Meris quietly pondered over everything they had discussed and found that all the necessary components had been talked over. She shook her head and replied, "No, I don't think there's anything else for us to discuss here."
"As Nybbas mentioned, I think he and Naberius will suffice for my retinue, unless you care to join us," she mused, looking from them to the King of Hearts. "Also, Amduscias, if you ever care to speak with Tom and Aislinn, I'm sure they would be happy to have you." Obviously, the selkie wasn't aware of the peril they were currently in.
*~*~*
Soap, really? her mind wondered. Aislinn realized there was some truth to the phrase "Cleanliness is next to godliness", even if it was a little on the nose. However, that bit of irony was short-lived due to the reality of the situation.
"I'm going to head toward the elevator on the count of three. Stay close and keep your shield up, Tom. 1...2...3!" she exclaimed mentally, then bolting toward the elevator. She made sure the warlock was in and pressed the button for his penthouse, hoping the arcane shield would hold.
Time seemed to go fast and slow as the cabin left the bottom floor and then dinged on the floor to the apartment. While she was reluctant to leave her boyfriend behind to distract Asmodeus, the new Archmage hurried to the bathroom and the kitchen to grab the improvised weapons. Since it seemed like more was better in this case, she grabbed what she could with her hands, levitated the excess behind her, and returned to where she had left the two incubi.
Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
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TennyoCeres84
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
"If your Majesty allows it," nodded Amduscias, his persistent grin suggesting he knew Meris' offering implied tacit approval. "I haven't gone back to Hell in a spell, pun intended," he said, "it'd be nice to try out one of those much-vaunted portals for myself. Stand on your soil in the flesh outta' me own accord, for once."
He shrugged. "Not that I mind Solomon's bond with us - or yours, either. You both make pretty roomy cages, truth be told," he joked. "Lotta opportunities behind those golden bars, too."
Naberius scoffed. "I've stopped pondering on the specifics of my link to Solomon and Meris a long time ago, Amduscias," he said. "If my so-called bonds leave me free to operate a business in the United States as a private citizen and to spread goodwill and peace alongside a modicum of distinction and good breeding, I can hardly consider myself to be akin to your garden-variety Fiend. Why, all of us would even leave Nergal green with envy!"
Agares chuckled at that, as the group left the table. "Come on, Nabs - the guy has Texas' economic and arcane metropolis to call his own and his summoner's left him free to turn that awfully roomy cage into the seat for a worldwide arms and defense R&D corporation. Nelson Galbraith's got more money than even Melmoth, he's on good terms with dozens of civilians in Walpurgis, he's got the keys to the city and he's been crucial to both the local Warlock pop and the Gentlemen's southern nest. Him and Ereshkigal managed to supplant their area's Conservative and Dixie donors, and he oozes charm to the point where nobody outside of Walpurgis has ever questioned why he handles all overseas deals through Skype. We've got the world open to us on a literal basis, Nergal's legally tapped into the world's wallet. We can't so much as compare ourselves to him."
Vernon quirked an eyebrow at that. "Is this Galbraith another foe to contend with?
- Far from it," reassured Naberius. "His summoner bit off a bit more than he could chew, back in the day, but Herr Geier had his reasons. Nergal and Ereshkigal were some of the Mesopotamian world's fiercest protectors - the ironically perfect and productive outcome of the Fall. They were damned, yes, as were we all - but they learned their lesson. Far better than the rest of us, and better than several within Pandemonium."
Eir followed along. "What were they damned for?
- For introducing blood magic upon the world," replied Naberius as they left the room. "Ur and Lagash remained impregnable for generations thanks to their efforts; but it was at the cost of several dozen sacrifices per year. Some call them the first Warlocks to have ever existed, ready and willing as they were to commit heinous acts upon innocents in order to save their greater number and bolster their victories on the battlefield. Nergal once was one of Gabriel's most trusted field commanders, until his desire to engender peace at all costs consumed him."
The group walked down the same hallway, Naberius briefly stopping at a connected corridor. He led the group along until the path opened onto a small private reading room of sorts. On the wall waited an immense portrait of an oddly lich-like angel thrusting a broadsword down into a crumpled enemy soldier's back. The style looked almost Classical, with a bit of Da Vinci's love for golden and fire-like shimmering showing through, as if egg yolk had been part of some of the paint layers. The angel's armor was primitive, in line with Mesopotamian records of hard leather breastplates, sashes out of leopard skin and calf-height sandals. The broadsword didn't fit, however, looking to be of the type you'd only have found in England or Germany, over ten thousand years later. Behind him were droves of weapon-wielding men with bronzed skin and dark, oiled beards, fires sending tongues of flame out from behind and above them, the ruins of some temple looming in the background. Nergal's extended wings looked metallic from a distance, until Meris would realize each pinion "feather" actually was a shell casing growing out of the wings' structure.
Benson eyed the portrait gravely. "And what does mister Galbraith believe now?
- He and his wife now believe peace to be transitory," added Naberius. "Territories can be appeased, that tangible peace will always become someone else's object of desire. Someone else with raise their guns or swords, someone else will always issue a challenge. Conquest solves nothing, or so Nelson and Erin have both understood. Defense, however, matters.
- So no matter if we defeat the Goat or the Others..."
The Steward nodded in agreement with Eirean. "More will come. More will always come. The Romans came for the Orkneys, the Germans came for Europe twice, and Meris' own desire for peace nearly set Dalarath ablaze. Predation is and always will be part of life itself. Blood sacrifices need not be asked; they will occur of their own volition."
Spector's jaw hung agape, but skin still covered his mouth. "What's the difference, then? What makes them better than what they used to be?"
Naberius sighed. "Nergal and Ereshkigal both take lives," he said grimly. "They might no longer swing those swords or press these triggers directly, but they know and expect the losses and heartbreak their handiwork creates. They take lives, but take no pleasure in it. When one knows this, it becomes clear as to why Galbraith Engineering has never contributed to the United States' National Rifle Association."
* * *
Aislinn would find herself requiring a bit of telekinetic effort in order to open the elevator's outer doors, once she'd come back down. Asmodeus had partially melted them, the heat of his and Tom's confrontation partially soldering the plates together in a few spots. That done, she'd find her beau backed up in a corner, next to the main bar. The ground floor looked absolutely wrecked by now, as low and reddish tongues of Infernal fire trailed behind Asmodeus' slumped form. Discharge after discharge followed, the Prince of Lust's earlier moans having turned to a long and low roar that combined furor and lasciviousness, slurping noises and grunts sometimes interrupting it.
The roane would need to time her movements carefully if she wanted to return to Tom's shield, as the Prince's assumed form seemed to have one notable weakness. His starfish-shaped maw didn't seem to be able to discharge its ichor continuously, one of the appendages always needing a few seconds to cycle through what looked like accelerated stimulation. The two most recently-used arms looked flaccid, the next third was always in the process of growing engorged and swollen, while the fourth always oozed a lower-pressure mixture. The fifth usually spasmed, somehow managed to angle itself correctly, and then spewed its contents at the pair. All told, the cycle seemed to take a few seconds.
Seeing her, Tom gestured for Aislinn to come over. "You'll need a few seconds to prepare!" he said. "This isn't like preparing a fireball or using magic to polymerize water enough so you can throw it like a balloon! Neither of us can alter things on the molecular level, but we need via to boost the soap's hydrophilic and hydrophobic properties along with its alkalinity! We need something that's almost as basal as his discharges are acidic - something that's just as dangerous! Neither of us are chemists, but the best thing we can do is focus on the idea of basal substances!"
He again adjusted his shield, stammering under the effort needed to both lay out some sort of plan while keeping the both of them alive. "Just - imagine you're Meris, way back before she first left the Orkneys! You've got clothes to wash and you're by a rocky riverbed! You're going downriver to catch all the lye, fat and blood your Pictish neighbors left behind during their latest clan-related spat! If you don't go far down enough, all that lye eats through your linens, as strong as it can be! You've even seen other washerwomen end up with blistered hands after years of doing clothes! Years of basal components, eating away at your selkie hands' oils!"
He shrugged. "Not that I mind Solomon's bond with us - or yours, either. You both make pretty roomy cages, truth be told," he joked. "Lotta opportunities behind those golden bars, too."
Naberius scoffed. "I've stopped pondering on the specifics of my link to Solomon and Meris a long time ago, Amduscias," he said. "If my so-called bonds leave me free to operate a business in the United States as a private citizen and to spread goodwill and peace alongside a modicum of distinction and good breeding, I can hardly consider myself to be akin to your garden-variety Fiend. Why, all of us would even leave Nergal green with envy!"
Agares chuckled at that, as the group left the table. "Come on, Nabs - the guy has Texas' economic and arcane metropolis to call his own and his summoner's left him free to turn that awfully roomy cage into the seat for a worldwide arms and defense R&D corporation. Nelson Galbraith's got more money than even Melmoth, he's on good terms with dozens of civilians in Walpurgis, he's got the keys to the city and he's been crucial to both the local Warlock pop and the Gentlemen's southern nest. Him and Ereshkigal managed to supplant their area's Conservative and Dixie donors, and he oozes charm to the point where nobody outside of Walpurgis has ever questioned why he handles all overseas deals through Skype. We've got the world open to us on a literal basis, Nergal's legally tapped into the world's wallet. We can't so much as compare ourselves to him."
Vernon quirked an eyebrow at that. "Is this Galbraith another foe to contend with?
- Far from it," reassured Naberius. "His summoner bit off a bit more than he could chew, back in the day, but Herr Geier had his reasons. Nergal and Ereshkigal were some of the Mesopotamian world's fiercest protectors - the ironically perfect and productive outcome of the Fall. They were damned, yes, as were we all - but they learned their lesson. Far better than the rest of us, and better than several within Pandemonium."
Eir followed along. "What were they damned for?
- For introducing blood magic upon the world," replied Naberius as they left the room. "Ur and Lagash remained impregnable for generations thanks to their efforts; but it was at the cost of several dozen sacrifices per year. Some call them the first Warlocks to have ever existed, ready and willing as they were to commit heinous acts upon innocents in order to save their greater number and bolster their victories on the battlefield. Nergal once was one of Gabriel's most trusted field commanders, until his desire to engender peace at all costs consumed him."
The group walked down the same hallway, Naberius briefly stopping at a connected corridor. He led the group along until the path opened onto a small private reading room of sorts. On the wall waited an immense portrait of an oddly lich-like angel thrusting a broadsword down into a crumpled enemy soldier's back. The style looked almost Classical, with a bit of Da Vinci's love for golden and fire-like shimmering showing through, as if egg yolk had been part of some of the paint layers. The angel's armor was primitive, in line with Mesopotamian records of hard leather breastplates, sashes out of leopard skin and calf-height sandals. The broadsword didn't fit, however, looking to be of the type you'd only have found in England or Germany, over ten thousand years later. Behind him were droves of weapon-wielding men with bronzed skin and dark, oiled beards, fires sending tongues of flame out from behind and above them, the ruins of some temple looming in the background. Nergal's extended wings looked metallic from a distance, until Meris would realize each pinion "feather" actually was a shell casing growing out of the wings' structure.
Benson eyed the portrait gravely. "And what does mister Galbraith believe now?
- He and his wife now believe peace to be transitory," added Naberius. "Territories can be appeased, that tangible peace will always become someone else's object of desire. Someone else with raise their guns or swords, someone else will always issue a challenge. Conquest solves nothing, or so Nelson and Erin have both understood. Defense, however, matters.
- So no matter if we defeat the Goat or the Others..."
The Steward nodded in agreement with Eirean. "More will come. More will always come. The Romans came for the Orkneys, the Germans came for Europe twice, and Meris' own desire for peace nearly set Dalarath ablaze. Predation is and always will be part of life itself. Blood sacrifices need not be asked; they will occur of their own volition."
Spector's jaw hung agape, but skin still covered his mouth. "What's the difference, then? What makes them better than what they used to be?"
Naberius sighed. "Nergal and Ereshkigal both take lives," he said grimly. "They might no longer swing those swords or press these triggers directly, but they know and expect the losses and heartbreak their handiwork creates. They take lives, but take no pleasure in it. When one knows this, it becomes clear as to why Galbraith Engineering has never contributed to the United States' National Rifle Association."
* * *
Aislinn would find herself requiring a bit of telekinetic effort in order to open the elevator's outer doors, once she'd come back down. Asmodeus had partially melted them, the heat of his and Tom's confrontation partially soldering the plates together in a few spots. That done, she'd find her beau backed up in a corner, next to the main bar. The ground floor looked absolutely wrecked by now, as low and reddish tongues of Infernal fire trailed behind Asmodeus' slumped form. Discharge after discharge followed, the Prince of Lust's earlier moans having turned to a long and low roar that combined furor and lasciviousness, slurping noises and grunts sometimes interrupting it.
The roane would need to time her movements carefully if she wanted to return to Tom's shield, as the Prince's assumed form seemed to have one notable weakness. His starfish-shaped maw didn't seem to be able to discharge its ichor continuously, one of the appendages always needing a few seconds to cycle through what looked like accelerated stimulation. The two most recently-used arms looked flaccid, the next third was always in the process of growing engorged and swollen, while the fourth always oozed a lower-pressure mixture. The fifth usually spasmed, somehow managed to angle itself correctly, and then spewed its contents at the pair. All told, the cycle seemed to take a few seconds.
Seeing her, Tom gestured for Aislinn to come over. "You'll need a few seconds to prepare!" he said. "This isn't like preparing a fireball or using magic to polymerize water enough so you can throw it like a balloon! Neither of us can alter things on the molecular level, but we need via to boost the soap's hydrophilic and hydrophobic properties along with its alkalinity! We need something that's almost as basal as his discharges are acidic - something that's just as dangerous! Neither of us are chemists, but the best thing we can do is focus on the idea of basal substances!"
He again adjusted his shield, stammering under the effort needed to both lay out some sort of plan while keeping the both of them alive. "Just - imagine you're Meris, way back before she first left the Orkneys! You've got clothes to wash and you're by a rocky riverbed! You're going downriver to catch all the lye, fat and blood your Pictish neighbors left behind during their latest clan-related spat! If you don't go far down enough, all that lye eats through your linens, as strong as it can be! You've even seen other washerwomen end up with blistered hands after years of doing clothes! Years of basal components, eating away at your selkie hands' oils!"
-
TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Meris nodded grimly. "Given events of past decades, I'm not surprised. Violence has always had a culture of its own, the sense of invulnerability at times. However, that's never the case. Someone's always going to be hurt by it. Even in Dalarath during my last days there, I spent it running away from Arbiters and the cultist inside my son's body, who were out for my head. The Chamberlain's infiltration led to several deaths in the White Brotherhood..."
She sighed and shook her head to dismiss the memories to keep them from clouding her mind too much. "I know peace won't last, as you said. What I would like is for everyone to be on equal footing, to no longer have to hide themselves. That's something that'll bring its own turmoil, but I think it'll be worth it in the end," she said with resolve, her tone increasing in lightness.
*~*~*
Given the peculiar cycle of the Prince's limbs and their "reload" time, Aislinn synchronized her movements with it and scuttled back to the safety of Tom's shield. She set the bars of soap and bottle of soap on the floor and closed her eyes. She envisioned herself at the banks of a river, hands submerged in the water. The currents of basal lye flowing down the river toward her appendages as she focused on scrubbing clothes. The tattooist winced as the caustic sensation began to build, even though her skin remained unharmed. She could see the severe, reddened blisters forming on her hands and wrists.
However, the hard bars and liquid soap began to bubble as the properties began to shift into an offensive-defensive base. Her hands glowed blue as the cleaning implement was transformed with the aid of via. The created substance hummed and emanated blue light as it reached the required basal qualities to counter Asmodeus' acidic onslaught.
She opened her eyes and looked over at Tom, now standing up to avoid the concoction. She willed the liquid to rise off the floor and began directing it at the group of arms and the torso, imbuing it with more searing characteristics as it launched at their foe.
She sighed and shook her head to dismiss the memories to keep them from clouding her mind too much. "I know peace won't last, as you said. What I would like is for everyone to be on equal footing, to no longer have to hide themselves. That's something that'll bring its own turmoil, but I think it'll be worth it in the end," she said with resolve, her tone increasing in lightness.
*~*~*
Given the peculiar cycle of the Prince's limbs and their "reload" time, Aislinn synchronized her movements with it and scuttled back to the safety of Tom's shield. She set the bars of soap and bottle of soap on the floor and closed her eyes. She envisioned herself at the banks of a river, hands submerged in the water. The currents of basal lye flowing down the river toward her appendages as she focused on scrubbing clothes. The tattooist winced as the caustic sensation began to build, even though her skin remained unharmed. She could see the severe, reddened blisters forming on her hands and wrists.
However, the hard bars and liquid soap began to bubble as the properties began to shift into an offensive-defensive base. Her hands glowed blue as the cleaning implement was transformed with the aid of via. The created substance hummed and emanated blue light as it reached the required basal qualities to counter Asmodeus' acidic onslaught.
She opened her eyes and looked over at Tom, now standing up to avoid the concoction. She willed the liquid to rise off the floor and began directing it at the group of arms and the torso, imbuing it with more searing characteristics as it launched at their foe.
-
IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
"As grim as it may seem," agreed Naberius, "this is what Nergal has understood. Sometimes, the fight is worth it."
He gave the portrait one last look. "That little aparté aside, I was leading you to the chambers that connect to the royal couple's own apartments. Right this way, please..."
Spector seemed alarmed. "Why weren't we notified of this earlier?! An unsupervised access to Titania and Oberon poses severe logistical and tactical problems; do you imagine what that could mean if anyone could just hijack this place and-"
He stopped, his long limbs retracting as the Steward laid a withering glance on him. "Solomon wouldn't have been caught dead allowing any and all callers access to his oldest of allies, sir. While not impregnable, this keep is designed so that only the Heiress may use its full amenities. This includes our suite of portals. Anyone else who passes through without her consent would simply step through the portal's flat plane, fall off the dais and sprain an ankle.
- Has anyone else ever made it here, then?"
Naberius shrugged as he opened a nearby door using his keychain. "The occasional climber and thrill-seeker, yes. We keep the fortress Veiled. We did have one pesky German Diviner to contend with in the forties, but Amduscias and I simply scared him away. We may look civilized, we still can play our demonic parts if the situation calls for it."
Eirean smirked at that, stepping into the new bedroom along with the rest of the group. "Three heads and all?
- Three heads and all," opined the Steward, another bit of sympathetic self-infatuation hiding behind his mustache, twinkling eyes and grasped lapel.
He then entered another roomy hearth and gestured for the others to stand beside him. This second room looked well preserved, the bedframe and linens having kept the same basic Middle-Eastern designs while going through modern revisions. The Steward's true form faded away, the assumed Setter Spaniel body restored. Nybbas didn't undergo that many alterations, the slant of his nose and the muscle distribution of his legs changing to suit that of a modern Elysium-borne Faun. That made him look down on himself with an impressed grunt.
"Hrmph. Better balance, eh? I suppose Rendell had to account for the one or two clumsy types in my species..."
* * *
Asmodeus obviously wouldn't appreciate these new projectiles, as those that hit his own discharges resulted in harmless whitish-grey goop hitting the floor and walls. Those that hit him, however, made his engorged stomach and groin's skin slough off, the previously tumescent roars of earlier changing in pitch and tone, raw fury and pain entering the soundscape.
"Yes!" seethed Tom between clenched teeth. "He's in the ropes! On three, we'll both grab my staff, aim at the biggest welt on his stomach and unload everything we've got! We need to push him through the portal again!"
In the back, the elevator opened. Asmodeus' mass prevented the pair from seeing who had stepped through, but the fact that they'd be able to see the cabin's ceiling suggested it wasn't Paimon. In any case, they wouldn't need long to find out.
"HEY, YOU LIMP-DICK FUCKER!"
The two practitioners would hear a dull ka-thunk, followed by a short, roaring boom. The front, bulging section of Asmodeus' body lurched forward, something black sailing overhead and crashing into the bar's glass display behind Tom and Aislinn.
Seeing that, Tom's relief briefly turned to rage. "We just had these glass shelves installed, Volker! That's coming out of your first paycheck!
- Oh, boo fucking hoo!" shot back the anthro wolf. "Kill the Mega-Pervert first, argue later!"
If the Prince had any surprise to voice, he was too far gone to articulate it clearly. A vaguely puzzled growl escaped the fleshly mass as it laboriously tried to turn around and face its new threat. Volker, however, was too busy carving his way up and over the mound of flesh with equal parts claws and Bowie knife applications. Primitive eyes had formed atop a new, bulging mass on the heap of flesh, and he unceremoniously slashed them open.
"He'll only get hornier if you keep hurting him!" shouted the wolf, looking like a cowboy attempting to ride an Eldritch abomination, grasping a forming appendage and cutting it off before it could gain any traction. "Either you cut off his dicks or you punch his monster 'nads out with an elemental blast - preferably hard enough to push him through the portal! That's where your hurting him comes in handy; he seizes up a bit when he takes a big one!"
The wolf then jumped off the monster, sprinting for the bar in a few steps and then pulling a rather stylish move that would've been worthy of a forgotten Die Hard sequel: he threw himself at the bar at an angle and partially slid along its length on his side, handguns out and peppering the fleshly mass in its flowering appendage. He then twisted himself in the other direction and tumbled over the bar, falling in front of Aislinn and Tom with a grunt.
Tom's aggravation seemed like it had faded somewhat. "I take it you've had experience?!
- It's why I joined you!" confessed the wolf. "I knew you wouldn't get shit done with good virtues and conviction; Dad's jollies only end once you take away his pride and joy! Meris' boys might like to talk, you know just as well as I do that Asmo's take on Fuck, Marry or Kill stops at Fuck!"
He then paused. "I maybe wouldn't have said that like this if you hadn't given me Mathers' mind to root around in, but them's the breaks!"
He gave the portrait one last look. "That little aparté aside, I was leading you to the chambers that connect to the royal couple's own apartments. Right this way, please..."
Spector seemed alarmed. "Why weren't we notified of this earlier?! An unsupervised access to Titania and Oberon poses severe logistical and tactical problems; do you imagine what that could mean if anyone could just hijack this place and-"
He stopped, his long limbs retracting as the Steward laid a withering glance on him. "Solomon wouldn't have been caught dead allowing any and all callers access to his oldest of allies, sir. While not impregnable, this keep is designed so that only the Heiress may use its full amenities. This includes our suite of portals. Anyone else who passes through without her consent would simply step through the portal's flat plane, fall off the dais and sprain an ankle.
- Has anyone else ever made it here, then?"
Naberius shrugged as he opened a nearby door using his keychain. "The occasional climber and thrill-seeker, yes. We keep the fortress Veiled. We did have one pesky German Diviner to contend with in the forties, but Amduscias and I simply scared him away. We may look civilized, we still can play our demonic parts if the situation calls for it."
Eirean smirked at that, stepping into the new bedroom along with the rest of the group. "Three heads and all?
- Three heads and all," opined the Steward, another bit of sympathetic self-infatuation hiding behind his mustache, twinkling eyes and grasped lapel.
He then entered another roomy hearth and gestured for the others to stand beside him. This second room looked well preserved, the bedframe and linens having kept the same basic Middle-Eastern designs while going through modern revisions. The Steward's true form faded away, the assumed Setter Spaniel body restored. Nybbas didn't undergo that many alterations, the slant of his nose and the muscle distribution of his legs changing to suit that of a modern Elysium-borne Faun. That made him look down on himself with an impressed grunt.
"Hrmph. Better balance, eh? I suppose Rendell had to account for the one or two clumsy types in my species..."
* * *
Asmodeus obviously wouldn't appreciate these new projectiles, as those that hit his own discharges resulted in harmless whitish-grey goop hitting the floor and walls. Those that hit him, however, made his engorged stomach and groin's skin slough off, the previously tumescent roars of earlier changing in pitch and tone, raw fury and pain entering the soundscape.
"Yes!" seethed Tom between clenched teeth. "He's in the ropes! On three, we'll both grab my staff, aim at the biggest welt on his stomach and unload everything we've got! We need to push him through the portal again!"
In the back, the elevator opened. Asmodeus' mass prevented the pair from seeing who had stepped through, but the fact that they'd be able to see the cabin's ceiling suggested it wasn't Paimon. In any case, they wouldn't need long to find out.
"HEY, YOU LIMP-DICK FUCKER!"
The two practitioners would hear a dull ka-thunk, followed by a short, roaring boom. The front, bulging section of Asmodeus' body lurched forward, something black sailing overhead and crashing into the bar's glass display behind Tom and Aislinn.
Seeing that, Tom's relief briefly turned to rage. "We just had these glass shelves installed, Volker! That's coming out of your first paycheck!
- Oh, boo fucking hoo!" shot back the anthro wolf. "Kill the Mega-Pervert first, argue later!"
If the Prince had any surprise to voice, he was too far gone to articulate it clearly. A vaguely puzzled growl escaped the fleshly mass as it laboriously tried to turn around and face its new threat. Volker, however, was too busy carving his way up and over the mound of flesh with equal parts claws and Bowie knife applications. Primitive eyes had formed atop a new, bulging mass on the heap of flesh, and he unceremoniously slashed them open.
"He'll only get hornier if you keep hurting him!" shouted the wolf, looking like a cowboy attempting to ride an Eldritch abomination, grasping a forming appendage and cutting it off before it could gain any traction. "Either you cut off his dicks or you punch his monster 'nads out with an elemental blast - preferably hard enough to push him through the portal! That's where your hurting him comes in handy; he seizes up a bit when he takes a big one!"
The wolf then jumped off the monster, sprinting for the bar in a few steps and then pulling a rather stylish move that would've been worthy of a forgotten Die Hard sequel: he threw himself at the bar at an angle and partially slid along its length on his side, handguns out and peppering the fleshly mass in its flowering appendage. He then twisted himself in the other direction and tumbled over the bar, falling in front of Aislinn and Tom with a grunt.
Tom's aggravation seemed like it had faded somewhat. "I take it you've had experience?!
- It's why I joined you!" confessed the wolf. "I knew you wouldn't get shit done with good virtues and conviction; Dad's jollies only end once you take away his pride and joy! Meris' boys might like to talk, you know just as well as I do that Asmo's take on Fuck, Marry or Kill stops at Fuck!"
He then paused. "I maybe wouldn't have said that like this if you hadn't given me Mathers' mind to root around in, but them's the breaks!"
-
TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Joining the others in the portal, Meris appraised him and then nodded. "I suppose he did. Though, I have to wonder how much people will pick up on your origins, the Blue Chimeras in particular. I imagine your movements are distinct from theirs, more jovial than most ex-military types would be. The faun I know, Aspasia, will likely spot you right off, should you meet her. She's got a sharp memory and knows each of her former officers, and you certainly aren't young enough to be one of their children. From what she told me, Rupert Issacs sped up their metabolisms, so they don't generally gain much weight beyond what's in a healthy range," she mused, then scoffing. "You might have other fauns coming up to ask you how you're able to keep the weight on."
*~*~*
Aislinn contributed by resuming her telekinetic attacks, deeply slashing at each of the engorged phalluses and others parts of the mass of flesh. "What about a lightning spell? It should have enough force behind it to send him through the portal while also delivering enough damage to keep him from attacking." she noted.
*~*~*
Aislinn contributed by resuming her telekinetic attacks, deeply slashing at each of the engorged phalluses and others parts of the mass of flesh. "What about a lightning spell? It should have enough force behind it to send him through the portal while also delivering enough damage to keep him from attacking." she noted.
-
IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
"I'm an open book," chuckled Nybbas. "A lower metabolism, largely intellectual responsibilities, damnation, followed by redemption and thousands of years of free time. Works wonders for the waistline!
- I'm told other kings have more active courtiers," noted Naberius, giving the Faun a critical side-eye. That left the Faun to roll his eyes. "Just shut up and get us there, you old fop!" he groused.
Naberius smirked at that. "As is thy will, O Obese One."
Tongues of flame ran along the floor and then swallowed the group whole, until openings in the curtains of heatless fire revealed the outside scenery had changed. Gone were the Middle-Eastern appointments, replaced with a slightly Rococco-looking boudoir decked out in white and robin's-egg blue. The light of London's Faeside canals slipped in through high Colonial-style windows, the room lightly reverberating with the sounds of a curiously out-of-place rechargeable electric vaccuum cleaner. The staff consisted of two young Fae women in slightly modernized Victorian wait-staff outfits. Obviously, the sight of these sudden visitors made both ladies gasp and try for a shriek, which resulted in the room's white double doors being pushed open by a pair of breastplate-wearing guardsmen. The end result was four pairs of eyes giving Meris and her retinue a slightly bewildered stare.
The Steward looked like he secretly relished being the object of shock. "May I present Meris of the Orcades, Illustrious Archmage, Rightful Queen of Dalarath and heiress to the throne of Solomon the Just and Righteous, God-Granted King of Israel, First among all Practitioners!"
The quartet blinked. "W-Who's first?" asked one of the guards in a slight Estuary accent. "I mean, First among all Practitioners. Solomon or, um-
- Meris.
- Right, Meris," nodded the guard. "Is she it?"
Naberius pouted amenably and canted his head. "Unlike me, I don't think she's one to brag.
- We'd like to speak to the King and Queen," added Nybbas.
Spector unfurled from the hearth's opening. "They're with me, gentlemen. Go ahead - inform them."
More blinks, which led to Nybbas snorting. "Well? Come on lads, we're in Titania's Blue Salon, which means we're four long corridor bends from the Great Hall! Hop to it!"
One of the guards turned tail and practically sprinted away, the other one giving Nybbas' pants legs an odd look.
"A-Are the Fauns starting to Choose?"
Nybbas pouted. "Not quite yet, unfortunately. I'm afraid I lost the Fair distinction a good long while ago. I'm a demon now - one of the nice ones.
- But you're still-
- A nice call back to the jolly old peoples of Lydia? Pan flutes, grove dances, cryptic riddles, feats of archery and knick-of-time life-saving in the wretched wilds?"
Nybbas shrugged and raised his right hand, a golden goblet appearing in his curled fingers. a finger of something dark red shimmered in from nowhere and fell in the goblet with the babbling noises of poured liquid. "I'm more of a Bacchus precursor, myself. Your good health and all that."
The Faun made as if to drink, and then stopped, his nose wrinkling. He then gave Naberius a brooding look. "Really? Wine to water? What are you, Jesus' more judgemental forgotten cousin?"
Naberius managed to snigger without his shoulders shaking.
* * *
"Whatever works, so long as you do it before he collapses the floor here!" replied Volker, teeth clenched as he popped up and over the bar long enough to add a bit of cover fire. "You already burned through fucktons of mob money and part of Mammon's hoard, you can't afford to rebuild before you so much as open!"
Tom snarled, discharging a bolt of red energy from the tip of his staff. "Don't tell me what I already know, we need concrete solutions!"
The warthog then looked at Aislinn. "Your idea could work - trouble is your power increased too quickly for me to trust you with unarmed evocation! You could fry half the neighbourhood if you're not careful!"
He gestured for her to come closer. "We'll grab my staff together and unload everything we've got! Volker, you're on charge of aiming that ghetto cannon - you'll have to point the staff so Asmodeus gets pushed through the portal! Aislinn and I are going to be too focused on not dying to aim on our own!"
The wolf shook his head. "Fucking magic users, I swear to God!"
- I'm told other kings have more active courtiers," noted Naberius, giving the Faun a critical side-eye. That left the Faun to roll his eyes. "Just shut up and get us there, you old fop!" he groused.
Naberius smirked at that. "As is thy will, O Obese One."
Tongues of flame ran along the floor and then swallowed the group whole, until openings in the curtains of heatless fire revealed the outside scenery had changed. Gone were the Middle-Eastern appointments, replaced with a slightly Rococco-looking boudoir decked out in white and robin's-egg blue. The light of London's Faeside canals slipped in through high Colonial-style windows, the room lightly reverberating with the sounds of a curiously out-of-place rechargeable electric vaccuum cleaner. The staff consisted of two young Fae women in slightly modernized Victorian wait-staff outfits. Obviously, the sight of these sudden visitors made both ladies gasp and try for a shriek, which resulted in the room's white double doors being pushed open by a pair of breastplate-wearing guardsmen. The end result was four pairs of eyes giving Meris and her retinue a slightly bewildered stare.
The Steward looked like he secretly relished being the object of shock. "May I present Meris of the Orcades, Illustrious Archmage, Rightful Queen of Dalarath and heiress to the throne of Solomon the Just and Righteous, God-Granted King of Israel, First among all Practitioners!"
The quartet blinked. "W-Who's first?" asked one of the guards in a slight Estuary accent. "I mean, First among all Practitioners. Solomon or, um-
- Meris.
- Right, Meris," nodded the guard. "Is she it?"
Naberius pouted amenably and canted his head. "Unlike me, I don't think she's one to brag.
- We'd like to speak to the King and Queen," added Nybbas.
Spector unfurled from the hearth's opening. "They're with me, gentlemen. Go ahead - inform them."
More blinks, which led to Nybbas snorting. "Well? Come on lads, we're in Titania's Blue Salon, which means we're four long corridor bends from the Great Hall! Hop to it!"
One of the guards turned tail and practically sprinted away, the other one giving Nybbas' pants legs an odd look.
"A-Are the Fauns starting to Choose?"
Nybbas pouted. "Not quite yet, unfortunately. I'm afraid I lost the Fair distinction a good long while ago. I'm a demon now - one of the nice ones.
- But you're still-
- A nice call back to the jolly old peoples of Lydia? Pan flutes, grove dances, cryptic riddles, feats of archery and knick-of-time life-saving in the wretched wilds?"
Nybbas shrugged and raised his right hand, a golden goblet appearing in his curled fingers. a finger of something dark red shimmered in from nowhere and fell in the goblet with the babbling noises of poured liquid. "I'm more of a Bacchus precursor, myself. Your good health and all that."
The Faun made as if to drink, and then stopped, his nose wrinkling. He then gave Naberius a brooding look. "Really? Wine to water? What are you, Jesus' more judgemental forgotten cousin?"
Naberius managed to snigger without his shoulders shaking.
* * *
"Whatever works, so long as you do it before he collapses the floor here!" replied Volker, teeth clenched as he popped up and over the bar long enough to add a bit of cover fire. "You already burned through fucktons of mob money and part of Mammon's hoard, you can't afford to rebuild before you so much as open!"
Tom snarled, discharging a bolt of red energy from the tip of his staff. "Don't tell me what I already know, we need concrete solutions!"
The warthog then looked at Aislinn. "Your idea could work - trouble is your power increased too quickly for me to trust you with unarmed evocation! You could fry half the neighbourhood if you're not careful!"
He gestured for her to come closer. "We'll grab my staff together and unload everything we've got! Volker, you're on charge of aiming that ghetto cannon - you'll have to point the staff so Asmodeus gets pushed through the portal! Aislinn and I are going to be too focused on not dying to aim on our own!"
The wolf shook his head. "Fucking magic users, I swear to God!"
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Refraining from chuckling, a faint smile appeared on Meris' lips as she glanced at the two demons, adding a amused little head shake. For the meantime, she stood quietly and waited for the go ahead to see the two monarchs.
*~*~*
Drawing close to Tom, Aislinn clutched the staff and closed her eyes, focusing on funneling via into it. Similar to how she created the basal concoction, she envisioned electrical charges forming in darkened clouds and funneling toward the Earth to her. The young Archmage imagined herself as a grounding rod and expelling it toward Asmodeus' multi-limbed mass and the Hellfire portal. Given that Volker would be aiming the staff, she merely concentrated on shooting the lightning at their enemy.
For the selkie, it felt exhilarating and frightening at the same time. However, the fear had to be ignored in order to not get themselves killed while pushing the Prince in. It seemed like a dream that she was able to focus this much arcane energy at once, secretly grateful that Tom was there to guide her.
*~*~*
Drawing close to Tom, Aislinn clutched the staff and closed her eyes, focusing on funneling via into it. Similar to how she created the basal concoction, she envisioned electrical charges forming in darkened clouds and funneling toward the Earth to her. The young Archmage imagined herself as a grounding rod and expelling it toward Asmodeus' multi-limbed mass and the Hellfire portal. Given that Volker would be aiming the staff, she merely concentrated on shooting the lightning at their enemy.
For the selkie, it felt exhilarating and frightening at the same time. However, the fear had to be ignored in order to not get themselves killed while pushing the Prince in. It seemed like a dream that she was able to focus this much arcane energy at once, secretly grateful that Tom was there to guide her.
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
A few tense seconds of strain followed as Tom dug deep and channelled Hellfire alongside Aislinn's lightning, only Volker's grunts and Asmodeus' lustful growls and groans breaking the soundspace. They would've heard the ground crack and some support struts strain a few moments earlier, had their situation been a little less hectic. In any case, the wolf got into position, the staff's wicked tip balanced on his shoulder like an RPG's launcher.
"Suck on that pipe, you fat chode," grunted the wolf, then punctuating this with a bellowing shout of challenge. Letting Hell's fury loose and coaxing it to ride along Aislinn's ionized particles, Tom couldn't help himself but to add his own scream. Asmodeus bellowed as well, the sound charged with incomprehensible levels of carnal desire - until his own scream was cut short by the crackling, blue-red beam smashing into him. The shaft of the blast - no pun intended - was about as wide as Tom and Aislinn could open their arms if placed side by side, and immediately resulted in the club's now-distressed setting smelling of charred flesh. Asmodeus' sadistic relish seemed to grow for a few moments, his now-multiple feet digging and scraping along the floor to try and find some purchase, his snarled and snorted libido tuning to the sound of a single, rumbling word.
"YES..."
He then grunted, pushed harder against the blast and finally relented, the blue arcs of Aislinn's power finding conductive areas along the generous real estate the Prince's war form presented. For a moment, it seemed they were merely feeding one of the Infernal ruler's many perversions, two recently-formed eyes rolling in their massive sockets in what looked like bestial relish. Then, however, they widened and snapped straight ahead. Fear overcame them. As it did, Aislinn's power seemed to find the wick offered by all that manifested tallow, and perhaps began to attack parts of his manifested nervous system. In any case, the end result was a complete loss of resistance and control, the body now powerless to stop the shaft of power's pure forward momentum. Lust made flesh burned as it was pushed back, genuine pain soon entering the screams it produced. Before long, what desperately grasped for the edges of the portal looked like a scared and desperate incubus of low rank, a tiny and emaciated form surrounded by the burning and bubbling remains of its expended power. A few seconds later, that last burst of desperate strength left Asmodeus' rim-holding hand and he was seen tumbling feet-first into the club's Pitside antechamber.
Tom stopped screaming, his voice hoarse. His next intake was tortured, carrying both fury and some measure of regret. "UNTIL YOU COME TO YOUR SENSES, ASMODEUS; UNTIL YOU COME FORTH TO BE REDEEMED AS OUR FATHER, I, TOM MAGNUS, FORSAKE YOU FROM THIS WARLOCK'S DEMESNE! NO CUP SHALL MEET YOUR LIPS IN MY HOUSE, NO RESPITE SHALL BE GRANTED! AS YOU ARE DAMNED, DAMNED SHALL YOU REMAIN!"
Modesty suddenly seemed to matter to the Prince, but all he had left consisted of a few half-seared skin flaps that had once been his. He gathered them, tried to fashion some sort of makeshift toga with them and clutched the joined flaps with one hand, the other one banging on the portal's now-impenetrable matter.
"PLEASE, SON! PLEASE! YOU WERE ALWAYS RIGHT - FROM THE VERY BEGINNING! I-I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, I'M NOT LIKE YOU!"
It might've been tempting to see this as a display of crocodile tears, but Volker and Tom's now-solemn looks were eloquent enough: this was Lust's burden, and it was the one, single, terrifyingly genuine part of Asmodeus. The distraught Prince drew in half a scream and half a sob, noticing how the portal was now growing increasingly opaque.
"I WANT TO BE FREE! SET ME FREE, SON! PLEASE, SET ME FREE!"
If Lust kept screaming and sobbing, the portal muffled it entirely. It then seemed to retract, more than likely returning to its normal configuration within the pentagram's lines, one floor below. In its place, all that was left was a forlorn-looking elevator cabin.
* * *
Meris wouldn't have to wait long. The same hurried footsteps returned a few minutes later, the guard clutching the hilt of his sword more out of nervousness than defensiveness. "Right this way, please - you'll meet with the Chamberlain along the way."
Naberius shot a quick look at Meris, perhaps wondering if any mentions of that particular office held unpleasant memories. He couldn't help it if many aristocratic and feudal societies had a role titled as such...
What would quickly become clear was that the royal residence was no direct proxy of Buckingham Palace, to be sure. The difference in height was a dead giveaway, the place largely looking if someone had taken Cinderella's castle from Disney's Magic Kingdom and transplanted it in Westeros for a few centuries. The outer walls looked pitted with age and duress, the corridors they passed going from dark Victorian panels to bare masonry and Gothic columns, back to wall-length plate-glass windows and tube-shaft translucent elevators. The castle's battlements and crenellations were numerous, the resulting sightlines betraying the fact that London's Faeside only looked subterranean to a point: past the castle waited verdant hills worthy of a desktop wallpaper, the Veil-covered canal walls bleeding away into tranquil blue skies you could've plucked straight out of anywhere between Exeter and Tiverton. London-Upon-Faerie's two main roads stretched outwards and away as far as the eye could see. The air being still, outside, they'd catch a lorry stopping to ask for directions from what looked like a Victorian bobby plucked out of a time capsule. A sere-looking gentleman asked for ferries between Airdrie and Eien-no-Yuki, the cop's lack of surprise going along with Faerie's mutable sense of distance.
Going from England to Japan without using a boat or a plane was fairly commonplace - or it was, if you knew which Gates to use. Not that they were there for spatially-compressed tourism, however.
The Chamberlain, rather coincidentally, made for a striking appearance. A medium-build man of African descent waited for them in what looked like an odd cross between a kimono and a three-piece suit, his cane's pommel-less design betraying it to be some sort of katana's sheath. He'd stuck the sheath under his arm like a gentleman's cane, and used his free hand to greet Meris.
"Your Highness," he said, smiling. His voice was clear and unaccented - or at least, unaccented as per the locale's standards. "Sir Rupert Abassi, of Oberon's Winter Guard - at your service," he said, nodding. "The Royal salon is right past these doors. I'd normally remind our guests of certain procedures, but our current King has instated notoriously lax rules for certain esteemed guests to follow - much to the Queen's chagrin."
He allowed himself a smirk. "Less is expected of you than, say, your Orkneys' Prime Minister or the United States' own Dafyd Jones. Oberon believes that some amongst your friends and maintained company are particularly deserving of that honor."
He then caught the by now fairly quiet George Gammell with a glance and nodded. "Yes - I've been briefed, and no, I shan't cut you down, mister Gammell. I've been an outsider too, and in multiple occasions. It's why Oberon chose me for this post."
Naberius blinked at that. "Would you happen to be Yosuke-san, Japan's first Black samurai?"
That made Abassi smile widely. "I'd love to, but no. I'm of the second wave of Nigerian slaves that followed along with Portugal's Japanese expeditions. By the time I gave my daimyo's katana an errant glance, the news of the existence of dark-skinned mortals like me had gone much further than Japan's Fae provinces. I was traded to Hokkaido's Summer Lord, given my second name, trained in swordfighting and then discovered as a Changeling. One of Mab's flesh-eating giants ambushed us on the way to Eien-No-Yuki, and the cold made me Choose in an unorthodox manner, seeing as I'd been trained by Summer. I was then passed on to one of Daisuke Urakawa's fellow councilmen, and from there made my way back to Europe by the late 1790s."
Naberius smiled amenably. "Ah, we've a rambler on our hands, it seems!"
Rupert shrugged. "Oberon picked me because of these travels. He believed I'd seen enough to not perform those snap judgments expected of slack-jawed provincial aristocrats sipping port from their ivory towers."
"Suck on that pipe, you fat chode," grunted the wolf, then punctuating this with a bellowing shout of challenge. Letting Hell's fury loose and coaxing it to ride along Aislinn's ionized particles, Tom couldn't help himself but to add his own scream. Asmodeus bellowed as well, the sound charged with incomprehensible levels of carnal desire - until his own scream was cut short by the crackling, blue-red beam smashing into him. The shaft of the blast - no pun intended - was about as wide as Tom and Aislinn could open their arms if placed side by side, and immediately resulted in the club's now-distressed setting smelling of charred flesh. Asmodeus' sadistic relish seemed to grow for a few moments, his now-multiple feet digging and scraping along the floor to try and find some purchase, his snarled and snorted libido tuning to the sound of a single, rumbling word.
"YES..."
He then grunted, pushed harder against the blast and finally relented, the blue arcs of Aislinn's power finding conductive areas along the generous real estate the Prince's war form presented. For a moment, it seemed they were merely feeding one of the Infernal ruler's many perversions, two recently-formed eyes rolling in their massive sockets in what looked like bestial relish. Then, however, they widened and snapped straight ahead. Fear overcame them. As it did, Aislinn's power seemed to find the wick offered by all that manifested tallow, and perhaps began to attack parts of his manifested nervous system. In any case, the end result was a complete loss of resistance and control, the body now powerless to stop the shaft of power's pure forward momentum. Lust made flesh burned as it was pushed back, genuine pain soon entering the screams it produced. Before long, what desperately grasped for the edges of the portal looked like a scared and desperate incubus of low rank, a tiny and emaciated form surrounded by the burning and bubbling remains of its expended power. A few seconds later, that last burst of desperate strength left Asmodeus' rim-holding hand and he was seen tumbling feet-first into the club's Pitside antechamber.
Tom stopped screaming, his voice hoarse. His next intake was tortured, carrying both fury and some measure of regret. "UNTIL YOU COME TO YOUR SENSES, ASMODEUS; UNTIL YOU COME FORTH TO BE REDEEMED AS OUR FATHER, I, TOM MAGNUS, FORSAKE YOU FROM THIS WARLOCK'S DEMESNE! NO CUP SHALL MEET YOUR LIPS IN MY HOUSE, NO RESPITE SHALL BE GRANTED! AS YOU ARE DAMNED, DAMNED SHALL YOU REMAIN!"
Modesty suddenly seemed to matter to the Prince, but all he had left consisted of a few half-seared skin flaps that had once been his. He gathered them, tried to fashion some sort of makeshift toga with them and clutched the joined flaps with one hand, the other one banging on the portal's now-impenetrable matter.
"PLEASE, SON! PLEASE! YOU WERE ALWAYS RIGHT - FROM THE VERY BEGINNING! I-I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, I'M NOT LIKE YOU!"
It might've been tempting to see this as a display of crocodile tears, but Volker and Tom's now-solemn looks were eloquent enough: this was Lust's burden, and it was the one, single, terrifyingly genuine part of Asmodeus. The distraught Prince drew in half a scream and half a sob, noticing how the portal was now growing increasingly opaque.
"I WANT TO BE FREE! SET ME FREE, SON! PLEASE, SET ME FREE!"
If Lust kept screaming and sobbing, the portal muffled it entirely. It then seemed to retract, more than likely returning to its normal configuration within the pentagram's lines, one floor below. In its place, all that was left was a forlorn-looking elevator cabin.
* * *
Meris wouldn't have to wait long. The same hurried footsteps returned a few minutes later, the guard clutching the hilt of his sword more out of nervousness than defensiveness. "Right this way, please - you'll meet with the Chamberlain along the way."
Naberius shot a quick look at Meris, perhaps wondering if any mentions of that particular office held unpleasant memories. He couldn't help it if many aristocratic and feudal societies had a role titled as such...
What would quickly become clear was that the royal residence was no direct proxy of Buckingham Palace, to be sure. The difference in height was a dead giveaway, the place largely looking if someone had taken Cinderella's castle from Disney's Magic Kingdom and transplanted it in Westeros for a few centuries. The outer walls looked pitted with age and duress, the corridors they passed going from dark Victorian panels to bare masonry and Gothic columns, back to wall-length plate-glass windows and tube-shaft translucent elevators. The castle's battlements and crenellations were numerous, the resulting sightlines betraying the fact that London's Faeside only looked subterranean to a point: past the castle waited verdant hills worthy of a desktop wallpaper, the Veil-covered canal walls bleeding away into tranquil blue skies you could've plucked straight out of anywhere between Exeter and Tiverton. London-Upon-Faerie's two main roads stretched outwards and away as far as the eye could see. The air being still, outside, they'd catch a lorry stopping to ask for directions from what looked like a Victorian bobby plucked out of a time capsule. A sere-looking gentleman asked for ferries between Airdrie and Eien-no-Yuki, the cop's lack of surprise going along with Faerie's mutable sense of distance.
Going from England to Japan without using a boat or a plane was fairly commonplace - or it was, if you knew which Gates to use. Not that they were there for spatially-compressed tourism, however.
The Chamberlain, rather coincidentally, made for a striking appearance. A medium-build man of African descent waited for them in what looked like an odd cross between a kimono and a three-piece suit, his cane's pommel-less design betraying it to be some sort of katana's sheath. He'd stuck the sheath under his arm like a gentleman's cane, and used his free hand to greet Meris.
"Your Highness," he said, smiling. His voice was clear and unaccented - or at least, unaccented as per the locale's standards. "Sir Rupert Abassi, of Oberon's Winter Guard - at your service," he said, nodding. "The Royal salon is right past these doors. I'd normally remind our guests of certain procedures, but our current King has instated notoriously lax rules for certain esteemed guests to follow - much to the Queen's chagrin."
He allowed himself a smirk. "Less is expected of you than, say, your Orkneys' Prime Minister or the United States' own Dafyd Jones. Oberon believes that some amongst your friends and maintained company are particularly deserving of that honor."
He then caught the by now fairly quiet George Gammell with a glance and nodded. "Yes - I've been briefed, and no, I shan't cut you down, mister Gammell. I've been an outsider too, and in multiple occasions. It's why Oberon chose me for this post."
Naberius blinked at that. "Would you happen to be Yosuke-san, Japan's first Black samurai?"
That made Abassi smile widely. "I'd love to, but no. I'm of the second wave of Nigerian slaves that followed along with Portugal's Japanese expeditions. By the time I gave my daimyo's katana an errant glance, the news of the existence of dark-skinned mortals like me had gone much further than Japan's Fae provinces. I was traded to Hokkaido's Summer Lord, given my second name, trained in swordfighting and then discovered as a Changeling. One of Mab's flesh-eating giants ambushed us on the way to Eien-No-Yuki, and the cold made me Choose in an unorthodox manner, seeing as I'd been trained by Summer. I was then passed on to one of Daisuke Urakawa's fellow councilmen, and from there made my way back to Europe by the late 1790s."
Naberius smiled amenably. "Ah, we've a rambler on our hands, it seems!"
Rupert shrugged. "Oberon picked me because of these travels. He believed I'd seen enough to not perform those snap judgments expected of slack-jawed provincial aristocrats sipping port from their ivory towers."
-
TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Meris shook the Chamberlain's hand and smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Abassi."
Upon hearing his backstory, her smile widened slightly. "It seems life shapes us in unexpected but useful ways. In your case, it led you here to being one of His Majesty's trusted."
*~*~*
With the incubus gone, the expected response from the selkie should've been to cheer, but she instead felt rather numb and almost in a daze. Even Aislinn could see the genuine sorrow and desperation in the Prince's behavior. If he hadn't attempted to kill them, she might've felt some desire to help Tom's father, but what if he had ended up taking advantage of their kindness? They might've ended up being dead, after all. All their efforts and dreams would've been for naught.
Between the emotional and physical exhaustion, the roane partly went on autopilot as she looked around at the debris, drifted over to a closet in a far corner, and began pulling out cleaning supplies- a mop, a dustpan, a bucket, and a broom. The delicate tinkling of glass was heard by the two men as she swept it up. "I wonder if Abdiel might be able to reform this into its original shape with her fire. That'd save us on some expenses..." she commented distantly.
Upon hearing his backstory, her smile widened slightly. "It seems life shapes us in unexpected but useful ways. In your case, it led you here to being one of His Majesty's trusted."
*~*~*
With the incubus gone, the expected response from the selkie should've been to cheer, but she instead felt rather numb and almost in a daze. Even Aislinn could see the genuine sorrow and desperation in the Prince's behavior. If he hadn't attempted to kill them, she might've felt some desire to help Tom's father, but what if he had ended up taking advantage of their kindness? They might've ended up being dead, after all. All their efforts and dreams would've been for naught.
Between the emotional and physical exhaustion, the roane partly went on autopilot as she looked around at the debris, drifted over to a closet in a far corner, and began pulling out cleaning supplies- a mop, a dustpan, a bucket, and a broom. The delicate tinkling of glass was heard by the two men as she swept it up. "I wonder if Abdiel might be able to reform this into its original shape with her fire. That'd save us on some expenses..." she commented distantly.
-
IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter IV - Earthly Delights
Tom looked about just as numb. "We'll see," he said, walking around the bar with his staff raised. He then channelled a small amount of power into an artificial gust of wind or eddy, and pushed most of the debris along the far wall with a slow sweep of his staff's tip. One careful relocation, and he turned the line of debris along the elevator's wall into a neat pile in the far right corner. All he and Aislinn now had to take care of manually consisted of the surroundings' new dust cover and the sticky and crumbling remains of Asmodeus' war form. As with the demon Gabriel had slain one floor below, most of the organic debris were decomposing at a rapid rate, manifested demonic organic matter returning to its base form: ectoplasm for the Shadowlands' denizens to use. Even that would fade away within minutes, leaving a layer of sticky dust on everything Lust had touched.
Volker gave the carnage a look and tried to sound encouraging. "Y'want I call her? She's your employee now, Magnus - not just some distant figure. If she can't help you out, you've always got the Gammell dude or someone like Vassago in Meris' stable... That's enough options to make this place look mint again in a jiff."
The warthog sighed. "Just - do it, okay? I don't want to think about it, right now. I just kicked my own father out of house and home and I never wanted it to happen like this."
Volker's ears went lopsided. "Look, empathy does you credit, but Asmo's an asshole. He's a junkie who's beyond saving by even the world's most decked-out methadone clinic. If you'd taken him in, he would've ended up running this place within a week and Aislinn here would've gone all Slave Leia-"
Tom glared at him, which caused the mercenary to rather abruptly shut up. The wolf hedged his bets and resumed his line of thought. "Plus, he's not homeless, boss. He'll just trudge right back to the seraglio, cadge a pity fuck from someone in the family and-"
The warthog snarled at the wolf and bared down on him, the whites of his eyes again swallowed by crimson. "We just destroyed the tip of a pyramid that required thousands of years of conniving and abuse to withstand its own opposite forces. We took Lust and sent him packing as a wretch, weaker than you or I ever were back when we were first born. Go ahead and tell me that he has a chance of surviving, Volker - I fucking dare you. He gave birth to monsters in his prime, and they'll shit him out of the palace in too many pieces for even Legion to count. Go ahead and tell me that's adequate retribution, Benjamin. Go ahead and tell me vengeance is still worth it!"
The wolf stammered and Tom kept advancing. "I needed two thousand years to learn that not every problem can be slept with or fucked away, centuries of these to learn so much as how to clean after myself. Hunting, collaboration, social engineering, collectivism, table manners, haberdashery - all of them prostheses designed to help an inhuman thing pass for human in a hunk of dead flesh. Asmodeus doesn't have any of this. Asmodeus. Is. Doomed. I know that's hard to comprehend for someone who's always managed to punch or bite their problems away, but there's a point where you have to realize you've just signed a helpless man's death warrant. Our brothers and sisters will tear him apart out of the best simulacra of love they can manage, and Lust will have lost its Prince in the most heartless, ruthless way I could've thought of. I've never had to sleep with that on my conscience before, and I wasn't ready to start now."
Volker blinked. "I'll go call Abdiel.
- Good. Get out of here before I lose my temper."
* * *
"I'm not sure if it's a gift or a curse," confided Rupert with a smirk. "Best of luck to you."
He opened the double doors, exposing a room that seemed aggressively spacious to even George, who had some understanding of impossibly roomy spaces. The King and Queen's shared living room alone looked like it would've been able to fit both Meris and George's combined apartments, with functional islets created at regular intervals. A reading and TV nook combined a plush-looking white Victorian sofa with what looked like one of IKEA's hairy rugs, a bleeding-edge entertainment center and a huge AMOLED panel ensconced in a golden Rococco picture frame. Massive hydraulic pillars overhead suggested the panel could retract in the coffered ceiling overhead at the press of a button, freeing up a more conservative reading nook set against angled plate-glass panels. Surprisingly, a half-wall created a false corridor some distance to their right, a staggeringly well-equipped kitchen area waiting there. Doors broke up the opposite wall at regular intervals, suggesting sleeping quarters, offices and roomy closets, along with a recessed bathroom. Apparently, being the rulers of Faerie didn't negate the couple's desire for independence. It looked like they'd scarcely need to be tended to by the castle's help, but still occasionally put in a call or two.
Still, what dominated the space didn't consist of the furniture. Some distance away from the plate glass windows waited the most massive and ornately-carved hearth and fireplace the roane would've ever seen. Her entire bedroom could've fit in the space reserved for what had to be some truly massive logs, while a chainmail curtain made of manifested via shimmered in and out of view directly in front of the fireplace's opening. If via and radiation had been equal in effects, the Archmage would've been utterly crippled by the sheer magnitude and arcane strength of the room, to the point where no standard arcane suppression field could've allowed for the Royals' modern implements to so much as survive being in this room. Some sort of logistical geas had to be in place; a royal decree so strong as to bend and contort via's flowing fields around the electronics, rather than through them.
"Good God," quietly swore Gammell. "Is this-?
- The Hearth?" filled in Spector. "Yes. The lintel is of modern make, but the stones, fixtures and logs are all original.
- What do you mean, the logs are-?"
The former White King chuckled and shook his head. "Legend states that these logs are part of the World Tree's single greatest offering. As far as we know, Yggdrasil is both tree and dryad, and not an entity divided into two parts, unlike all of its daughter saplings. It's more akin to Tolkien's Treebeard or the Spirit of Carnàn - she's also from Middle-Earth. Instead of a sentient entity protecting a tree, we have a sentient tree protecting itself - and giving parts of itself in tribute to those who stand for the world's balance.
- So the World Tree gave up some of its branches for Oberon and Titania...
- Two of its strongest branches, yes," opined Spector, "gladly burned and gladly burning still, to infuse life and purpose in all who sense their warmth."
Naberius peered closer. "My word - these aren't mere logs; they're each the size of a school bus! They barely look singed!"
He peered in closer. "They're still oozing sap! How on Earth can this be?!"
Spector walked closer, now able to stand straight, with his hands behind his back. "The Tree still stands. That's why. Its location is the Crown's most jealously-guarded secret, seeing as Norse mythology only provides us with part of the keys to the enigma. If two men could simultaneously inspire Odin Olfather's legend, then it stands to reason that finding anything from Ymir's well to Yggdrasil proper would require more investigation."
Nybbas' jaw hung agape. "Who are these two men?
- You're about to meet one of them," said the Wisp. "The other one is Aldergard Kuhn, the Black Dog of Orkneyjar."
Volker gave the carnage a look and tried to sound encouraging. "Y'want I call her? She's your employee now, Magnus - not just some distant figure. If she can't help you out, you've always got the Gammell dude or someone like Vassago in Meris' stable... That's enough options to make this place look mint again in a jiff."
The warthog sighed. "Just - do it, okay? I don't want to think about it, right now. I just kicked my own father out of house and home and I never wanted it to happen like this."
Volker's ears went lopsided. "Look, empathy does you credit, but Asmo's an asshole. He's a junkie who's beyond saving by even the world's most decked-out methadone clinic. If you'd taken him in, he would've ended up running this place within a week and Aislinn here would've gone all Slave Leia-"
Tom glared at him, which caused the mercenary to rather abruptly shut up. The wolf hedged his bets and resumed his line of thought. "Plus, he's not homeless, boss. He'll just trudge right back to the seraglio, cadge a pity fuck from someone in the family and-"
The warthog snarled at the wolf and bared down on him, the whites of his eyes again swallowed by crimson. "We just destroyed the tip of a pyramid that required thousands of years of conniving and abuse to withstand its own opposite forces. We took Lust and sent him packing as a wretch, weaker than you or I ever were back when we were first born. Go ahead and tell me that he has a chance of surviving, Volker - I fucking dare you. He gave birth to monsters in his prime, and they'll shit him out of the palace in too many pieces for even Legion to count. Go ahead and tell me that's adequate retribution, Benjamin. Go ahead and tell me vengeance is still worth it!"
The wolf stammered and Tom kept advancing. "I needed two thousand years to learn that not every problem can be slept with or fucked away, centuries of these to learn so much as how to clean after myself. Hunting, collaboration, social engineering, collectivism, table manners, haberdashery - all of them prostheses designed to help an inhuman thing pass for human in a hunk of dead flesh. Asmodeus doesn't have any of this. Asmodeus. Is. Doomed. I know that's hard to comprehend for someone who's always managed to punch or bite their problems away, but there's a point where you have to realize you've just signed a helpless man's death warrant. Our brothers and sisters will tear him apart out of the best simulacra of love they can manage, and Lust will have lost its Prince in the most heartless, ruthless way I could've thought of. I've never had to sleep with that on my conscience before, and I wasn't ready to start now."
Volker blinked. "I'll go call Abdiel.
- Good. Get out of here before I lose my temper."
* * *
"I'm not sure if it's a gift or a curse," confided Rupert with a smirk. "Best of luck to you."
He opened the double doors, exposing a room that seemed aggressively spacious to even George, who had some understanding of impossibly roomy spaces. The King and Queen's shared living room alone looked like it would've been able to fit both Meris and George's combined apartments, with functional islets created at regular intervals. A reading and TV nook combined a plush-looking white Victorian sofa with what looked like one of IKEA's hairy rugs, a bleeding-edge entertainment center and a huge AMOLED panel ensconced in a golden Rococco picture frame. Massive hydraulic pillars overhead suggested the panel could retract in the coffered ceiling overhead at the press of a button, freeing up a more conservative reading nook set against angled plate-glass panels. Surprisingly, a half-wall created a false corridor some distance to their right, a staggeringly well-equipped kitchen area waiting there. Doors broke up the opposite wall at regular intervals, suggesting sleeping quarters, offices and roomy closets, along with a recessed bathroom. Apparently, being the rulers of Faerie didn't negate the couple's desire for independence. It looked like they'd scarcely need to be tended to by the castle's help, but still occasionally put in a call or two.
Still, what dominated the space didn't consist of the furniture. Some distance away from the plate glass windows waited the most massive and ornately-carved hearth and fireplace the roane would've ever seen. Her entire bedroom could've fit in the space reserved for what had to be some truly massive logs, while a chainmail curtain made of manifested via shimmered in and out of view directly in front of the fireplace's opening. If via and radiation had been equal in effects, the Archmage would've been utterly crippled by the sheer magnitude and arcane strength of the room, to the point where no standard arcane suppression field could've allowed for the Royals' modern implements to so much as survive being in this room. Some sort of logistical geas had to be in place; a royal decree so strong as to bend and contort via's flowing fields around the electronics, rather than through them.
"Good God," quietly swore Gammell. "Is this-?
- The Hearth?" filled in Spector. "Yes. The lintel is of modern make, but the stones, fixtures and logs are all original.
- What do you mean, the logs are-?"
The former White King chuckled and shook his head. "Legend states that these logs are part of the World Tree's single greatest offering. As far as we know, Yggdrasil is both tree and dryad, and not an entity divided into two parts, unlike all of its daughter saplings. It's more akin to Tolkien's Treebeard or the Spirit of Carnàn - she's also from Middle-Earth. Instead of a sentient entity protecting a tree, we have a sentient tree protecting itself - and giving parts of itself in tribute to those who stand for the world's balance.
- So the World Tree gave up some of its branches for Oberon and Titania...
- Two of its strongest branches, yes," opined Spector, "gladly burned and gladly burning still, to infuse life and purpose in all who sense their warmth."
Naberius peered closer. "My word - these aren't mere logs; they're each the size of a school bus! They barely look singed!"
He peered in closer. "They're still oozing sap! How on Earth can this be?!"
Spector walked closer, now able to stand straight, with his hands behind his back. "The Tree still stands. That's why. Its location is the Crown's most jealously-guarded secret, seeing as Norse mythology only provides us with part of the keys to the enigma. If two men could simultaneously inspire Odin Olfather's legend, then it stands to reason that finding anything from Ymir's well to Yggdrasil proper would require more investigation."
Nybbas' jaw hung agape. "Who are these two men?
- You're about to meet one of them," said the Wisp. "The other one is Aldergard Kuhn, the Black Dog of Orkneyjar."