand floor were solid, and there wasn’t much inside except abandoned timber of a shade too dark to belong here, haphazardly broken housewares – and a cellar door of some kind.

The false Nereus had begun to squat down to grip the panel’s thick and black ring handle, that a voice sounded a ways past it, seemingly coming from a few feet underneath them. Its tone was sibilant and wheezing, deep and stertorous, as if what was speaking wasn’t entirely designed to speak.

“Come.Come down here, please. The real trap is…. Around you. Your captors do not know I placed this door here. Come – before their trap springs. Then, we spring yours.”

The voice was… familiar, but not enough to make names spring to mind. On a whim, Bucky tried for George’s name. This resulted in another wheezing breath. “Almost– but not quite. We had… the same father. Not the same minders. Or the same luck. I am… a different kind of snake.”

***

“Which is why we’re here,” noted Aidan. “Hell being pushed back’s given a lot of players new ideas. On the positive end of things, Nereus is safe with us – but that means Chambers is gunning for revenge. We would’ve travelled in one group, but we’ve had to split up across Earth and Faerie to run diversionary tactics. I’ve done what I could to brief the Crown, talked with Spector about the guest list, but I don’t think they fully realize how much of a target they’re painting on themselves by inviting Nereus over to London officially. Hector Gutierrez, the current spokesman for the Quetzalcoatl, stopped by the renovated mansion’s unveiling, goon squad in tow. Weasel’s spooked. He hates magic-enhanced drugs for what they do to people, no matter if you’re referring to Red Snow or Glitter Dust. Doherty’s pushing for the focus to be set on the city’s reconstruction and recovery, but we already know the mob’s slipped into virtually every contractor firm between Rhode Island and Vermont. The vacuum’s being filled, and while the Burning Legions and the angels are worming their way across every sphere of society back home, it’s not enough to keep the worm out of the fruit. The Commission have been useful allies during the war, but now we’re seeing protection rackets shape up again.
The Sons of the White Dragon are covering Chinatown and parts of Renton and South Little Italy – and that’s without mentioning signs that some former Prelates are wising up and realizing they can just operate for their own ends. Angus Mac Loch already has a few cases filed for tentacled perps that tried to shake down businesses on Mertown.”

He sighed. “Couple that with the rebel Squids being out-and-about and client renders for New Dalarath being already passed around on some message boards, and we’ve got a lot of hope and a lot of tension on the same plate.”

Carrie added a nod. “We have to make sure the jiangshi don’t become more of an issue – first with Hope, and then worldwide. They might date back to the Qin Dynasty, but most of them are former politicians – governors and other mid-rank officials. We can either tackle this diplomatically or crawl out of one war to fall straight back into gang warfare. If they’re sending someone in London, we
need to present a unified front.”

Three then clicked his tongue. “Oh, and, uh, this is all a backdrop for a ceremony where Spring and Autumn Changelings are going to Choose, hopefully, and if you know Fae then you know there’s some contention in there. Add to that a Fae-turned-demon being granted racial amnesty, more or less, and being received by London’s own dryad as part of the ceremony and, well… If I were a bad guy, I wouldn’t want to sit this one out. This has A-Grade terrorism written on it, and only Spector takes this seriously, apart from you.”

Carrie didn’t miss the irony. “The supernatural FBI spook and the former vampire hunter… I
think he’d like you, Jameson.”

* * *

“Their smell, I’d assume!” shot back Vargas. “He’s a werewolf, don’t forget!”

The blurs seemed to get bigger – or closer – until a small cadre of repurposed shuttles began to break formation around the plane, leaving only forwards as Preston’s potential exit point. They did have rockets and a few guns, however, and one vampire cursed with the Black Speech. As the shuttle’s doors opened and revealed black-clad figures hefting guns, Hauser might have a few seconds’ worth of panic. At their current distance, the enemy could’ve hit his fuel tank and forced him to land. They didn’t shoot, however, as something clearly seemed to force the goons to shoot ahead of the chopper. What had begun asa few darker wisps of summer storm clouds congealed into a wall of dark grey mist ahead of the plane. Green werefire danced in the cloud’s layers for a few moments and then focused as two green flames, like giant sparks of St. Elmo’s Fire. Out of the rumbling clouds pushed a misty rendition of Zebediah’s skull, eye sockets pinched and jaw lightly hanging as he groaned.

“Really?Can’t a man get away from the abusive ghost of his dead wife for a few hours?!” called out Zebediah Buck’samplified voice, which earned him incoherent screams and several long volleys. The projected skull squinted as it turned towards Hauser’s chopper. Fangs seemed to grow in his mouth as he widened his maw’s gap, his tongue snaking out in a display worthy of a Heavy Metal album cover – as ghostly Colonial and Wampanoag horseriders began to stream out of the aperture, supernatural musket
fire and the whirling winds of thrown axes and spears forcing the first wave of assailants to scatter their aim. They’d seemingly planned for it, however, with a second wave of shuttles breaking off from their own Veils to try and force the chopper into a pincer move.

In the immediate,Gomez did what he could. Considering his bioware, however, “what he could” wasn’t insignificant: raising two fingers to a temple, his irises briefly gleamed as he performed a handshake with one of the shuttles’ manual controls and forced
it to ram one of its neighbors. Pulling out his own rifle, he seemingly had tracking and leading software that enabled him to land shots at their rising speed and altitude. It would take a while for the locale’s curse to take effect, so it’d be a short while before their enemies started to have navigational issues.

* * *

Herbert was all smiles. “Right away, should it please you! If you’ll follow me, I’ll at least save us on shuttle travel – Estonia isn’t entirely secure as wespeak, there’s still a few recorded scraps between NATO air forces and various aerial subspecies from the Pit. Tallinn usually has clement weather, but the incursions caused a few extensive changes in the city’s neighboring mountain
ridges. I’ve recalled all of Pride’s forces, as per my agreement with Heaven and Vienna, and so have Greed and Sloth – but Envy is proving difficult to motivate accordingly, without mentioning that mister Mathers isn’t quite universally accepted as the Prince of Wrath just yet… Plus, you’ve met at least one angry castellan before, and I won’t surprise you if I say Grish has a few compatriots
of his own.”

They headed back inside, Herbert barely stopping to accept another folder from the front desk’s receptionist and giving her a little coffee-cup salute as he did. One of Leonard’s old juniors slipped in from stairs off to the side and demanded a few pointers regarding “fish men” using a commune to run a smuggling ring somewhere in the Northwest of Providence, and a carefully manicured female reporter stopped him for a few quotes. Once they were inside his office, Wormsworth shook his head and chuckled as he closed his double doors.

“How I love this,” he said, lightly sighing, “a Prince with a working workplace dynamic – how novel! If I didn’t know what I am and didn’t know any better, I’d probably find some pithy excuse to congratulate myself. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity…”

Turning a little self-conscious, he coughed a few times, adjusted his necktie and reopened his doors. This time, the main corridor for Wormsworth & Ephesian was gone, replaced with a corridor that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Apple Store – assuming Apple ever developed a thing for wood and bronze appliqués over white vinyl, with a floor entirely covered with white and square LED panels. A simple wooden door waited at the end, and it opened just as Herbert stepped out into the corridor. Doug Heathcliff approached the group and nodded to Charles.

“Mister Jenkins, good morning – you’ll find a selection of weapons, armor and tools in the next room. I have the key for the wall-mounted lockbox you’ll find next to the weapons rack, which contains keys for a variety of vehicles. You’ll also find a light table with a number of obtained blueprints for Abaddon’s self-styled seat of power, as well as our current best estimates for his available manpower. Above all else, however – you’ll need this.”

Doug then handed Charles a simple black envelope, if not for the fact that Abaddon’s obtained mundane address was embossed directly into the paper – or the fact that the envelope had quite possibly a few miles worth of ablative wardswoven into the paper’s fibers, so much so that even someone who wasn’t quite as sensitive to via as he was would immediately be able to tell that the missive was not only bulletproof and tamper-proof, but also immune to whatever tactical nuclear warhead some idiot could’ve chosen to lob at it. Even if he tried ripping it apart in both hands, he wouldn’t be able to get at the letter inside.

It was still fairly hard to account for the Black Speech in all things, of course, but Abaddon hadn’t been presented as a user – thankfully enough…
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Even with the Winter Lord's explanation, the young dryad still felt conflicted. "I'm grateful for your love and devotion. I hope that day won't come where you have to put your life and mantle on the line. I wouldn't want to lose you, and neither would Eirean or my younger sibling," she stated as she looked up at him.

"I realize that love and attachments can make people do foolish things to protect their loves ones, but please, don't be one of those types to throw caution to the wind in order to protect me. I know that's asking the impossible of you, but don't be in such a rush to protect me. I can only think of Archibald's propensity for heroics that lack common sense," she said with a light scoff.

She pursed her lips. "As for Tom, he might have feel justified in whatever it is he did, but I also have a duty to be on the lookout for potential threats. Hope is a magnet for trouble, and I can't sit on the laurels of my youth to keep me from protecting the Tree and the city. I may eventually have to face horrors similar to what Sophia dealt with, hopefully not soon, but I have to be realistic about this, Vernon."

"If his actions become enough of a problem, I will help my extended family members to stop him," she said resolutely.

***

His sensuous whisper in her ear caused the selkie to impressively blush in her cheeks, which she slightly awkwardly dismissed with a chuckle and then a hearty laugh.

As for Nereus and Coach's banter, Aspasia grinned wryly and placed a hand on the lich's shoulder. ""I'm sure it'll be a big to-do when it does happen, Coach! You'll probably trade your spurs for bells!"

Meris smirked at Archie's comment about Party-size Cthulu and commented, "Party-size Cthulu sounds like Snuffleupagus with tentacles and no hair! Large and cuddly! You can have your preferences, Archibald, and I'll have mine!"

***

Neasa had expected the house to be the trap, but now it was actually a safe spot within a trap already laid for them?! Her sense of danger was quickly thrown for a loop as the the wheezing and stertorous voice called to them from behind the cellar doors.

She still felt a bit of hesitation about trusting this stranger, but his words also felt true. The disguised selkie huffed out a breath and gripped the thick and heavy ring along with Bucky. "Come on, we should get in there before we're noticed."

She pulled it open just enough to slip through, now wondering who their strange benefactor was who was like George, yet not. "Hello? Who are you?"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by Karl the Mad »

Preston wasn't going to be outdone by a lot of hocus pocus. "Morons!" he shouted, whipping the chopper around and firing a salvo of missiles. Two shuttles exploded, and though the rest fired back, Marius was quick to Speak their ordnance into useless slush.

When they tried the pincer move, Preston cut the throttle and simply dropped like a stone for two seconds, before hitting them back to speed and arresting their movement. "Where'd you learn that?" Marius called.

"Jameson's simulators!" Hauser replied, focused on darting about the sky and trying to give as good as they got.

-----------------------------

"Speaking of the Commission, I heard about Old Man Winters passing," Mary noted somberly. "Too bad it happened during the big dust-up, do you know if they're planning a funeral?"

Aidan would know that there wasn't much of a celebration planned, just a small wake and burial ceremony with immediate family members and representatives from the others on the Commission, as well as whatever city big shots wanted to pay their respects. Jimmy's passing had been anticipated for months, if not years, and his direct subordinates Brody Harrington and Rocco Salieri had been well-positioned to take over the old man's duties, and they were already bringing a sense of youthful but respectful vigor to the Irishman's operations.

Moving on, she seemed more and more ill at ease as they went on. "A right little perfect storm for someone like me," she muttered, looking down and gripping her elbow for a few seconds. "Christ, I can't fuck this up, but I can't afford not to be on high alert either... hopefully the champagne won't be too strong, hm?"

--------------------------------

"Fuckin' Grish," Charles groused, "wish Vlastos woulda jus' killed th' fucker, 'steada posin' around." He knew why it had to happen, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like the consequences.

When the secret corridor was revealed, he nodded to Doug and accepted the black envelope. "Y'all Pride folks treat all yer temp guys like 'is? I oughta work 'ere more often if'n ya do!" he remarked appreciatively, grinning at the suggestion of weapons, armor, tools and cars. "Is all yer process servin' always this rough?"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

"As well you should," approvingly noted Haskill, "if mister Magnus has taken a dark turn, it would give him some comfort to know that a friendly face is seeking to bring him to reason. I've seen enough Mantles burn like stars to know that underneath pervading influences, there is always something of our friends and loved ones left behind."

He slipped beside her to resume their walk. "As for me, you should know I have no desire to be foolish about such things, Trina. You, Eirean and the child will forever be my primary motivators, but I am still a Lord. This city has seen its fair share of self-destructive transplanar aristocrats, I would do it a disservice by jumping the shark, as it were," he explained, smirking.

He headed up the main staircase. "Archie is... a byproduct of his nature, unfortunately. I would act desperately if all other recourses had been exhausted, but he is as Victorian as I once was, without the benefit of having aged through every passing year of the last two centuries. Men were hewn out of different cloth, back when I was mortal - especially us higher-crust types. Public and social life demanded irreprochable phlegm, and our emotions bled into our private sanctums. I've had long enough to learn how to love Eirean and yourself openly without sensing that doing so is revealing some sort of weakness, but Archie still sticks to gallantry by day and effusive displays by night, to sketch a metaphor."

Once upstairs, he observed a few portraits. "Eirean and I are a fair bit more emotionally liberated than your new boss, if I might," he noted, smirking. "It makes holding Court in two separate thrones a bit of a challenge, but you'll find that we've instated, er, brief recesses on audience days. We're to use them to compare notes, but I suspect there might be days that won't see us compare much of anything."

His hands were leisurely held behind his back, but the way he'd lightly bit down on his lower lip as he spoke betrayed that his mind wasn't exactly on the large watercolor portrait of Archie's former mortal self...

* * *

"And a hurrah for healthy relationships, then!" noted Holden, while Nereus briefly snuggled up to Meris' shoulder, at least as best as one could while riding a Hammerspace carriage. He'd settled with sinking into his seat, doing so until his cheek was at a level with the Archmage's shoulder, and then rested it there for a few moments. He then sat back up, the resulting posture not exactly being something you'd want to keep for too long.

"I've been thinking," he noted, steadying himself with a cough, "you've been opposing the Black Speech without any theoretical understanding beyond what you can get from outside consultants like the Gentlemen. It'll take me a while, but I think it's time I changed that."

Coach pulled his seat back up and pushed his hat away from his eyes. "Y'mean you'd write a syllabus of some kind?" he theorized, grunting as he moved. Nereus seemed to agree. "It shouldn't be too hard for me to divest the basics of the Speech from its ideological roots, and approaching it non-liturgically is something we already do, conversationally. Meris is free to start publishing openly, now, and the wider world's going to want answers about my people, something more tangible than a shrug and an admission of my previously serving insane gods."

The lich seemed interested. "The vamps at the Institute are already breaking spell components down at the quantum level, trying to figure out if magic's an integral part of the fabric of reality or if it's some sort of hack or higher-level access. I'm thinking the Speech amounts to commands, right?"

Nereus nodded. "It might feel like Jenkins is only able to violently tear things and people apart with his level of grasp on the Speech, but what he's doing isn't any different, structurally speaking, from what I could do.The one difference is he hasn't realized the joy of looking into things at the deepest, most intricate level, and of realizing how you can reorder pieces around creatively."

He gestured. "I always thought this was what brought Meris and I together. We're both poets of a sort - it's our tools that are respectively different from one another. We're both Cantors on a certain level, but she knits flesh and soothes minds expertly - and not just mine, in the past. I'd be better suited for injury levels she wouldn't have had enough time to properly study, seeing as I can look past someone's state and see the strands of Matter waiting to be bound back together. Marius drapes it in his contempt for Form and his desire for authority and it's fair enough if it works as-is, but-"

The former Augur looked a bit like he was at a loss for words. "I suppose I keep coming back to the joy of it all, the thrill of a perfectly-sung harmony manifesting through flesh and bone - but Amaxi and Dar-Larath could never understand how humbling it feels, when you heal someone through the Speech. It's simultaneously simple and complex, it's absolutely arresting in its beauty - and it's so, so very powerful; and I don't mean that in the arcane sense. I mean that it feels powerful here," he finished, lightly thumping his own heart with two fingers.

A chuckle was added. "And, well, the only way for it all to make sense for outsiders is if a Prelate finally puts our theories to paper in a language and form you all could understand, freed of the Black Books' parasite signals. It'll be a long road for certain, but it feels right to me. Like it should happen."

* * *

Just as Bucky closed the latch on them, he caught sight of three robed figures slipping through the tundra's underbrush, doing their best to remain unseen. Realizing they'd need to cover their track and remain as hard to reach as possible, he took a few moments to slip his sword through a few of the ladder's stone-mounted rungs and pulled hard, grunting as he did. He'd soon wrenched four rungs free, ensuring that their pursuers would be forced to noisily drop down into the hatch or give up on active pursuit.

That done, he turned to face their benefactor, if it indeed was one. Ahead was a small root cellar, the floor half-frozen soil that crunched under his and Neasa's feet. An old door was ajar, blackness waiting past its rim. Something gleamed in the exposed crack and then slithered closer, Bucky now suddenly aware that if he tried to swing his sword in a space like this, he'd likely make the entire structure collapse on himself and Neasa. For a moment, he considered that this had, indeed, been a trap.

Then, what looked like an enlarged and blackened python, almost Bucky's own width at the chest, came closer. It reared its head and slowly exposed its mouth, the gesture too slow to be one of immediate threat-

And a human head came up from its gullet. Its features were round but its nose was finely chiselled, black eyes rimmed with dark circles that were currently pinched with effort - and slits opened along the serpent's sides. Pushing past grey intestinal loops came a long and gangly arm, its fingers ending in claws. Even in the dim light, it was easy to tell that the Abomination was badly bruised on all easily-reachable parts of its anatomy - even if something to the set of its nose still spoke of inordinate care. He wasn't just a grunt, then - he had to be someone's envoy, or their favorite plaything.

"I have named myself Apophis," he wheezed, etching a curtsy, "and officiate as the Speaker's Legate. I carry forth his... pronouncements, and was also freed of the Loyalist charade by slaves of what was formerly House Lulroth. That should suffice, for now. As for you, I can make you be seen. Meris and Nereus returning from the surface world would send the Prelacy into maddening speculation, and it will take weeks for the Chamberlain to set records straight. An ample distraction."

Bucky didn't bother to Veil his voice. "Why're you helping us? You could be sending us to one o' Chambers' cronies, for all I know."

Apophis drew himself up, stretching out a few syllables as he spoke. "You must... look upon the face of your true enemy, and the body of the one who needs saving. The body my master usurps. Confuse him, and you will buy time for the Augur.
- What's yer price?"

The snake clasped his hands together. "Free me. Take me to Respite Point - I cannot make the journey alone. Once there, I will have other means to come and go, other means to return to Dalarath and carry out my treachery!
- Why would you go back? Why would anyone want to go back?!" opposed Bucky. Apophis lowered his head, the eyes of his snake's maw twitching.

"To serve them," the snake man explained. "To serve their cause. To serve Meris and Nereus from whence I might bury my fangs deep."

* * *

Eventually, it'd become clear that if their enemies had been typical hitmen, they would've turned tail and run off long ago. The Speech ran on their side as well, however, and it seemingly afforded them near-limitless quantities of fuel and an inexhaustible supply of ordnance. Hauser was formidable indeed, but it was obvious that the Squids intended to play the long game after punching hard the first few times, likely to push the human, vampire or iguana into some mistake. They equally managed to speak some of Zeb's imposed failure rates down to manageable levels, but it was obvious that neither target nor prey could hang about indefinitely. The former local layabout likely sensed it, and didn't exactly mince words or greetings. One moment, he was merely an oversized arcane projection in the sky. The next, a flash of green werefire erupted next to Marius, and a slipper and dressing gown-clad skeleton came close to falling out of the chopper's other side, if not for the suddenly very real Wampanoag oar he wedged in the doorway. Gritting his teeth, he sat back up and then strapped himself down.

"Drinks on the house once we're done, lads!" he called out, something in his seafoam-green eyelights suggesting he wasn't quite pulling from the same sedate and careful registry as Coach. His voice betrayed it too, like a crazed titter or chuckle wasn't too far off.

"Drop out again when I signal, Preston!" he then called out. "We're taking our friends on a bit of a trip!
- What about your brother?!" asked Vargas. Zebediah didn't exactly repress his chuckle, this time around.

"He'll be fine; it's not like his side of the family curse would leave enough leeway for these idiots to go Lovecraft on him! Anyone who doesn't follow us where we're going is signing up for a little claw-based tracheotomy!"

Lucky flashed a worried look at Marius. "Madres, I think I liked him more back when he was useless as shit!"

* * *

"There's something planned for Winters - symbolically," confirmed Aidan. "Brody and Rocco are handling things the way Jimmy would've - community first," he explained. "He was tight with the local Celtics, either Mortal Plane Irish-Americans or Tir Na Nog natives and Wyldfae, so safety comes first.The Harp & Blackthorn is more of an ad-hoc community center that serves drinks and meals for now, but there's still a few cots put up, down in the basement. That's without mentioning demons with a Celtic background that are looking to transition to civilian life - I've heard about Brody showing auto-repair basics to a nuckleavee of some sort. Haven't met the guy yet - word is he's Veiling as an anthro horse to avoid freaking people out."

He parted with a thoughtful sigh. "I think Winters got cremated - official word is we're scattering his ashes in a few weeks and then tossing a few shot glasses in the old fireplace."

Carrie settled with a shrug, once things had been said. "I just hope the stuff is strong enough, y'know? If it helps us not look nervous in front of... chinese mind-suckers or whatever, then I'm all for it. Besides, we'll have the King and Queen on board, plus the former Augur of Dalarath, plus a couple high-level mages and some supes. It's not just us quasi-normies against creeps older than sin."

That got Three to smile, and he learned in slightly to give Mary a supportive look. "Hey now, don't you go wigging out in front of me, Jameson - you've got a new student to impress!"

Carrie leaned back into her side of the booth. "Let's just say this, right here, is infinitely cooler than being forced to gussy myself up so stuck-up immortals don't think I'm a snack," she said, scoffing in amusement. "You should've seen how many low-order Pride Knights suddenly lose a few thousand years' worth of tactics if I showed up with low-profile ceramic plates as armor. I even got one to act all chivalrous."

Three couldn't repress a chortle of amusement. "Where was that?
- Spain, fittingly enough. Malàga. Six hundred pounds of chili-red muscle, black armor and more teeth than sense calling me Doña Silva and making a show of keeping his troops at a distance, while he curtsied. He'd quote-unquote protect me while I used that to divert attention away from a few refugee camps being emptied. I thought about blowing his head open once the last group made it through, but he was a great cook for a Pride demon who'd never come up here before and, well - I thought he deserved someone, at least. He's like your Paimon - real honor-bound, but in the usually overblown Latin sense - and he didn't exactly like it, when his Bailey keeper started to question his intentions. He found me, I told him about you, got a faceful of demon slobber and oaths of endless fealty for my trouble - and now Aatxe's on a holding pattern in Madrid."

Three blinked. "So... Cervantès with horns wants in. Is it just to sweep you off your feet while clutching a rose between his teeth, or does he understand that we're a thing and that we've got our own plans?
- Oh, he gets it," Carrie said, holding up her hands reassuringly. "The thing is, I think he's basically Gomez Addams crossed with an NFL linebacker, so I don't think any amount of established history between the two of us would stop him from kissing my hand or opening doors for me. He looked pretty cheerful about testing you, actually."

Hearing that, Aidan looked back at Mary and quite literally said, "Gulp. You sure there isn't a chapter in one of your SCRT handbooks about fire-breathing romantic rivals who'd maybe treat their hazing me with Hellfire and rapier matches like it's all good fun between bros?"

* * *

"Oh, this was commonplace before the War," noted Heathcliff, as he led the small group back through the door he'd come out of. "As of recently, however, it's been the province of, well..."

The accountant sent the Prince a glance, Herbert nodding in allowance. "Cretins, to be honest," finished Douglas. "My liege's new policies are as Progressive as they flatter the right Egoes in the Vice's numbers, and some like Abbadon haven't yet grasped how much they stand to gain if they were to be resonable and ally themselves with Earth and the Celestials. Compliance has cut back on summons as well as you'd expect, but nothing could realistically stop obsteperous sorts from running off with their Mantle under vague notions of striking it rich amongst mortals - or of using mortal investments as jumping-off points for greater aims. Abbadon is the least subtle of the idiots, so far, and will make an appropriate object lesson. All the other ones have sense enough not to have hired mercenaries and purchased guns."

Past the door waited the furnishings Doug had mentioned, along with a long concrete tunnel that stretched out ahead, thin little veins of Hellfire and cloudy spots of Brimstone visible throughout. Spotlights were set at regular intervals, making it seem like Charles would soon ride a long ramp effectively out of Hell - and likely out of some Estonian parking garage.

Rhadamantus hadn't fully caught on, however. "This is Hell?" he asked, as he looked about. This made Wormsworth smile. "Yes, well, you'll find that even with our climates having changed to something more fitting of Iceland or Norway, no half-decent Bentley or Aston Martin does too well under repeated icing. We all mostly build underground, now - except for Lucifer's own compound, which he's made as blithely tropical as you'd expect. I went for below-grounds chic, and he's preferred a very, erm, Beachfront Resort at the End of the World type of lair. I believe some of the older Millennials would call it Vaporwave. Pandemonium has shades of it now - there's katakana everywhere - but most of the rest of us don't really care to adhere to his own aesthetic precepts."

Herbert sniffed. "Cerruti suit cuts went out of fashion for a reason, after all."

To that, Rhadamantus could only oppose a nod. Snob Logic could be as impenetrable as your average burst of Black Speech, sometimes...
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by TennyoCeres84 »

Alastriona glanced from the portrait Vernon was supposedly admiring to his telltale gesture of lip-biting. She smirked and lightly chided, "Yes, I'm sure you'll be spending the time when not comparing notes giving each other directions for Lovers' Lane."

Suitably teenage giggles and sputters left her mouth as she covered her mouth with a hand. "Vernon, I sincerely hope you're able to have more discretion when it's your turn to be around Fae dignitaries and you must exude a frosty exterior. When you and Eirean weren't caring for me or doing housecleaning, you weren't exactly subtle on what else you were doing," she teased.

***

With the discussion of creating a syllabus for Black Speech, Aspasia was surprisingly the one to speak up first. "I agree that transcribing any language into educational texts will take a while to put together, but something that will speed things up would be to digitize it first. Even the best proofreaders can slip up, so digitizing the different facets of it could help you pick out the dangerous parts and make it suitable for everyday use."

Meris smiled at the Fauness' suggestion and asked, "Is this coming from the implants you had put in?"

The former Commander nodded. "It does. Back before the incursion, I had Dr. Loren give me some implants that would protect my mind while we were investigating Harrison Arkham. It turned any threats he said into harmless gibberish or anything visual into a censored form," she supplied.

Meris looked thoughtful. "It'd certainly work. If that technology could be modified, it'd increase the speed at which words and syntax could be neutered and then printed into standard texts," she surmised.

She looked back to the Void Weaver. "It'd speed up the process over you writing things out in notebooks and then having them distributed. What do you think of that possibility?"

***

Once the entrance was secure, Neasa took in their surroundings and felt her skin prickle slightly at the sight of the blackened and enormous snake approach them. She briefly looked around for any means to defend themselves, but stopped when a human head popped out of the snake's maw, feeling her skin blanche somewhat.

However, the sight of the bruised sections on his form caused her features to soften a bit. The chances of this Abomination being an active threat lessened as he stated his name and discussed what business he had with them. His injured state plus strange signs of mercy indicated he had a twisted existence.

Not bothering to conceal her voice either, the selkie glanced back at the doors and then to Apophis and then to Bucky. She didn't know the snake man 's moral range, so she had to guess it was at least gray. "We don't really have a whole lot of options. Either we help him, or we might be killed by our pursuers," she acknowledged.

She ventured closer to the Abomination and offered her hand as a show of trust and as agreement to his proposition. "I'll help you become a double agent for Meris and Nereus, even though they probably would be against the idea."

"Meris spent a portion of her career helping to free slaves and Animates, so I doubt either of them would be thrilled with you putting yourself back in danger for their sakes. However, I believe they'd also respect your choice and the fact that it's your choice. We need all the time we can get to give them a sizeable buffer without Chambers or the Speaker breathing down their necks."

"Since you told us who you are, it's only fair you know our names. I'm Neasa, and the big guy with me is Bucky," she said with a small and polite smile. "The sooner we can kick those creeps' asses, the sooner we can get going."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by Karl the Mad »

Mary cocked an eyebrow at Three's antics, looking for a second like she couldn't decide whether to back him up or join this demonic suitor in testing him. "I'd have to double check, but there might be something in the handbooks about demonic hazing." Then she grinned. "If all else fails I'd see Archie about some rapier lessons, hm?"

----------------------------

"Drinks! Fine!" Preston called, having apparently decided to check out on thinking too hard and just focus on shooting morons out of the sky, and flying where they told him to fly. "Say when!"

Marius eyed the lich, and subtly activated a runic symbol etched into his watch, that would protect him from the draining aura he generated. Then he went back to defending the chopper and attacking as best he could.

------------------------------

Charles walked around the area, checking out the guns and the gear and the cars. "Hot shit," he murmured appreciatively. He was definitely gonna have to work with Pride more often! If Herbert was still his friend once he'd gotten his hands on the Crown, that is.

He picked out a selection of firearms and ammo, as well as body armor and harnesses to hang all his kit off of. Then he took the keys to an older but heavily retrofitted Charger, and busied himself stashing his choices in the trunk. "Ready a' roll?" he asked, glancing back at the others and cocking an eyebrow.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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The Winter Fae rolled his eyes in amusement. "You'll find families can afford themselves some earnestness, darling. Subtlety is typically better left to the pair's discretion. All that mattered to me is that I wasn't too forward in your presence. Beyond that, sending a few hungry glances to your, well, mother of sorts, never seemed inappropriate."

As he spoke, he headed up the second flight of stairs to the old quarters, and soon traced his gloved fingertips along the wall, looking for the hidden switch he'd been told to watch out for. As he did, he continued addressing the dryad.

"We, my sweet, are a family. Eirean and I are not repeating our previous mistake of keeping a valued member of this community at arms' length on the ridiculous notion that they are important or somehow in need of being mythologized. Sophia was loved, of this she had no doubt, I'm sure - but her network of trust came late in life, through Ciaran and his friends. Familial bonds are better handled earnestly - subtlety can take a hike. I can't help it if the locals come to idolize you over time, but you, like everyone else, need to be afforded a safe space. I'm not referring to the Tree itself, but to a place and a network of people where you can be Alastriona the Young Dryad, as opposed to Milady Dryad or the local arcane power dampener."

He clicked his tongue. "Now, the Greenvale is just one short bus ride away or a few minutes by car or cab, but Frosthall? I've tried to look for suitable assets around town, but the usual politics made it impossible for House Christmas to simply settle on a loft in Renton.Thankfully, Evergloam's keepers seemed tolerant of the idea of having a cipher of Winter so close to home."

He looked back to Trina and smiled. "Oh, and don't worry about your bond, Dryads can go transplanar with no repercussions as long as they can still access their Tree through the local via network. It'll simply feel as though you're connected to the central tower in town, when Percival's own home is more of an indirect manifestation of the local Nexus."

Finding the switch, Vernon pressed it while adding a smidgen of power in the gesture. Hidden friezes in the paisley wallpaper lit up, outlining a threshold in bright floral and snowflake-like curlicues as the panel it framed gently swung open. Architecturally, they should've been staring at the inner lining of Holden Hall's third floor walkway wall, right next to one of the old quarters. Instead of pipes or power cables, however, a new room impossibly waited past the threshold. The wainscoting and paisley wallpaper were similar, but here done in a bluish shade of lilac, and the room seemed to be something of a guest office or a seldom-used reading room. The sudden change in temperature and and pressure created slight eddies that brushed past Vernon and Alex, as Frosthall was notably colder than Holden Hall - but not uncomfortably so. Besides, the room they stepped into had its own fireplace, which helped to keep things reasonably comfortable.

"Well then," noted the Lord, "welcome to one of the fiefdoms of House Christmas, Alastriona. Don't be surprised with the smells that waft about or the state of the windows - the Winter Solstice never leaves my abode."

The reading room had been rather sedate in its Victorian evocation of the Holidays, apart from the fireplace's decorative coat-of-arms on the mantle, which displayed a handful of chestnuts flanked with holly branches. Past its own door, however, waited a room that would've made the drawing room Vernon and Eir had claimed for themselves in the Cradle look like a cramped living room. The same food-laden table Bucky had indulged in waited, still piled with enough goods to sate fifteen people, and the back of the sunroom-porting space was still occupied by a Christmas tree that would've given an insecurity complex to Rockefeller Center's own Frankenstein of boughs. Its trunk was almost hidden away from view behind a pile of wrapped gifts - and it positively radiated of fresh pine and equally new charcoal - as if a breeze allowed the massive pine to pick up the table's own scents and carry them to the dryad: roasted chestnuts, plum pudding, sugar canes, peanut brittle, whole roasted chickens, pheasants and partridges, the sweetly acrid scent of a spice-laden cake recently soaked with enough brandy to turn the meal into a fire hazard -

Everything that defined the holidays Vernon and Eir had spent eighteen compressed years celebrating off-world was present here, magnified beyond any sort of attainable mortal scope, and curiously bereft of more typically North American or English markers. Not one bit of tinsel could be found, not one greeting card waited on the mantlepiece of the sunroom's own massive fireplace - but animal bones could be spotted here and there, artfully placed in order to fit with the rest of the clutter.

Vernon's family didn't owe its name to its seriousness towards gift-giving or its observance of end-of-year rituals, but rather to rituals darker and more blood-soaked than the modern Holidays would've suggested. House Christmas celebrated Yule, in a form even mortal Scandinavians could only partially evoke.

"House Christmas," noted Haskill, "born close to the Mab of our days, to cast the brightest of lights in her darkest hours. Oberon likes to think he has a monopoly on his Season's genteel expression, but the truth is there would be no Warmest or Brightest Winter without us to weather the cold, to oppose Mab's icy death with our laughter, our love and our lust."

For the first time in seemingly forever, by the dryad's measuring, Vernon began to shuck off his overcoat and scarf. Here, he was in his domain and seemingly had no need to carry markers of its power. or reminders of its perennial shackles. He settled with leaving both of them on one of the chairs, next to the feast, and picked up a skewer onto which waited large hocks of meat that smelled vaguely pork and beeflike. Was this boar meat, then, or a large flank steak cut off of an aurochs? In any case, he seemed to inspect the skewer as if it were more of a weapon than something that carried food.

"If you ever find yourself wondering where a jab of defiant behavior or a strange spate of contrariness come from, consider that you may have gotten these from me," he noted, smirking. Sophia was a perfect diplomat, perhaps too much so - but my hope is you'll learn to put your feet down as I do, sometimes."

Only then did he bite into the flank steak, looking as though the act of doing so had generated a previously-unfelt sense of hunger and had simultaneously sated it. Somehow, he made the act of tearing off a chunk of seared flesh off of a king's feast look... dangerous. He tossed the skewer back onto the table and approached the dryad again, his steps more fluid than before. When he spoke, power clung to his words.

"I claim you as blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh, Dryad Alastriona. I lay this claim before Yule Kings past and future. Different from me you may be, I still claim you as Alastriona Haskill, of Christmas and Midsummer. I make this claim in defiance of the Mother Tree, of the frail New Laws that dictate that distance must be observed. I claim you not for your Tree or your Nexus - but for the safety of your days. The Old Laws would call you daughter of mine, and this I do hereby swear. I make this Oath on Blood and Stone and Frost and Snow - on things older than any King or Queen."

He was almost feline as he gently clasped the dryad by the shoulders and then shifted his grip in order to stand beside her, one hand resting on her back. His clothes were lined with frost, rising icicles made his eyebrows appear more dramatic, and a single spindle of ice formed off the tip of his nose. Still, he wasn't especially glacial to the touch - merely cool, somehow. His words, however, carried the warmth of Frosthall's fireplaces.

"Eat at my table. Your enemies will only find poison and ruin. Claim one of my gifts from the foot of the tree. What should bring you joy or happiness should also spell sorrow for the unworthy."

* * *

Outside the carriage, the fog between places began to lift in parts. One last reminder of Hope flashed into view - a corner off of Vart and Commons, someone's headlights, the dopplering sound of their car's horn - before Coasttown's almost maritime vistas began to peek through in places. Seagull cries, usually unheard close to Chicago, began to be faintly perceptible from inside the cabin.They were almost there.

"It's possible," agreed Nereus, "but I'd rather do things the old-fashioned way, first. I'd rather make a conscious effort to avoid human error in the proceedings than trust someone's software with something as delicate and important as a student's maintained sanity. I'd step aside only once I'd be given ample reassurance that Amaxi wouldn't accidentally earn herself one or two dedicated servants on my watch. What Loren achieved with Aspasia is a landmark, but it's more an effective censor than a teaching tool, at present. Careful exposure is what these new students in the Mad Arts would need."

He sighed. "There is one rule that even Chambers follows: to never digitize some of the Black Speech on computers connected to the Internet. Even JPEGs aren't safe. If something or someone can visually process a few glyphs, they're at risk. I follow this rule because I know what kind of price we'd likely have to pay, and Chambers follows it because he has enough sense to realize that a global network gone mad isn't something a classically-trained Prelate could combat. Even the Loyalists need the Web - now more than ever."

Spector's interest was piqued. "What form do you think the resulting entity would take? A worm? Some kind of self-directing Trojan Horse program? Malware of some persuasion?"

Nereus' tentacles made a clicking sound. "Try the systemic undoing of everything you've fought so hard to protect from Pride. Power grids, knowledge bases, all eighty zetabytes of the world's collated information. Every Internet-collected device. Shuttle travel would cease to exist, computing would be knocked back decades as only new and isolated networks could still function reliably, all communication with Luna and Mars would cease, and with some of the world's larger via streams being monitored digitally, even the world's magic supply would be made vulnerable. Planes falling from the sky, smart cars killing their owners - really, we're lucky that most of the world knew to shut off content servers when the incursions turned into a war. We're lucky we managed to recover anything, after Pride fell. Those eighty zetabytes we have now are two-thirds of what we had, two years ago. The Web as you know it is littered with the corpses of what Hellfire and poor management by demon sycophants did to your infrastructure."

Coach sniffed as more of London's twin began to resolve, outside. "Yeah - practitioners like you and me are damn lucky the Vienna Council has long-standing ins with the Internet Archive, Meris. We might've lost centuries of study material in hardcopy from a little over a year ago, but we still have the PDFs off of the Gutenberg Project and JSTOR."

He chuckled, something in the sound of it appearing sardonic. "I figure the normies' idea of a grimoire's going to change a bit, over the next few years. Leatherbound tomes are out, printed color copies in a plastic spiral bind with a Creative Commons license are in."

* * *

"Yes,"  hissed Apophis, after taking Neasa's hands for a few moments.Glee, release and a fair bit of Machiavellian joy competed for expression in his face. "Make haste, put you in position..."

They followed after the snake, the dilapidated cellar giving way to oozing stone and finally to Dalarath's smooth side-channels. A dome-like structure soon waited in front of them, but the snake pushed past it.

"An old House of Respite," Apophis explained, "for pilgrims leaving the city for the surface world on their own means. Not everyone has the means and resources to mount expeditions like Shadow Lord Loyalists. Solo outings are rare now, so these are mostly used by the resistance. They carve parallel galleries and join with the main path once out of sight. This tunnel leads to the slave markets, but they are empty at this hour. By mushroom-light, we are still just before dawn."

Bucky nodded, hefting his temple sword - or Nereus' cane - on his shoulder. "How're we going to explain Meris and Nereus returning here?" he asked.The snake shrugged, but nonetheless offered an avenue. "The Chamberlain finally defeated you in verbal combat, cracked your mind open. You were made to wait for Meris and set a trap of your own. Now both of you serve the Others willingly."

Apophis earned a grunt for his trouble. "How informed are the locals, exactly?" asked the Clank.

"Quite poorly," was the response. "the Loyalists who are unequipped to fight are fed lies, to ensure their fervor remains. They believe several groups like your Holden Hall were infiltrated and blessed with the Old Gods' wisdom. They think sleeper agents still lie in wait across the world, when the demons have forced most of them into hiding or back to the city."

The look Shamus sent to Neasa spoke of some release. This meant they'd be free to improvise, so long as Chambers himself didn't show up or the Speaker got too close.

* * *

"I guess, yeah," concurred Three with a chuckle. He then glanced at his watch and seemingly refocused.

"I guess we should find the closest Gate and get going... I picked this place partly because there's an access point to Faerie right next to the rear entrance the staff uses. We wait for an opening, jump a fence and it's off to the races - unless you're got enough to grease at least one palm. Owner and manager's at the bar."

* * *

Seeing Marius' precautions, Zeb couldn't quite repress an amused chortle. "I'd worry more about your seat belt, mister Vlastos - this is about to get bumpy!"

Zeb's eyelights expanded, until his entire head was wreathed in seafoam-green flames and his clothes were being licked at by the discharged arcane power. He raised his hands, his chortle turning to an honest-to-goodness maniacal laugh - and he didn't so much as give Hauser the courtesy to initiate things. If terror was on the menu, then he'd make sure their pursuers were left not only helpless, but petrified beyond measure.

The rotors stopped, the blades' chopping noises turning to lazy whooshes overhead - and they sank like a stone. As they did, the Buck lich unfurled his newfound power and engulfed both the chopper and shuttles - which had also begun to fall along beside them. Gomez grew obviously tense as the water's surface surged forward, and Buck gave no indication of wanting to restore Preston's control in time.

Eventually, there wasn't much left to do except scream, so scream did the iguana, even as the skeleton laughed like the actual public menace he'd never really been. They hit the water -

And phased right through it. They broke the water line and somehow found themselves thousands of feet back in the air, and back to plummetting towards the Hillard's open mouth. For two or three times, there wasn't much more to this other than screeching metal, blaring alarms and the constant rush of displaced air against the chopper. Zebediah had caught them in some sort of loop, then, it seemed. Around the chopper, the whirling masses of the other shuttles followed along, sometimes colliding and exploding in bright orange flares of gasoline-fume-laden destruction, and they'd see a few partially-seared Squids scream wordlessly as they, too, were caught in Zeb's loop.

It took the fourth loop for Gomez to have enough presence of mind to realize what was happening: Zebediah had taken them to the Shadowlands, but had done so bodily. At each new drop, the city's vista changed. By the time they reached terminal velocity, Hope was a reverse-flow flipbook, Magnus' renovations of Frost Tower undoing themselves in chunks of several months. A few more loops showed them the city's burning horizon as a reminder of Pride's ravages - and then the missing chunks grew larger. Frost Tower was soon gone, replaced with a development that had occupied its place in the mid-nineties.

Too shocked to express himself in English, Vargas settled with shouting in Spanish as he hung on for dear life. "YOU'RE INSANE, MAN! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT'LL HAPPEN TO THESE GHOSTS IF THEY SEE SOMETHING LIKE US FALLING OUT OF THEIR SKY?! HOW THE HELL ARE WE SUPPOSED TO LOSE ENOUGH SPEED TO NOT KILL OURSELVES AS SOON AS WE RE-ENTER THE PHYSICAL PLANE?!"

Zeb was effectively a blazing copper sulphate torch beside Marius at this point, his voice distorted by the power he was expending. He had enough sense not to pull from those that were beside him, but most of everyone's personal tech items would likely either need repairs or total replacements, afterwards. As for the chopper, its arcane exposure alarms were flashing amidst most of the others on the cockpit, but Hauser would soon realize that Zeb was effectively holding the chopper's systems in stasis, preventing them from giving out entirely like they would otherwise have. "The same way planes do, chum," the new effective warlock in town explained, "we glide our way down and air-brake as we go!
- THIS IS A CHOPPER, NOT A GODDAMN SPACEPLANE!
- Details, details!" replied Zeb, followed with another brazen peal of laughter.

Only one shuttle remained with them, and the look its occupants gave Preston was fairly telling as they swooped past, visibly fighting to keep to a controlled fall instead of a mad tumble: continuing this fight was the last thing on their mind, at present - they'd more than learned their lesson. What was left of their number could be heard on their radio as they dopplered past - Eliphas didn't have such an effective solution to offer to shuttle-toting Squids as a problem in need of solving, but what had amounted to ten supernaturally sharp claws, an amygdala packed with jacked-up animal instincts and a working human mind that made him an effective solo fighter. They'd still have two or three shuttles to contend with once back in the mortal plane, but they'd certainly have the element of surprise.

"Get ready, 'cause we're shooting out like a cannonball!" warned the lich - the last loop dropping them off from a much higher altitude. The winds felt icy and the air was a thin wisp that barely filled their lungs - but Zeb switched his efforts to conjuring the ghost of an Elysium drop pod's chute above them, which began to break their fall as effectively as if it were real. Hauser would soon realize that the lich had also altered the chopper's aerodynamic profile using magic, something to the stick's newfound resistance suggesting that the normally wingless craft now benefited from rigid planes of congealed arcane matter stretching out from the sides - invisible but still very clearly allowing the craft to glide forwards and downwards in a very un-chopper-like manner. If he'd ever flown a glider before, all he'd have to do would amount to negotiating a gradually tightening spiral pattern to allow them to air-brake effectively. Then, they'd eventually need to find a runway to land.

Or, well, any surface long and straight enough to serve as such.

* * *

Herbert's form shimmered slightly, his chest seemingly gaining in heft in the span of an eyeblink. Charles' trained eye would be able to tell the lawyer and Prince hadn't conjured pecs for himself for the sake of added machismo, but that he'd instead opted for a reasonably thin body armor vest that was just shy of being unnoticeable.

"I won't follow, as you can imagine," noted Rhadamantus. Heathcliff also looked like he found the entire process mildly distasteful, if necessary. The Prince of Pride shrugged happily as he slipped in the front passenger seat. "Just us mavericks, then," he told Jenkins, flashing him a smile that was equal parts blithely confident, a little intentionally goofy and perhaps just slightly unhinged. Not too far removed from the soldier's own appreciation for adrenaline rushes, all things considered.

Heathcliff stepped forward by half a step. "You aren't armed, Your Eminence. Are you sure this is wise?
- I'm setting the stage, dear Douglas," noted the demon. "For now, Abbadon has me at my reasonably gracious. If nobody were to shoot, which I doubt will happen, Charles wouldn't fire upon them without cause, I'm sure. Those who attack us choose to endure the consequences, the notice is appropriately served, and both the lawyer and Prince I am are kept in balance. If he fails to abide by Rhadamantus' summons, then..."

He inspected his fingernails for a second, tiny tongues of flame dancing atop his index and midfinger. "Then he'll meet with the Prince. The law of proportions dictates that if he finds Jenkins' prowess distressing, he is more than guaranteed to come to appropriately fear me. The Goat would've drowned him in a tide of flesh and left him begging for mercy. We, on the other hand, are merely going to ring his doorbell. This is us being nice."

Heathcliff looked at the few guns that hadn't fit in the trunk. "With guns, then.
- Yes, with guns. There isn't much that opposes supernatural powers of persuasion except perhaps excessive displays of kinetic force, and I won't have time to undo his charms on all of his men. Best to free those of them who would brazenly shoot a courier of the Vienna Council, however lethal this freedom might be."

Not looking entirely satisfied, Doug still stepped away with a nod. "I suppose so," he said. "Safe journey, then."

Clearly relishing the experience, Herbert told Charles to floor it and kept his signature self-satisfied gooey smirk on his face as the tunnel seemingly rose without end for a good four minutes, the constant left-hand curve's incurred g-forces and the plateauing engine combining with the lights that passed overhead to give a bit of a surreal finish to it all. They then passed the tunnel's single spot of darkness, leaving it on what looked like an underground parking garage's onramp. Signs in Estonian passed by them, soon followed by a blast of early-morning air. Tallinn was evidently still asleep, the Charger a jarring presence on the streets of Nomme,Tallinn's southernmost district.

"Any good commander speaks fondly of Estonia," cheerfully noted Herbert, "Volker has been bending my ears for weeks, now, in regards to the particular energy of this place. Bielorussians, Russians with a chip or two on the old shoulder, native Estonians, Finns, even the occasional Swede - all drawn close to Russia's borders for the one place in all of Europe where fear of the Russian Federation was strong enough to justify not only one of the strongest defense-related budgets in all of NATO, but also the creation of absolutely ebullient think tanks. If you've touched NATO ordnance once before, chances are it originated in the industrious hands of one of this country's many qualified engineers."

He then opted to focus on the task at hand, sobering himself with a short cough. "Er - follow the signs, look for a particularly garish yellow arch - we're looking for TalTech, the local alma mater - and its former student dorms, just a few blocks south of here. Abbadon's had no trouble in wresting Glehn Castle away from the campus' administration - the local students used it as a dormitory, up until the city's occupation by Pride. He's since had the interior remodeled into his own compact and reasonably-defensible demesne. Whoever says castle also means towers, which eludes to snipers... I'd pay heed to any potential lookie-loos from on up, considering..."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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The interior of the reading hall and its Yuletide decor reminded her of the festivities they had back in the Cradle, and Alex was elated by the sights and smells of it. She inhaled deeply as she took in the various appetizing scents and felt her mouth water.

She watched the gradual shift as Vernon slipped into his Mantle, from the simple shedding of his scarf and coat to his swiping of the meat skewer. She could sense the danger that pervaded his movements and demeanor, as he dined on the meat that might've belonged to a fierce boar or a prehistoric auroch.

Her eyes widened slightly as she sensed the power that clung to his words. This Oath felt ancient in comparison to the ones she knew of and boldly more potent than them. It felt like a challenge to the standard convention surrounding dryads and their place within Fae society. It went well beyond merely touching her heart, which swelled with care for her guardian. She openly cried out her happiness at his powerful gesture.

Drying her tears, she beamed at him as frost covered his facial features and nodded. "I will! Thank you, Dad!" she exuberantly exclaimed, the change in terms showing how much his Oath had affected her. The dryad fiercely hugged him before venturing over to the feast-laden table.

Alastriona got herself a plate and got herself a sizeable piece of the spice cake and poured some cider from a silver pitcher, sitting down to eat. She didn't recall eating a dessert quite like this in the Cradle and took a bite.

***

Meris scoffed and chuckled. "Gone are the days of expensive vellum and leather, now replaced with inexpensive office supplies you can find in many places in a city! Medieval scribes would faint at the lack of decor that went into their works!" she joked, dramatically gasping.

"Well, bless those poor scribes' hearts, because times are a-changing! No more worn out hands or broken quills!" Aspasia joked with a light snort.

Miranda giggled at her mother and the Archmage bantered about the sacrifices of progress, while also watching the change in the terrain as they approached the Fae side of Chicago.

***

Neasa nodded in response to the information Apophis provided them. "I remember Meris saying that there's a fine line in showing fervent lunacy and making it obvious we're still sane. We can't be too over the top, as we still need to look somewhat competent," she mused, thoughtfully pursing her lips.

With her arms crossed, she considered their options and look toward the way the snake had indicated where the slave markets were. "How should we make our entrance? Our targets are either still sleeping or just starting their day. It might still be weird for them to see their Augur and his Consort appearing from this direction, but it might also throw them off," she said.

She glanced at the disguised Clank. "Think some of your old flim-flammery skills will be useful for fooling them?" she asked him.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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As soon as he realized what was going on, Preston shut his eyes tight and muttered a litany of things under his breath; he had no grief with liches, he didn't ask to be caught up with one, he just wanted himself and his bird to get out of this alive. Whatever Buck had planned was his business!

And when the time came for him to open his eyes and fly again, he opened his eyes and set about trying to restart the chopper. "Vlastos! Fix shit!" he called over the headset, and Marius set about trying to apply the Speech to undoing or alleviating the stress done to the bird by Buck's shenanigans.

Eventually he noticed the glider wing things tacked onto the side, grimaced and did his best to stabilize the bird while working on repairs.

-------------------------------

Mary cocked an eyebrow at Three's comment about greasing palms, then she looked to Carrie in silent entreaty for clarification. What did they need to bribe a greasy spoon manager for?

-------------------------------

As requested, Charles floored up and zoomed away up the ramp, taking the turns at speed and cackling at the eager, healthy sound of the motor. When they finally emerged he was glad they were in a parking garage, and gladder still it was early morning so he could blaze through the streets easier.

"Yeah man, Estonia's the shit," he agreed regarding the primer. He seemed to know his way around, or at least he knew how to read Estonian, though as they drew near to the castle he found an alleyway and turned down it, driving slowly as he crept along to the backside of the college.

"If there's gonna be snipers, it'd be best to creep on 'em," he explained. "We got an in aroun' here? Don't wanna park 'is thing where anyone'll freak out much." By which he meant, was there someone Herbert trusted at least far enough to let them park while dealing with their little rebel problem.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

Vernon’s Mantle kept going for a few minutes, the WinterLord not quite giving in to Bucky’s excesses, but still spending a few moments relishing in Alex’s appreciation of the table’s furnishings while occasionally cadging a few too-large bites from other items he’d selected for himself. Winter Fae didn’t also have anything close to a Vitellian’s appetite, but they still found great pleasure in the carnal act of eating, in approaching sustenance as a blithe act of survival. Someone who wouldn’t have known what to
expect could’ve sensed the Brothers Grimm weren’t that far off, as intently as Haskill observed the dryad as she ate. Still, his feline undertones soon faded, the vaguely rapacious looks he had fading as the Mantle receded away and as frost left his clothes. Only fondness was left in there, as he bent over his chair and picked up a parcel from the mound that waited in front of the tree. It didn’t look like much, like paper pulled against something formless or difficult to adequately wrap without a box to contain it.

“You’ll have to excuse my lack of designer electronics ortrendy mid-2020s design,” he warned with a smirk, “as my tree only caters to symbols, or markers of House Christmas’ fealty towards those it welcomes or protects. This is essentially a signifier of what I hope my being your father – and Eirean being your mother – will bring you, as well as Hope and Evergloam.”

* * *

Small talk was exchanged for a while longer, until Mayhewbegan to slow down and Coasttown resolved around the carriage. As its doors opened, Nereus couldn’t quite repress a sudden squint, followed by the urge to be the first one out. After a quick squeeze of Meris’ hand and assuring he’d be back for their luggage, he slipped past Aspasia and Coach with a few quick apologies and headed down the short four steps down to the cobblestoned road. One intake of air and a glance further ahead were enough to bring out his Greek, in a quiet and reverent “Ade!” of obvious amazement. The outline of the Gold Coast could be made out in the lakeside’s rough shapes, the stone protrusions atop the hill that waited ahead looking like natural twins of Chicago’s skyline as seen from the lake. The difference, however, was in how Coasttown look like it would be lucky to house more than a few thousand souls and did so in a setting that immediately reminded Nereus of his own trips to Scotland and Ireland. Lake Michigan looked
like a surreal cross between an inner sea and an old loch, the perpendicular road behind them gently sloping down towards docks and quays where colorful sails and the occasional plumes from vintage steamboats waited. The Tudor finish on the nearby buildings, the smells wafting forth from some small bakery nearby, children screaming in innocent glee further up the hill as they played some game of their own invention – it was hard to imagine anything close to Squid assassins or vindictive supernaturals lying in wait in such a place, and the former Augur seemed immensely grateful for this change of pace, no matter how transitory it might’ve been.

“Welcome to Coasttown, ladies and gentlemen!” noted Mayhew cheerfully. “I’ll see to your luggage with a few ear flicks, and then leave you to the Sedges while I change to something more appropriate. We’ll be taking one of their carriages for the second leg of our journey.”

As expected, his red ear tips gently glowed as he used them with a bit of non-verbal kinetic magic to gently guide everyone’s personal belongings out of the carriage. As he worked, however, noise behind their group made him crane his neck back. Giving Eirean a nicker of gentle exasperation, he parted with a sigh.

“Speak of the Devil…”

Vernon’s carriage might’ve been Lordly, as expected, but itstill did fit with House Christmas’ remaining human empathy. It clashed against the mortal plane’s cars and shuttles, yes, but much less so than what looked like the Sedgewicks’ personal livery, in flamboyant tones of green and red and covered in floral gold filigree. Even their Fae Horse made Mayhew look like a simple, salt-of-the-earth sort, with its braided and brushed mane, an ornate livery shaped like a tuxedo, and an almost Disney-worthy look of snobbery pasted onto its features. The carriage’s own double doors opened, and the horse straightened its head to speak on a declamatory tone.

“Announcing Albus Severin Regal Sedgewick, Second in Name!”

Eirean did her best to repress a sigh and an eyeroll butstraightened herself out to a beaming smile as the most ridiculous Gaslight-Era goblin they would’ve ever seen clambered down the second carriage’s steps and beamed at the Summer Lady. The second-born of the Sedgewicks looked like he took to Victorian formalwear far too seriously, having packed a white-tie-and-tails for the occasion, along with opera cape and immaculately brushed gibus. White gloves added to the already excessive display, the Greenskin’s curling pencil-stache having been probably stolen from Dali’s ghost. As explained by Eirean, he wasn’t really used to the mortal plane’s own customs and likely considered her simple and tasteful power suit to be the avant-garde of fashion.

“Milady,” he called out, “a vision, as always: those lines, trousers on your immaculate form – I am your enraptured servant!”

He then bent down to kiss the back of her hand, then pullinghimself closer to add more pecks up to her elbow. McHale stood there, glancing awkwardly at the others, quite visibly projecting herself a few moments ahead, when this would be over.
Nereus’ wonderment having died down somewhat and having beenreplaced with studiously repressed amusement at this display, he’d settled with tying his hands behind his back and giving Meris a sideways glance.

“I know I have my effusive moments,”
he sent her, “but if I’ve ever come close to this or if I ever do in future, you have my
permission to hex me into silence. I’m from a species that’s used to dermal mucus and even I think this is slimy behavior.”


* * *

“That’s a given,” noted Bucky quietly. “Their old Augur and Consort wouldn’t just saunter in from the local market square, you’d think. My money’s on Nereus previously having access to a private brine pool in the palace – cut back on traffic and public exposure. Their coming through here on foot wouldn’t be normal even by these folks’ standards. We need more than an alibi, we need somethin’ that could pass for a game-changer – somethin’ that’d bedazzle the common folk for a few hours, even if we’re not stayin’ long.”

Apophis had stopped for a few paces to fall in with them. “There is little of note, up ahead. Nothing except captured slaves and no market bosses to access…”

Shamus didn’t give in to concern but grunted thoughtfully as they emerged onto the slave market’s main square. Smaller atriums and stages surrounded them, waiting for barkers or auction holders to hawk their goods, which were locked in cages. Interestingly, a few demons were caged up in a random arrangement between the captured humans and anthros, several amongst them exchanging panicked whispers in Spanish. As he scanned the lot, Shamus noted someone who could’ve been a relative
of Paimon’s, if blessed with a working set of human lips, a thin mustache and vaguely more expressive features. The large demon’s clothes were torn and had previously been some sort of likely-conjured designer suit, a rather painful-looking choker of bluish-black metal waiting at his neck and humming with power. He seemingly noticed Bucky’s questing look and beckoned them closer with a slight forward thrust of its chin.

Hola,friends,” it said, its tone somewhat huskier than a typical Pride Knight’s, and obviously Latin in influence, if not possibly Spanish. “I understand you wish to make an entrance, and I would make an exit to reach mi amor, on North American soil. The bind the pulpos placed on my neck has rendered meweak, so I am no threat to you. My name is Aatxe, formerly Caballero Mejor for Pride.” Bucky nodded, fiddling with the lock on Aatxe’s cage while looking unconvinced.

“Uh-huh. You were stationed in Mexico, right? South America?
- Spain,” replied the demon, as he nodded in the negative. “First in Madrid, then in Malagà. It is there that I met a woman, dear friend, who was blessed with the power to kindle Infernal hearts to a burning brazier. I betrayed Pride for the mortals’ cause and for passion; and now find myself locked away from micielo. It isn’t right. If helping you frees me, then you find me obliged,”it said, nodding its head.

Fake Nereus seemed a bit perplexed. “Pardon my hesitation, but the last few Pride folks we ran into were a little too mission-focused to put all their chips on some wartime fling…
- My mother was of Lust,” provided the captive Hell Knight. “I have my brothers’ sense of honor, intermingled with my mother’s and my aunts’ sensibilities. My honor has altered my desires, elevated them beyond mere carnal pursuits. This woman, this
former enemy of mine, demands I pledge myself to her cause through her will alone!”
Aatxe added a brief cough. “This also explains my lips, as atypical as they are for Knights. I was built for conquest, you see, but my heart was conquered before anynotions of tactical superiority entered my mind.” Bucky had to fight to repress an eyeroll.

“Okay, Gomez Addams, hold your horses,” he started, then sliding a look towards Neasa. “What’s your read on him, Ness? He
seems too hormonal to be lyin’, if I’m honest.”

* * *

Soon enough, the resulting scene would’ve been obvious if it hadn’t been for Preston and Marius’ now guaranteed fighting chance against the one remaining shuttle. The Squid pilots were frazzled, their aim had developed a solid case of Stormtrooper Syndrome, and the few glances they caught of them showed the group what Nereus’ kin looked like when all fighting spirit was drained out of them, leaving nothing except shock and pure executive obligation. Seeing this, Gomez glanced
at Preston. “I say we wing ‘em,” noted the iguana as he looked back to Preston. “Force them to land, zip-tie and gag them – that route. We could always use the intel. Pretty sure one of ‘em looked concussed, too. Vlastos should be able to make short work of
‘em as soon as they’re forced on foot.”

Zeb’s glee had since been replaced with self-assurance as he smiled at the iguana. “You should hurry, then; I didn’t conjure up these added structures for sustained flight, unless Mister Vlastos here Speaks us a few decent updrafts and thermals.”

His grin tightened. “This should be fun – I always thought no Buck would ever live to reckon with the architects of our generational misery…”

* * *

Carrie shrugged. “It’s London, there’s CCTVs everywhere, Chambers could’ve dropped some payola with one of the surveillance teams. Asking the locals gives them an alibi in case our using a backdoor into Faerie turns into an issue. We’re near Faerie’s epicenter, the Laws here are old – never hurts to be careful.”

She stood up and allowed Three to leave their seat, which he did while pulling out his wallet. “My treat,” he said, as he flashed Mary a quick smile and pointed at her beverage. As he paid, he discreetly showed his Shield badge to the barkeep and mentioned they needed to use the Gate out back. The growing din made the owner’s response unclear, but the short nod and curt smile, followed by a gesture towards something below the counter, were clear enough: local camera footage was about to be erased. If any tail tried to pinpoint the soldiers and the CEO’s respective arrivals, they’d soon have nothing to go on.

A few minutes later, Aidan turned back to the two women. “Whenever you’re ready, ladies – I managed to set up a few extra posse members before we left for here – they’re already in Faerie in a holding pattern.”

Silva had apparently been briefed. “The wood troll and Hope’s Viscount. That should be Oath clout enough to pin down would-be assailants for a few moments – long enough to either counterattack or cut loose.”

* * *

“Certainly,” had been the Prince’s immediate and breezy response, who then added a few extra directions to a little industrial cul-de-sac located a stone’s throw away from Glehn Castle’s rear service entrance. This had the advantage of placing them well out of sight, and the inconvenient of placing a stretch of speedway and the castle ground’s rear hillocks in front of their objective. Still, Herbert didn’t look particularly bothered. As he climbed out and spent a few seconds fixing his necktie, he unfurled his wings with a few testing gestures, swished his tail and cracked his neck, which elicited a short groan of release.

“Now,” he said, “I could fly us over the speedway, but it would nullify our immediate advantage in stealth if only to provide you with one or two exceptional angles. Our other option involves briefly switching planes again and going across on foot, while understanding that Abbadon is likely to have planned in accordance. I could also exhort motorists to stop using my inherited charge but once again, this would be highly noticeable and would make us responsible for a heap of collateral damage and potential casualties. If your trunk’s worth of selected implements of murder proves insufficient, well…”

He pulled out his smartphone and wiggled it twice before pocketing it again. “I can call in an artillery strike, of sorts. The good Marquis calls it a favor, of course, but he really does resemble one of your ancestors in their prime,” he noted.
“Subtlety feels trite, I suppose, when one has a brace of cannons on hand at all times… As much as I appreciate Meris’ retinue, I really would rather not retain Samigina’s services. We have an ingrate to serve and no castle to demolish – not even in the Shadowlands.”
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