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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While Gomez cursed under his breath, Zeb raised his flask as only an oblivious drunkard could, belting For He's a Jolly Good Fellow in response to Vlastos' wild display of mirth. Predictably, he chose to elongate fellow as they rushed headlong into the cliff face-

Impact never came. Instead, it felt as though Preston had attached a jet engine or two to the mangled and remade mess of metal and bolts, or as if they were traveling so high up that the conjured wings and near-busted rotor met very little resistance. The air didn't feel thin, however, but a glance downwards would've shown the group that they were indeed far higher than before, and could see what looked like a patch of English countryside in wintertime roll lazily underneath them. Distance made their progress seem slow at first, but Hauser would be more than skilled enough to realize that something about Faerie's air amplified the aircraft's capabilities.

Soon, he'd spot what looked like the more grandiose cousin of Roman viaducts, rising so high and carrying water so far that the craft could've safely slipped between two arches Soon, however, wind seemed to direct them towards some sort of tall and white gorge - like duplicated and flipped versions of the Cliffs of Dover forming a bone-white canyon. At its end waited another opening, something like a reinforced and settled cavern, the inside of which was absolutely jam-packed with houses and buildings of every style traceable to the United Kingdom's long history, from a few recognizably Scandinavian bluffs covered in green grass to slightly-askew Tudor houses and Regency-era townhouses.

"London-Upon-Faerie, lads!" called out Zeb as he stifled a hiccup. "We made it!"

London's Faerie twin followed a layout that made it vaguely evoke the actual city's boroughs, and an analogue to Big Ben was hard to miss in the cityscape, if Big Ben had been assembled by master Clanksmen who'd probably been alive back when Naughton's offices were first opened. Instead of Buckingham Palace, however, a stout Medieval castle of three sections waited near the center of town.

Preston wouldn't have long to spend looking for a place to land, as blue-green firework-like flares soon began to shoot forth from the roof of a squat and stone-hewn building, on the castle's second floor - rather obvious signals, compounded by what looked like a livery-wearing relative of Gubbin's gesturing with two torches. Down below, he'd see part of the other guests, namely Three, Carrie and what looked like Jameson, briefly stop in their tracks to take notice of their arrival.

Unsurprisingly, the only ones who looked unbothered by all of this were those with a foot in the mortal world. Marius and Preston would have ample time to notice things like the castle's apparent milkmaid singing herself before hurrying indoors, or a gaggle of small children suddenly shrieking in terror. Aircraft likely didn't make it directly to this part of Faerie. That seemed to sober up Buck to some degree.

"That's a shame," he noted, "we're the guests of honor, circumstances pushed us to pick unorthodox means of travel, and this is the kind of first impression we leave?"

"It's not like it's our fault, hombre," noted Vargas with a shrug. "Lanterns with reusable fuckin' wicks feel novel to some of these people, and here we come with what's started to look like a rejected concept for a Mad Max aircraft - nevermind the noise we're makin'!"

* * *

Herbert grimaced slightly, but this seemed to be business as usual for the Draugr. They moved awkwardly at first, as if their undead physiology needed some warming up, but then progressed from shuffling steps to a reasonably quiet jog within the next ten seconds. Bragi signaled for what had to be the more limber of his men to venture ahead with Jenkins, which would leave him to realize that this really had been a fairly small residence in the past, as far as private castles were concerned. Still, it was obvious that Abbadon hadn't made much of an effort in retrofitting what had previously been students' common areas into reading nooks or personal spaces. Construction material could be spotted here and there, but evidence suggested that only Abbadon's own spaces had been thoroughly customized; everything else still felt like an afterthought.

Wormsworth looked particularly disgusted by the sight of a torn-out patch of flooring on the second story, likely justified by what looked like the impending installation of a reinforced steel frame and plated glass panels. The planned sunroof would've been a nice addition, but it seemed as though the old Pride commander had opted to leave his contractors with very little, in terms of safety gear.

Eventually, after slinking through two levels and murdering some eight men, Charles and his new Draugr buddies came onto stairs leading to the last accessible level, a fairly restricted floor just before the tower's battlements. Herbert gestured for Jenkins to wait, and then quietly tapped the doorknob with a clawed index finger, eyelids drooping as he focused. A shiver made his wings flare slightly, and he nodded to himself.

Glancing back to Charles, the Prince of Pride slipped his own words in the veteran's mind. "This panel has been modified to serve as a gateway back to Hell, it seems. I wouldn't be surprised if a killing floor or some other restricted area waited beyond. If you barge in, both yourself and our new friends may very well be butchered on sight.

My summons is what matters, Charles,"
he said, referring to the letter. "Start by knocking on this door and announcing yourself clearly."

* * *

"I'll have to ask Enlil, eventually," nodded Three. "I'm only familiar with the more Humanist types in the bloodlines - artists or self-made philosophers."

He couldn't get much further, however, as shouts and a few panicked shrieks sounded, the placid background of the city's distant noise being progressively drowned-out by an oddly-pitched staccato noise they'd almost all recognize, except perhaps for Regis.

"Is that... a helicopter?!" he asked, his shock rather hard to miss. Instinctively, he hopped away from Mary and perched himself on a nearby sconce's wrought-iron fixture. "If that's one of the choppers we saw back in Hope during the war, I'm King Bloody Arthur!"

Three squinted as Preston banked down. "It's... I've never seen anything like it; it's almost like someone took one of Hauser's usually-mentioned bits of kit, tore it apart and welded it back together without leaving any solder marks and - added a pair of wings for good measure..."

Carrie stuck her hands at her hips and squinted ahead, as well. "Drake could tell you we were big on DIY like almost any other squad stationed in Afghanistan, and I've seen some Kurds do some crazy shit with USSR-era trucks - but this? This takes the cake, for sure."

Regis looked glad to have at least one point of reference. "Oh yes," he said, although the sleekness of the overall design reminds me more of our betentacled friends than of military ordnance patched with a farmer's forge's idea of aftermarket parts..."

* * *

Vernon scanned the room again, as if searching the private and secluded countenances of the Commoners seated for a meal or a spot of tea could help him divine their intentions. What seemingly sparked something was the sight of a pointy-eared child armed with a box of Crayola wax crayons, likely obtained from a sojourn in the mortal plane, as he innocently scribbled stick figures of both himself and Alastriona on an off-white sheet of cast-off paper. He sent his daughter an encouraging smile so she wouldn't be left hanging, and then allowed himself a few added seconds of amused silence. The tyke had given him a head in the shape of an inverted teardrop, had exaggerated his loose flesh at his neck and jowls, and rested his stovepipe at an askew angle - which finally ripped a warm chuckle out of him. Alex's own depiction was about as on-par as you could've expected of a kid of about six or seven years, but the box hadn't contained a crayon of a shade that was close to the dryad's own skin tone. With a shrug, he'd started filling in her face in the same lavender-ish blue tone he'd used to color Vernon's clothes.

"We can act as any decent Fae Lord or Lady would," he then suggested, "and host our own luncheon back in the mortal plane. Eirean isn't here with us, but I've every confidence that Bagley or Gubbin could testify in her stead. If the Commoners of my realm could see you, speak with you as Hope's own people were able to do, today - if they could speak their concerns to you before the Old Ways are invoked, this could at least instigate a more diplomatic approach. All you would have to do is convince enough of your subjects that you can be objective in my regard and ultimately declare me fit while having their best interests at heart."

He shrugged lightly. "Past that, if they still want to see me chestbare and with flaming oak branches in hand and still want you to act the part of a druid or bànfaith, we'll have a clear conscience and will be able to say we've offered them a chance to form their own opinion."

* * *

"Thank you, dearest," the former Augur gratefully noted. With his attention split between his relief and his lasting wonderment at their surroundings, he missed what had Archie cant his head to the right, his optical sensors' LEDs gaining the slightest hint of a reddish tone.

"Does anyone else hear it?" he asked. "Chopper blades, I mean."

Eirean glanced sideways as she focused on her hearing, and then nodded slightly. "It's on the other side of the bailey; I wouldn't worry unless the guards sound the alarm-"

She couldn't finished, as Spector was almost liquid in how he slid off his chair, landed with one knee to the ground in order to be compact enough in the carriage's provided space, and curtly fixed his jacket's button and his tie's knot. "I'll go take a look," he said, on a tone that seemed deceptively casual. Judging by the way nothing was heard when Bill slipped out of the carriage, even Mayhew hadn't noticed. The only thing that seemed to manage to give the Faerie horse any pause was what felt like Spector having hopped atop the carrigage to then use it as a kick-off point.

In the meantime, Archie's alarm could've let to misinformed folks to think Nereus had slipped into a bout of anxiety-induced narcolepsy, as his eyes had almost immediately rolled back in his head. He'd started by slumping towards Meris, but some sort of unconscious mental routine made him pitch the other way before he could pin the selkie inside her seat. Azazel, however, hadn't been briefed.

"Really, mister Marinos?!" he seethed, his voice kept low. "Now's not the time to grab forty winks!"

Archie raised a placating hand. "Nereus likely went to check on the Darkhallow for any signs of subconscious intrusion. This isn't a nap; it merely is a tactics-mandated shift in consciousness."

The former Scapegoat squirmed a little, as he now was the one who had to deal with the brunt of Nereus' girth. Seeing his predicament, Archie leaned forwards and grabbed the Squid by the shoulders, righting him in his seat. The former Augur's head briefly tipped backwards, leaving enough space for a particularly noisy intake of air. Holden produced a little tsk of faint annoyance and then righted the squid's head and airways.

"While the sounds involved aren't present," he explained to Azazel, "the more skilled amongst Mister Marinos' brethren aren't entirely defenseless, even whilst asleep. Aidan had months to relay anecdotes Nereus told him by mail. To put it simply, these creatures' idea of somnambulism is particularly active, like you'll find out of some nocturnal vampires - and more than appropriately lethal, if need be."

The young demon looked unconvinced, but Meris wouldn't have much trouble recalling aborted tragedies that had preceded their plans' ultimate undoing, like abortive attempts by a younger Chamberlain that hadn't yet formulated a strategy against them. On some nights, Nereus and Meris had gone to bed alone, only for a third body - now long dead - to be draped across Nereus' belly in the morning. Harrogath's own plans had been in motion for a while, so chances are he'd acted as the couple's own insurance policy, Nereus barely pausing between two snores as his right hand shot out and crushed a hapless would-be assassin's throat.

* * *

Apophis might not have been human, it was obvious that the implications bothered him as much as they did Bucky. The man, the creature they were about to meet, was in actuality more insane than even Chambers - and it had the reins of an underground metropolis' religious cult, no less.

Fake Nereus sighed. "Just once, Ness, I'd rather deal with my own idea of bad guys, see? Make 'em a Squid if they have to be, but I'd take a loan shark or, I don't know, a horseracing bookie from up in Providence! Fraud's enough of a charge, isn't it? What is it with these idiots' need to messin' everything up for everyone else? Why do we hafta suffer 'cause of some moron of a Prelate's death wish, huh?"

Judging by Apophis' look, stakes that were not cosmic in scale were practically unheard of in Dalarath. Aatxe, in the meantime, gave the palace's main hall another look. "I wouldn't discuss these creatures' sense of Ethics in this precise moment, compadres - there is too much at stake. We should meet this Speaker, see to the servitor's return to Respite Point, and then see ourselves to London."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Alastriona smiled warmly and amusedly at the child's drawing, delighted at being the subject of his picture.

She listened to his suggestions and nodded. "Those sound like a great way to let them see the real us, rather than whatever image McHae would've put forth. Hopefully, that'll make a good impression with them before the older traditions would be followed!"

"Should we get going then, so we could plan this luncheon? Gubbin would probably be able to provide some insight about suitable food and drink for the occasion," she asked.

***

At Archie's alarm, Meris found herself tempted to step outside of the carriage to investigate, but she held back. Hopefully the commotion was nothing, but she knew it would still be a risk to step out in the open right now. She opted to wait until it was safe.

Given the awkward nature of Nereus's shifting, she placed a hand on his arm to help steady him, so he wouldn't lean heavily on her or anyone else. Seeing Azazel's uncertainty with the former Augur's behavior, she lightly scoffed as the automaton explained.

The selkie thought back to those early days, her eyes shifting to the the left like it was the distant past. "Chambers would occasionally send assassins after us while we slept. However, they thankfully never succeeded. I have my suspicions, but that may have been one way Harrogath looked after us. Each of our would-be assailants had severe bruising around their disjointed necks. Nereus doesn't move too often in his sleep, especially when it's deep, but it would be enough to strangle them before they could do any harm."

She matter-of-factly ended her explanation, "The first couple times were startling, but after that, the sight of a dead Prelate draped over his abdomen when we woke up became rather routine."

***

Neasa was about to respond to Bucky's rebuttal, but Aaxte's interruption was the cold shock of water she needed to be steered back to the moment in question. "Fair, we'll discuss his motives later once we have more info," she finalized.

She then looked over at them and said, "We should make sure we're good to go when the Speaker's here. We need to be able to sell this. Apophis mentioned we should be in bed after being cleaned, so that'd probably be where we should get settled in at."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by Karl the Mad »

"It was a helicopter," Mary observed, watching the thing come down with a critical eye. "I didn't know Hauser was such a good pilot, it takes skill to keep a mess like that airborne. Let's go say hello, shall we?"

Up in the air, Preston was in his element. "Someone owes me a new chopper!" he called in reply, putting all his skill to use as he fought the machine into landing safely. Magic or not, it wasn't an easy task, as it desperately wanted to fall apart into its constituent pieces. Was this how the old billionaires felt? he wondered. Stuck at the controls of busted companies, forced to turn things around and bring things safely back to earth?

No, that was stupid and dramatic. He'd be crucified if he ever told anyone what he had just thought!

Melodrama aside he flashed the running lights in acknowledgement of the flares and torches, and brought the bird screeching around. Marius was doing what he could to help, manipulating reality to keep their ride in one piece as long as possible. "They'll get over it," the vamp noted to Vargas and Zeb, using a bit of magic to be heard over the cacophony around them. "They can't avoid the modern world any more than I could, once upon a time."

"Contact!" Preston yelled, stone roof looming large below them. He lowered the craft until the skids gently touched down, and finally let himself relax. "And we're here!"

As if on cue, smoke started pouring out of the engine.

Preston kicked the door open and hopped out, glancing at the bird with a long sigh. Then he turned to the liveried malk and was promptly unsure what to say. "Um. Thanks?" He looked around, saw Three and the rest approaching, and felt immense relief at a familiar face.

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

So much for being sneaky! "Knock an' announce," Charles confirmed, gripping the envelope in one hand and making a fist with the other. He stepped up and pounded on the door with all his strength, one two three four five! "OI! Charles Jenkins a' Third, callin' fer Abbadon on behalf o' Herbert Wormsworth Esquire!" he yelled. "Git yer arse out 'ere!"
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

Post by IamLEAM1983 »

"I believe he could," agreed Vernon, "but I'd rather not impose myself on Archibald's staff. I'll gladly defer to him and mister Bagley for the seating arrangements and the setting of tables, but I do, after all, have my own staff," he noted, smirking as he stood up and retrieved a few bills from his wallet, paying for his and Alastriona's drinks.

The way back to Frosthall was similar to their trek to town, with the added impression that Muggs had been talking: they were stopped a few times, typically by Commoners seeking reassurance in regards to any potential shifts in local authority, considering how both Hope and Evergloam had just stepped out of a traumatic eighteen months. Vernon answered as any diplomat would, neither adding to the locals' fears nor confirming his ability to quash McHae's bid for power. There were also a few other civilians who clearly wanted a return to McHae rule - and who weren't shy in letting it be known that whoever stood under the Scotsman's banner also served Mab, while only idiots and dunces would align with an English fool who recognized Oberon's crown... By the time they reached Vernon's estate, the Fae Lord's posture suggested he was marshaling a bit of tension.

"Honestly, dear girl, I would've wished for a more serene establishment on Earth for you," he sighed, as they returned towards the door that had led them out of Holden Hall. "I'd hoped, perhaps foolishly, that even our ne'er-do-wells would have opted to take a breather; at least for a few weeks..."

He shook his head, chuckling in self-deprecation. "I should've followed your mother's example and helmed a mundane business for a few generations, I would've grown more of a callus against sudden disruptions. Eirean's impulse during shake-ups is to reorganize, mine is to secretly hope that our King would hand me the Bean on Twelfth Night and authorize me to fix everything by way of my umbrella's tip, with a posse of sworn-in Knights riding in my wake."

* * *

"Nice," noted the former demon, on a tone he couldn't have made more sarcastic, or strangely adolescent in tone. "Cozy!"

Archie appeared to be more charitable, in that he couldn't quite repress a scoff or a grin. "Yes, well, anyone who has to learn to sleep under duress develops unusual skills. How to defend oneself while never quite waking up, how to spring into action one moment and drop like a stone the next - or how to find meaningful rest in conditions that would send most of everyone else screaming for an admission at Bedlam..."

Azazel seemed skeptical. "Honestly, sir; you're more the monogrammed slippers and pipe type, if I might."

Holden looked away in response, then back at Nereus to ensure the Squid wasn't going to slump out of his seat, and then clicked his tongue.

"I've still memories of India, Azazel. So does Anjali. Some nights, I settle in exactly as you've described, nightcap and all - and my mattress offends me. Do you know where I end up, when this strikes me?"

The android took Azazel's silence for a lead-in. "On the floor, dear boy; in front of my fireplace. It takes me back to Indian bush, to Arvinder softly going through his English and Hindu shanties while I tried to sleep, unsure as to when the Thugs would descend upon us with their curved blades in hand... In recalling this peril, I somehow find rest. You could ask Aidan about his Afghan days, too."

He glanced back outside as the carriage slowed. "We play lords and superheroes and Archmages, Azazel, we give ourselves little storybook moments like what's about to unfold today - but we're all soldiers in our own right, my lad. Even Nereus. Even yourself."

That seemed to punch through the young demon's sullenness, a pained look washing across his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that-"

Archie gestured dismissively. "We've all been there, my boy. I, too, thought walling myself away would make me stronger, or somehow without reproach. You can credit the masters at Eton College for this; they've either produced crackpots like me or the old Empire's lot of knighted sociopaths."

* * *

"Let's see to it, then," agreed the snake-like being.

Over the next half-hour, Bucky and Neasa had to maintain their charade as hands in obvious need of rescue pressed against their flesh - real or imaginary - while adding fawning small talk that followed along with their maintained personas. Bucky even managed to nod off for a few moments, but not out of his customary placidity. This was more the result of the fact that playing the bloviating evildoer took a lot out of him. Luckily, Aatxe stayed nearby and took over Veiling duties, while occasionally swatting away overambitious bathhouse attendants that ran the risk of disrupting the Clank and selkie's disguises.

Eventually, however, the demon prodded Fake Nereus awake. "Sorry about that," he slurred, his Okie accent briefly reasserting itself until he was prodded a second time. Then, with a steadying cough, he stood up to receive his new robes. What really helped to bring him into focus, however, was Neasa's sight. As both she and Meris were selkies, the Veil had an easier time conforming the dress to the younger woman's form.

Owing perhaps to Meris' increased age, the Squids had opted for a robe, adorning Neasa in something that was half a pencil dress for her legs and half a Roman robe for her waist and up. Enslaved and enthralled girls cleaned and curled her hair, and jewellery she never would've been the type to consider or much less afford was affixed to her neck in a heavy cascade of gemstones. The disguise did still have to sell Meris' demon-possessed form, but nothing could take away the fact that no matter how many fake blisters and bruises the Veil added, Neasa was an absolute vision.

From Neasa's point of view, Fake Nereus more or less froze as his own attendants finished cinching his own robes into place, Bucky's astonishment being difficult to hide. The robes didn't actually fit Bucky, and for good reason - he didn't exactly have the Augur's frame - but Aatxe gave it extra mileage, Bucky's attending slaves not noticing catches that didn't join or sashes that were left to dangle. As far as anyone knew, Bucky was an appropriately-dressed returning religious potentate - if an obviously smitten one. Apophis didn't have to work too hard to integrate that in the charade.

"Yes, my Lord; isn't she a vision?" he hissed, bowing his head deferentially as he approached. Bucky took Neasa's hand, being about to produce an assent that would've been too warm or congenial, before catching himself with a cough.

"Quite so," he then replied, doing his best to sound less respectful than he wanted to, and to inject more raw libido into his approval. "You've done good work, slaves. I'll, uh, tell your masters to offer you extra rations tonight."

The serving girls looked equal parts eager and skeptical, while Apophis discreetly raised a hand. The Augur - especially one driven by a demon - wouldn't have been exactly kind towards anyone... Catching the subtext, Bucky took a few steps forward to ensure he loomed over them.

"Disappoint me during our next libations, however, and I shall let these selfsame masters deal with your broken bones."

The girls recoiled as you'd expect, while Fake Nereus gathered his robes and stalked away, Apophis gathering a few more folds of loose fabric as he slithered behind the Augur. That done, the quartet were taken to the palace's main room, the exact same space Meris and Nereus had so often conspired together in, centuries ago. Bucky took a few moments to absorb Dalarath from their vantage point, noting how certain things had to have been different from what Nereus and Meris had seen. For all of their attempts at rejecting the surface world's cultures, its conveniences had made their way down there nevertheless. Instead of statues flanking the palace's steps, Black Speech-powered holograms floated in front of the walls, images of Meris and Nereus locked in grandiose postures, one hand kept close while the other armed looped in a repeated gesture of beckoning. You could distinctly hear a few hydrogen fuel-cell engines humming, and it felt as though the city planning had been revised to allow for wider thoroughfares. A 2023 Tesla Model 3 even lazily cruised in front of the palace, turning away to disappear in the enfliade of streets festooned in multilingual neon signs. A few billboards were visible near the opposite end of town, the Black Speech's dialectical component having been adapted to sell TVs and prebuilt computers. That ripped a chuckle out of him.

For all their posturing, the Void Weavers wanted the same creature comforts as everyone else - especially the Loyalists.

"Is something amusing?" asked a voice behind them, which made him turn around.

The Speaker, the flesh of Meris' own son, was wearing a black suit and a metallic tie, with black-rimmed rectangular glasses. He had Meris' eyes, with expression wrinkles that eluded to someone who had an easy time smiling and laughing. Something to his cheekbones suggested that if he'd had a nose, it would've also resembled Meris'. His facial tendrils, however, were much shorter than his father's, and barely reached past his lower lip, the two thicker tentacles on either end curling away almost reflexively - evoking a well-furnished and slightly curled mustache. Still, the Speaker's face wasn't currently arranged in any way that would've made it seem more congenial, suspicion being an obvious light in the back of his eyes.

"Our progress, dear Speaker," replied Fake Nereus. "I find it difficult to believe what I see, especially in the face of the Chamberlain's more, erm, traditionalist approach to faith."

The Speaker sighed, arms kept behind his back. He didn't quite reach Nereus' mass but was still heavyset, and walked forward in a way that felt almost professorial. "Mister Chambers' devotion to our Mother has its charms, I'll admit," he said, a slight tinge of a Dutch accent to his words, "but complete darkness would do us no good. As our enemies' tools evolve, so too must ours. First came seduction, and now consumerism. Where mere faith falters, the promise of an Ethernet connection at high throughputs with no oversight from the World Wide Web's governing bodies at least accrues capital - and capital buys faith in ample measures. Even we Prelates need computers, and even we fall victim to common lures. Gripping page-turners, blockbuster movies, fine cuisine, Environmentalism in its trendier forms..."

Bucky dialed things back by a few seconds. "You said no oversight. Does this mean that we effectively control the Dark Web?"

The Speaker laughed easily. "You have been gone a while, eh? My dear Augur - we are the Dark Web, now that the demons had the courtesy of forcing the entire globe to rebuild its online infrastructure. Why settle with conjuring gemstones when we can sate the world's appetite for microconductors with a few teams paid to simply conjure faster processors and more efficient microresistors into being?"

Considering, the former conman went fishing. "So, it's safe to assume you have your hand in Goliath's pie.
- And Microsoft's. Tesla's, H&J's, Neuralink's - I could go on, honestly. The surface world's greed pays our war effort now, far more efficiently than any standard Shadow Lord's campaign's. This is partly why Chambers and I are at odds - he asserts that faith alone should lead us," he noted, rolling his eyes. "The delusions of a dying man - although it does seem as though said death is especially slow in manifesting..."

* * *

"Think nothing of it," nodded the Malk, bowing as if this had been planned for ages. He turned away, barking orders to stable-hands and to the blacksmith's helpers. They all looked a bit overwhelmed by the wretched state of the bird, so their immediate efforts amounted to lifting and carrying those pieces that did fall off.

"That's some entrance, huh?" called Three. Gomez laughed as he negotiated the ladder that was brought to them, to help them down. The way he'd briefly hesitated, he could've simply jumped down but opted to avoid rejecting what likely had to be comparable to help offered by royalty.

"The next time we're up against Squids riding black-market shuttles, I'm bringing Zebediah! Madres, Aidan, you should've seen it!"

Carrie grinned at Marius. "So, Top Gun, Eldritch Edition?"

As she spoke, she also noticed Spector's gangly frame bounding into view from somewhere past the inner portcullis and landing a small ways away from the new arrivals, likely to be able to observe the situation. As his posture shifted from arachnid to humanoid, he returned to a slight forward stoop with his arms furled behind his back.

"Adeptly improvised, gentlemen!" he called out, briefly bringing a hand into to wave. "I have to echo mister Vlastos' general sentiment - this now definitely-flightless bird of yours is long-delayed research material for the local engineers. If the Jabberwocky gave birth to Clanks, then odds are you just set in motion changes that could alter our aerospace development," he noted, his faceless head creasing into the facsimile of a smile. "How were your trips?"

Zeb almost fell down from the ladder while he aimlessly blathered, and took note of Spector's question. "Mostly uneventful," he joked, "a few Squids, some blown-up wingless aircraft, a little magic, engineering and piloting prowess aplenty... I have to dock points for the in-flight service, however."

The lich grinned at Preston. "The next plane or chopper of yours I ride had better have a pair of shapely stewardesses, a drinks cart, and some peanuts!"

* * *

Herbert wasn't Tom; there wasn't an alien shard of Pride inching its way through whatever it was that passed for a soul in demons. However, being of Pride made him briefly wish he'd brought Heathcliff along for the purposes of acting the part of the courier. The moment passed, the armed Draugr watching their backs more than helping in this regard, and the doors opened.

As expected, what waited behind this door certainly wasn't of Estonian make - and certainly not of Earth. Thanks to Lucifer, the once fire-drenched expanses of the Pit looked rather Icelandic in tone, as massive glaciers half-shrouded in fog loomed in the far distance of the landscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling baywindows. The light was clear, exposing a Minimalist foyer that would have been to die for by Wormsworth's standards if the mid-distance hadn't been occupied by a few rows of SWAT-looking Pride Knights dressed in what had to be Jony Ive's idea of bulletproof vests and helmets. Stormtrooper Chic, more or less. Even their weapons had that disturbingly clear shade of Apple-brand white. Unlike Stormtroopers, however, they'd clearly look to Charles like men who did indeed know how to shoot.

They didn't, however, as a voice called right as the doors had opened. "It's alright, boys; I'm on my way down!"

It took a few moments, but the light clatter of clawed feet was soon heard getting closer - until the Fiend who had to be Abbadon stood in full view. He looked almost human, if not for his face's stretched proportions, the crown of small horns that protruded from the top of his scalp - and the fact that he might as well have been Herbert's younger clone. Designer-ripped jeans covered his lower half, with the top limited to a grungy-looking tank top that had some sort of obscenely overpriced graphic print of Andy Warhol's Campbell's soup can offset to the sight. Prayer beads that were likely more trendy than spiritual waited at his wrist, and he wore a headset that had to have been stolen out of one of Google's rejected timelines, if the Google Glass project had truly taken off.

"Oh - hey Dad," said the insurgency's leader, in the kind of tone sullen teens used to annoy their parents.

Herbert, in the meantime, sighed. "Abbadon earned his Name in the war's aftermath, Charles. I thought he would display more restraint than his predecessor, but this young man seems determined to displease he who spawned him in every facet of his existence."

Braggi looked a bit confused, so Herbert elaborated. "I... conceived Abbadon in the late nineties. I was still in the Goat's employ, the wave of materialism and self-delusion that would set the stage for the 2010s' series of foreclosures and high payouts for mortal banks at the expense of the average consumer was offering massive dividends of power to even subalterns such as what I used to be. I couldn't claim a higher station or aspire to greater levels of power, so I did what anyone with a nest-egg would do. I invested. In demonic parlance, I took of myself to make my son and, well..."

The hand he'd raised flopped back against his side. "I thought giving him responsibilities would confer him a bit of maturity, but it seems mutiny appeals more to him than anything else."

He coughed. "Son, this is Charles Jenkins the Third; and you're to take his summons.
- If I don't, are you just going to have me killed like the other guy would've?"

Wormsworth looked annoyed. "Protocol dictates I must severely punish you. I can think of a few ways to have you come to regret this impudence that would not involve your annihilation, nor your corporeal mistreatment."

Abbadon mimed scratching at an eye crust with his middle finger. "Or I could just have these guys shoot you. I got 'em good, y'know. I tell them to dance, they'll dance."

Herbert rolled his eyes. "I'm Vanity made manifest, boy. Do you really think this kind of posturing means anything; especially to a regenerator like mister Jenkins here?"

The younger demon tried not to look interested. "Regenerator... Like, Genghis Khan regenerator?
- Close, no cigar. Try Jansik."

That seemed to be enough to get the Silicon Valley-styled Fiend to reconsider, and he waved his goons away. "Jansik, Genghis; whatever. Guys were practically cousins anyway."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Alex tilted her head thoughtfully at his words and then shook his head. "Perhaps it might've been better I had a gentler introduction toHope, but that's not realistic. I sense that urgency is the message my Tree has been receiving since we planted it. Take root as quickly as possible, pinpoint possible threats, learn the terrain, and so on. I imagine it's barely picking up fleeting signals from the remnants of the old Tree, with as short as my time here has been."

She sighed and lightly scoffed. "The Wild Hunt version of you would certainly dismiss any notion of you being a fool, but Eirean would likely have a PR nightmare after the Hunt was over."

"In place of that, my suggestion is that you find a way to straddle your typical self and that self while defending your role as Winter Lord. It will show that you have an edge and aren't to be trifled with. I believe I caught glimpses of it during our fencing lessons in The Cradle. You and Eirean were your truest selves there, so having just a fraction of that presence here would probably be to your benefit."

***

Meris glanced from Archibald to Azazel and nodded sympathetically. "You're fine, lad. We all have our methods of finding brief escapes when an ordeal gets to be too much. I found repetition to be a soothing action, so I've recalled times when I mended the nets for my family's boat or settled on a calming melody."

Aspasia smiled gently at the former demon and commented, "Music is a good one. My method is to usually put the earbuds in and whale on a punching bag or do some target practice with the occasional "gift" Rendell's sent in the mail until I feel tired," she lightly joked.

Miranda scoffed and grinned, adding on, "I'll agree that music is definitely a good way to get your mind off things. I'm not a battle-hardened soldier yet, but I definitely found myself snuggled in the covers, listening to my favorite tunes to get my mind off of things."

***

As she was dressed by the attendants, she felt a hint of warmth rush to her cheeks as she caught Bucky's gaze. Thankfully, the veil hid it, and she smiled sultrily in response to his libidinous quick save. The selkie was also grateful for a strong neck, as she felt the weight of the grandiose necklace.

As they took in the current technological renovations, Neasa smiled and was about to respond to his chuckle until the Speaker halted her from doing anything other than reminding herself to remain in character. With Meris' history, the Speaker wouldn't know about her as well as he would have with Nereus, so she hoped she would be able to keep up with the act.

She was unsure if the Speaker or Chambers knew of the cause for the latter's weakening health, so she followed on the last bit of the suited Void Weaver's statement. "For all his incapability to see the benefits of the surface world's technology, Chambers still has the Mother's favor. After all, it was that same favor that kept the dear Augur decrepitly alive during Chambers' attacks on him until they finally were able to commence their plans for the surface world. I wouldn't dismiss him entirely, Speaker... Faith can be potent when it's done properly."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Preston stared at the minions now carting off the wreckage of his multi-million dollar chopper, and had to remind himself that he was one of those rich fools who could afford that sort of thing every weekend if he wanted to. Years of frugality were hard to overcome, though, and he turned away with a sigh. "Owe me a new chopper," he muttered to no one in particular. Maybe the Fae would build him a new one, in return for advancing their aviation technology or whatever the scary guy in the suit had just said.

No, hang on, he knew Spector, didn't he? From somewhere before? He looked aside at Zeb and tried a smirk. "Drinks and peanuts, sure, but self serve only. Can't afford full service."

Marius, meanwhile, had an eye on the approaching humans, specifically Mary. "The famous Miss Jameson, I presume?" he offered genially, putting a hand out.

"Mm." She let it hang for a moment, staring at his face, at the lines of nihilism that still marred it. Then she took it and squeezed, very briefly. "Vlastos." It was almost an accusation, and he didn't bother denying it.

"We are not enemies, miss, I promise," he said, turning to watch the chopper's disassembly. "And as Zeb said, our flight wasn't perfect, but we learned a few things anyway."

"Not everyone could have flown this thing all the way here, Hauser, you deserve a medal," Mary said, likewise turning away from the old vamp. "Shame it had to die at the end."

"Don't remind me," Preston replied, doing his best not to stare at her cleavage.

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

So this was some kind of wayward child thing? Charles huffed a sigh and resisted rolling his eyes, wondering what was next in his quest to get Dennis Wyndham within reach of the Crown of Pride.

"Aye, direct male-line descendant o' Jansik a' Holmbr, also known as Mad King Jan," he explained, holding the summons out to Abbadon. "Some folk say th' resemblance is uncanny, but I met th' guy an' he's a fair bit bigger 'n me."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Vernon paused as they left the door that had seen them through to Frosthall, and re-entered the spy's estate. He gave his daughter a look that combined amusement, bafflement and respect.

"I wish I had half of your wisdom, dear girl," he commented, chuckling.

Slightly ponderous steps approached the staircase, and Bagley was soon looking up at the pair, duster in hand. "Can I be of assistance, Lord Haskill?"

The Fae grimaced slightly. "This is a bit dicey, seeing as I'm only a guest here, but I was wondering if it might be possible for yourself or Gubbin to assist us in, well, another bit of impromptu repaste..."

The bullet-headed Clank nodded, as if Vernon had been especially direct. "I see you've heard your Commoners talking. What do you require?"

Glancing back at Alex, Vernon puffed out his cheeks in indecision. "A few of the trestle tables that were used for Alex's unveiling, some of the leftovers and, erm, a few fresh additions so as not to seem too ungrateful to thirty or so Commoners? How did you guess, however?"

Bagley smiled behind the metal frills that suggested a thick brush-shaped mustache. "The master of this estate is a spy, Milord. Snooping about is something of a requisite, here. That and, well, I couldn't find any Yorkshire Tea in Hope's specialized grocery stores. I had to step through to Evergloam to find a few boxes."

The Winter Lord feigned a bit of worry. "I do hope you haven't poached my private stash, sir," he said, the Clank butler looking like he caught the joke.

"I've only taken the lot, Milord. Rest assured, I am quite flexible - and exceedingly corruptible."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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"And I'm obviously the Epicurean type," noted Nereus, as the carriage came to a stop. The doors opened, and Hearthstone Hall's smaller bailey waited in front of them. This looked to be something of a side-entrance in the loosely pentagonal structure, designed to shield noblemen or other dignitaries from the smells and sights of the main entrance.

Nereus was fairly lucid, however. "Now that I'm mostly free, I'll have to refocus on the process, instead of merely eating my feelings. Being able to cook for myself after so long is a long-overdue change in my routine."

Archie shrugged. "Having help to prepare meals has its value, I've found.
- That's because Gubbin and Bagley cook things Lord Holden likes," noted the Void Weaver. "My dieticians and private chefs cooked for Xenophon Thanos - they never actually learned what Nereus Marinos likes."

Archie seemed amused. "I'd been under the impression you'd decided to start watching your figure before we left, this morning..."

The Void Weaver looped an arm through Meris's folded right arm and made a bit of a face. "I did do that," he admitted, "but I'm still in a celebratory mood. I'd rather wait until I've been able to play the host at a table at least once - like Meris and I used to dream about in the Darkhallow."

The Clank blinked. "The last dinner rehearsals I attended took place in the eighteen-eighties!"

Nereus shrugged in mock powerlessness. "Call that Darkhallow-enabled anticipation, hm?
- I'd call that anxiety, honestly," noted the spy with an amused scoff.
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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The Speaker kept his arms behind his back as he nodded, one hand then emerging as he briefly played with the rightmost facial tendril that covered his upper lip. He took a few steps forward and joined them in their gazing out to the city below.

"Emphasis on properly, of course," he then noted. "I'm well aware that the Others' traditionalism runs deep, Consort. I'm also aware of our millennia of history - and of how painfully inefficient our attempts at gospel amongst the surface-world cultures have been. There is a crucial question in need of being addressed, here. What are we, Consort? Paladins in a godly crusade with the means of our assured success, or mere hit-and-run zealots contenting ourselves with the errant Evangelical megachurch in Texas and your own husband's previous attempt at corruption through guided meditation and chakra cleanses?"

Fake Nereus felt obliged to rear up slightly, but the Speaker held up a hand. "If you're here, then the Augur's weakness has been expunged and the rebellion only needs some scant few weeks before realizing how their figureheads have fallen. We'll see previously holier-than-thou sorts fall back to our own craven nature when bereft of their support network, and even the mighty Lucian Rothchild will realize how faillible his fellow rebels can be. The Others run deep, and not all dissidents have the benefit of welcoming arms such as those you would find in Walpurgis or Hope."

He looked back to Neasa-as-Meris. "You said yourself that faith can be potent. This is my own Self at its most convinced."

Another gesture. "Besides, my own efforts have all but stamped out internal dissent. The Word Houses work alongside me, the Arbiters now serve as foremen in our own industrial sectors, and we have access to geological stores no surface-world mining claim could ever hope to reach. Even Faerie's rock trolls couldn't possibly dig as deep as we have. We have carbon enough for generations, the purest silicon veins to serve as templates for our artisans in the Mad Arts - and our tests are already conclusive. The apes are still struggling to tame Brimstone alloys, and we already have processor candidates for quantum computing. One decent effort of entry into their markets, and we'll hold dominion over Humanity in one of its most crucial aspects: its fascination with technology."

* * *

"I'm not sure the Fae would see it as a death," noted Carrie. "It's more like you just gave a gaggle of enchanters and a few blacksmiths a blank canvas to work from. I wouldn't be surprised if you received something like a rolled scroll through the mail in a few years, Hauser - or maybe dropped on your doorstep by some small raptor bird, Harry Potter style, probably dripping with gratitude."

Spector stopped beside Gomez and Zeb, and helped to grab the lich's arms in a way that didn't look too forceful. "Alright, mister Buck," the agent sighed, "I'm sure they'll want to stuff you with some sobriety-inducing potion so you're at least presentable for the event... We'd best get going."

Zeb was too soused to really care, and kept grinning. "Do you think we'll find some buxom young thing who'd be impressed by Gaslight Era Americans who haven't really lost the Old Country's accent, Gomez?"

The iguana rolled his eyes and sent Vlastos a look, only to repress a cackle when the skeleton tried for an obviously-abortive "Well hello, miss," in Mary's direction.

Three's initially simple smile broke into an all-out grin. "Oh jeeze - sorry about Zeb, Mary. Helena Nasir's confidence-booster worked a little too well."

In the meantime, Gomez was heard trying to dissuade Zeb from pushing his luck. "What do you mean, it wouldn't work? She makes Elon Musk's ghost look like a child playing with Legos, and I'm a lich! We could revo- revol- revoln - we could remake the prosth- the prosh - the fake limbs field entirely!"

* * *

"Huh. Cool." was Abbadon's reply, which made Herbert roll his eyes and then push a few fingertips against his forehead.

"You've received the summons, it's all formally been taken care of - now please let these people go, son. Leave Estonia.
- And go where, exactly? You're all over Pride, everyone else is super happy with collaborating with mortals, and there's no place left for decent demonic shit!"

Herbert sighed. "Things change, Abbadon. I spawned you when I had less patience and knew far less than I do now. Pride is a noble force, now, in-keeping with the best of our rapports with mortalkind. Abuse cannot and will never lead to expiation.
- And what if I like seeing dumbshits do things my way?"

Wormsworth briefly looked away. "There... are some avenues. A few souls with burdens so heavy that mere empathy goes nowhere. Torture is now squarely targeted at those needing aggression to reach catharsis."

Annoyance glinted in his eyes, however. "All of this is beside the point, however. I've had you summoned. You are expected."

He was about to tell Charles and the Draugr to turn tail when something made him narrow his eyes and smirk in a particularly Fiendish way. "You clearly miss the days that saw Pride have teeth, son. Then you won't mind if I summon you not to my palace in Pride - but to my office in Hope. In the mortal plane."

He might as well have asked a teenager to do something they'd have found embarrassing. "But, Dad!
- But Dad - nothing. My office, sixty minutes from now. No retinue, no escorts."

Looking particularly frustrated, Abbadon stared at them for a few seconds, then waved in their direction. The floor seemingly slid from underneath their feet - or they were pulled backwards without feeling it - and the doors slammed in their faces. That done, Wormsworth's shoulders worked as he mentally disengaged from what had happened.

"This isn't entirely unrelated, Charles, but I think you should ask Gabriel to invite your daughter over from Heaven, one of these days. Katherine is a spirited young woman, and she's managed to take after you in ways that compliment you."

His smile turned to a self-directed grimace. "Word to the wise, my good man: if you're ever given the chance to spawn as we demons can, turn tail and run."
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Re: Chapter VII - Healing Pains

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Alex chuckled lightly at Bagley's jest. "As you deduced, Vernon has been given a Challenge by Lyle McHae, the previous Winter Lord's uncle. I was advising him on ways he could allay concerns that he isn't strong or edgy enough to suit the tastes of his opponent and his followers," she scoffed.

"I suggested he find a balance between the everyday Lord most are familiar with and the Vernon I saw while we were staying in the Cradle. He needs a little of Column A and sizeable portion from Column B. Not full-on Leader of the Wild Hunt, but something akin to make McHae and the rest take pause and shove off."

"When the Challenge is officially happening, I'm to be the impartial judge and won't be able to give him pointers then."

***

Meris smirked as she linked arms with the Void Weaver. "Your last dinner rehearsal might've been in the 19th century, Archibald, but I imagine any banquets Nereus and I throw will be different from any stuffy soirees! We have a fair few dreams to make manifest now that he's mostly free."

She checked the time and clicked her tongue. "I imagine we'll have just enough time to get changed for the event and we'll be able to enjoy ourselves after the trip."

***

The disguised woman could see that the Speaker was essentially bloviating, which was fine and kept him from being suspicious about them. To keep things going in that direction, it would be better to flatter his ego.

Neasa-as-Meris considered his words and smiled approvingly. "Yes, I believe we will have an advantage over them, even with the addition of a wet behind the ears Throne overseeing technology now. The death of the initial Metal Throne shows how vulnerable angels can be, so one more won''t be an obstacle for our plans. It's only a matter of time."
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