"Arkham could be a Void Weaver as well, for all we know," Aislinn suggested with a shrug. "All it'd take to cover his cephlapod features would be a Flesh Mask. Those things supposedly work against any sort of method of detecting the bastards-even a Malk would smell them as human. That's how good their disguises are."
***
Without wasting a word, Sophia swiftly grabbed the box, flicked its lid open, and tossed it like a grenade toward Amaxi.
Broken out of the shocking sight of the Avatar, the others saw Sophia's actions and hit the deck from whatever might come out of that little trinket.
Chapter I - Sword and Shield
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TennyoCeres84
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"This would be troubling," admitted the Malk. "I wonder, however; how is it that so many amongst our allies already know of these beings' strengths and weaknesses, if they have remained so private? How do you know of these Flesh Masks, if I may ask?"
* * *
Three technically wasn't around to see the effects of the box. His screams had grown unfocused and far weaker, and he'd simply fallen to the ground. As soon as the Avatar of Amaxi had touched his forehead, he'd been exposed to something he couldn't easily quantify. It might've been best to consider it as being Everything; the Universe as it is known.
To be more precise, Aidan was offered a dark void, out of which the spark of Creation had arisen. Amaxi showed him several successive Creations, manifesting as ripples of Matter and Time in that darkness. For each of them, he understood, new sets of laws came into motion. Time meant one thing in one Creation, one universe, and another in a different universe. He saw entire galactic clusters shimmer into being like the stars that constituted them, the dead goddess showing him untold eons in what felt like a few minutes. Each universe was a flame burning its stock of fuel, and each Creation progressed towards non-existence. Every time darkness managed to swallow the canvas, the wick was lit once more.
Six universes in, Amaxi pulled him closer and shortened his perception of Time. Aidan realized he was being shown Her last created reality. Somehow, he realized Amaxi had never had much talent as a creating instance, but she'd been dedicated to her craft nevertheless. It felt as though that last attempt was a favor of sorts, and he could feel Her toiling away at it as best she could. She'd always miscalculated Mass, though, he seemed to understand, and gave too much of Herself as kindling. Her last Creation was greedy and unstable, burning too hot and producing far too few life-sustaining worlds. Like a feral animal, it bit the hand that fed him. In the end, there wasn't much of anything left of Amaxi, nothing except Her universe's own dark matter and Her stubborn will. Whatever loving principle she was trying to come across as had died long ago. She lost herself in the process of decay, joined the kindling for future worlds, rulesets and planar configurations. Before Her, Amaxi's Brothers hadn't fared much better. Three understood this with a kind of bitter regret, as if he could share Her feelings.
In any case, She'd lost her right to Creation or the ability to tamper with its tools directly. The eldest of them, the Architect, took their youngest under His wing. He had no name, no guiding principle, nothing to characterize him. The youngest of the gods became the Creator, the White God. The Innocent, as the Others would later call Him.
The other gods had never received prior teachings, Three realized. The Architect was old with the flesh of countless Creations, and offered of Himself as a bedrock for the White God's first attempt. Instead of letting Him blunder into mistakes, the Architect guided His hand. Stable laws of thermodynamics for Space, a rigorous progression system for Time, equal matter distribution between the god-flesh and the fledgeling mortal plane...
It was the Architect who'd thought of instilling Intellect in the primal forces of Creation, the Elder God who'd taught the White God how to create the Elemental Thrones and give them true life. In the meantime, the Architect laid down safety measures for this new Creation, riddling the still-forming mortal plane with dozens of pocket dimensions, like the alveolar structure of packing foam. The physical plane of this new Creation wouldn't be as brittle as Amaxi's, then. It would bend, rather than break under pressure.
While the Architect allowed the younger god to seed his design with the Host of Angels and to coax them into bringing dragons into being, He asked of His charge the right to create a species designed to watch over the very basic parameters of the physical world. The angels were welcomed to rule over the elements, but who would keep an eye on heat distribution or on physics? Out of the Creator's early cephalopods, the first Void Weavers were made.
At this point, however, Three began to feel ill-at-ease with Amaxi's revelations. The more She showed him, the more he suspected She was lying. She showed him Void Weavers who were kept under the cruel shackles of the Architect, forced to uphold and protect the rules of the Universe as they would manifest on Earth. Only a fortuitous contact with Her moribund Self allowed one of their numbers to See, She claimed. Amaxi tried to present Herself as a force of awakening, as the harbinger of true wisdom. Three bucked against that concept, and he felt the Many-Armed's cosmic puppet show strain as he did. If here was where the lies began, he didn't need to hear more. In flashes that coincided with brief reminders of his neck's aching scars, he saw through Her deception - even if he'd remain unable to fully describe what he saw.
Betrayal. Madness. Hopeless resistance. Bloodshed. Again, Amaxi tried to present the last remaining servant of the Architect as being a coward, a thief and a murderer. Three knew in his very bones that this was a boldfaced lie. It took him everything he had to pull himself away from the vision, open his eyes, and pull himself away from the Avatar...
But she was gone. The Abominations had turned to stone and crumbled. He swore he could hear the last echoes of a great bell ringing in the air. Off in the distance, the contained arcane energy was racing along Quigley Boulevard's underground structures, laying waste as it surged westwards. The underground wave would cut underneath Chinatown and would finally be absorbed into the Atlantic - but after how many lives and how much property damage?
Later, they'd all refer to this as the Quigley Road Massacre.
* * *
From Sophia's point of view, the effects of tossing the box were instantaneous.
The Avatar was instantly swallowed in a pillar of white light that shot upwards and pierced the whirling cloud cover. The shaft of light stayed in place, strangely producing the kind of low, clattering din you'd have expected out of a large mechanical clock. The white light had a rather strange effect on all those present in the vicinity: it felt as though looking at it excised all of your doubts and fears from your mind instantly. It wasn't so much a question of being soothed by the light, as of the sudden reassuring weight of inescapable Rationality and Logic crushing those who didn't belong in this universe's parameters. That sense of Belonging was so pervading, so absolute, that their group's members could be seen simply laying their weapons down and casting bemused looks at the now agonizing Abominations. These impossible creatures seemed to be turning to stone before their very eyes, that same stone crumbling apart as it formed.
Then, a few seconds in, a disembodied bell began to toll. It was low and brassy, filled with a kind of sense of importance and authority - but also worn, as if that unseen bell had been chipped or otherwise damaged over time. At each ring, the crumbled Abominations seemed to be blasted into finer and finer particles without coming in contact with anyone or anything else - first stones, then rocks, then small rocks, gravel, and finally sand. Even the Avatar's glass-hewn body was reduced to its constituting material.
Afterwards, the shaft of light surged towards the clouds, where it disappeared into a wild ballet of thunder. The portal was seen faltering as it was touched by the arcs of light, until it finally closed. The clouds that had been relentlessly spinning atop the Centennial Tree were slowly torn apart, moving in an oddly deliberate fashion. Any cloud bank that would have been kept spinning like this for so long would have normally spawned smaller disturbances similar to hurricanes, but the air atop the Tree would feel slightly odd to Sophia - as though someone were tampering with the natural course of barometric pressure to prevent the tortured storm clouds from causing additional damage...
She wouldn't have much time to celebrate, however, as underground detonations shook the soil underneath her feet. The arcane bomb's haywire energy was shooting off towards the only ley line Gammell's box had allowed it to use: Quigley Road. Going in a straight line, it would eventually surge past city limits and be lost in the sea.
"We've done it," quietly observed an exhausted and bemused Archie, who was too overwhelmed to add much emotion to it.
"By George, we've bloody gone and done it," he said to nobody in particular, sounding utterly stunned.
* * *
Three technically wasn't around to see the effects of the box. His screams had grown unfocused and far weaker, and he'd simply fallen to the ground. As soon as the Avatar of Amaxi had touched his forehead, he'd been exposed to something he couldn't easily quantify. It might've been best to consider it as being Everything; the Universe as it is known.
To be more precise, Aidan was offered a dark void, out of which the spark of Creation had arisen. Amaxi showed him several successive Creations, manifesting as ripples of Matter and Time in that darkness. For each of them, he understood, new sets of laws came into motion. Time meant one thing in one Creation, one universe, and another in a different universe. He saw entire galactic clusters shimmer into being like the stars that constituted them, the dead goddess showing him untold eons in what felt like a few minutes. Each universe was a flame burning its stock of fuel, and each Creation progressed towards non-existence. Every time darkness managed to swallow the canvas, the wick was lit once more.
Six universes in, Amaxi pulled him closer and shortened his perception of Time. Aidan realized he was being shown Her last created reality. Somehow, he realized Amaxi had never had much talent as a creating instance, but she'd been dedicated to her craft nevertheless. It felt as though that last attempt was a favor of sorts, and he could feel Her toiling away at it as best she could. She'd always miscalculated Mass, though, he seemed to understand, and gave too much of Herself as kindling. Her last Creation was greedy and unstable, burning too hot and producing far too few life-sustaining worlds. Like a feral animal, it bit the hand that fed him. In the end, there wasn't much of anything left of Amaxi, nothing except Her universe's own dark matter and Her stubborn will. Whatever loving principle she was trying to come across as had died long ago. She lost herself in the process of decay, joined the kindling for future worlds, rulesets and planar configurations. Before Her, Amaxi's Brothers hadn't fared much better. Three understood this with a kind of bitter regret, as if he could share Her feelings.
In any case, She'd lost her right to Creation or the ability to tamper with its tools directly. The eldest of them, the Architect, took their youngest under His wing. He had no name, no guiding principle, nothing to characterize him. The youngest of the gods became the Creator, the White God. The Innocent, as the Others would later call Him.
The other gods had never received prior teachings, Three realized. The Architect was old with the flesh of countless Creations, and offered of Himself as a bedrock for the White God's first attempt. Instead of letting Him blunder into mistakes, the Architect guided His hand. Stable laws of thermodynamics for Space, a rigorous progression system for Time, equal matter distribution between the god-flesh and the fledgeling mortal plane...
It was the Architect who'd thought of instilling Intellect in the primal forces of Creation, the Elder God who'd taught the White God how to create the Elemental Thrones and give them true life. In the meantime, the Architect laid down safety measures for this new Creation, riddling the still-forming mortal plane with dozens of pocket dimensions, like the alveolar structure of packing foam. The physical plane of this new Creation wouldn't be as brittle as Amaxi's, then. It would bend, rather than break under pressure.
While the Architect allowed the younger god to seed his design with the Host of Angels and to coax them into bringing dragons into being, He asked of His charge the right to create a species designed to watch over the very basic parameters of the physical world. The angels were welcomed to rule over the elements, but who would keep an eye on heat distribution or on physics? Out of the Creator's early cephalopods, the first Void Weavers were made.
At this point, however, Three began to feel ill-at-ease with Amaxi's revelations. The more She showed him, the more he suspected She was lying. She showed him Void Weavers who were kept under the cruel shackles of the Architect, forced to uphold and protect the rules of the Universe as they would manifest on Earth. Only a fortuitous contact with Her moribund Self allowed one of their numbers to See, She claimed. Amaxi tried to present Herself as a force of awakening, as the harbinger of true wisdom. Three bucked against that concept, and he felt the Many-Armed's cosmic puppet show strain as he did. If here was where the lies began, he didn't need to hear more. In flashes that coincided with brief reminders of his neck's aching scars, he saw through Her deception - even if he'd remain unable to fully describe what he saw.
Betrayal. Madness. Hopeless resistance. Bloodshed. Again, Amaxi tried to present the last remaining servant of the Architect as being a coward, a thief and a murderer. Three knew in his very bones that this was a boldfaced lie. It took him everything he had to pull himself away from the vision, open his eyes, and pull himself away from the Avatar...
But she was gone. The Abominations had turned to stone and crumbled. He swore he could hear the last echoes of a great bell ringing in the air. Off in the distance, the contained arcane energy was racing along Quigley Boulevard's underground structures, laying waste as it surged westwards. The underground wave would cut underneath Chinatown and would finally be absorbed into the Atlantic - but after how many lives and how much property damage?
Later, they'd all refer to this as the Quigley Road Massacre.
* * *
From Sophia's point of view, the effects of tossing the box were instantaneous.
The Avatar was instantly swallowed in a pillar of white light that shot upwards and pierced the whirling cloud cover. The shaft of light stayed in place, strangely producing the kind of low, clattering din you'd have expected out of a large mechanical clock. The white light had a rather strange effect on all those present in the vicinity: it felt as though looking at it excised all of your doubts and fears from your mind instantly. It wasn't so much a question of being soothed by the light, as of the sudden reassuring weight of inescapable Rationality and Logic crushing those who didn't belong in this universe's parameters. That sense of Belonging was so pervading, so absolute, that their group's members could be seen simply laying their weapons down and casting bemused looks at the now agonizing Abominations. These impossible creatures seemed to be turning to stone before their very eyes, that same stone crumbling apart as it formed.
Then, a few seconds in, a disembodied bell began to toll. It was low and brassy, filled with a kind of sense of importance and authority - but also worn, as if that unseen bell had been chipped or otherwise damaged over time. At each ring, the crumbled Abominations seemed to be blasted into finer and finer particles without coming in contact with anyone or anything else - first stones, then rocks, then small rocks, gravel, and finally sand. Even the Avatar's glass-hewn body was reduced to its constituting material.
Afterwards, the shaft of light surged towards the clouds, where it disappeared into a wild ballet of thunder. The portal was seen faltering as it was touched by the arcs of light, until it finally closed. The clouds that had been relentlessly spinning atop the Centennial Tree were slowly torn apart, moving in an oddly deliberate fashion. Any cloud bank that would have been kept spinning like this for so long would have normally spawned smaller disturbances similar to hurricanes, but the air atop the Tree would feel slightly odd to Sophia - as though someone were tampering with the natural course of barometric pressure to prevent the tortured storm clouds from causing additional damage...
She wouldn't have much time to celebrate, however, as underground detonations shook the soil underneath her feet. The arcane bomb's haywire energy was shooting off towards the only ley line Gammell's box had allowed it to use: Quigley Road. Going in a straight line, it would eventually surge past city limits and be lost in the sea.
"We've done it," quietly observed an exhausted and bemused Archie, who was too overwhelmed to add much emotion to it.
"By George, we've bloody gone and done it," he said to nobody in particular, sounding utterly stunned.
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"Meris' letters. She wrote detailed information in them. How the Void Weavers live, their anatomy, the relationship between them and the Others. She even included info on how she came to be in their underwater city; however, I think she left out certain parts. Perhaps the ones that were really personal," Aislinn explained. "It's been a while since Ciaran, Neasa, and I read them. Plus, Dad wasn't too happy with us reading them. From what I can infer, Meris was a rebel. Somehow she escaped and is probably fighting them to this day. Maybe he didn't want us to follow in her footsteps."
***
Feeling the detonation underneath her feet and realizing its direction, she swore under her breath. "Archibald, snap out of it! We've got to get to Quigley Road! The explosion is heading that way!"
***
Feeling the detonation underneath her feet and realizing its direction, she swore under her breath. "Archibald, snap out of it! We've got to get to Quigley Road! The explosion is heading that way!"
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"An understandable sentiment," agreed Gubbin, "but how could anyone have emulated her, if her enemies were so elusive? Thanks to Gawain, it is my understanding that our allies know very little of the foes we are facing. I doubt you or your siblings would have been at risk of somehow encountering this Chamberlain fellow's compatriots..."
* * *
Archie did snap out of it, but one look off in the boulevard's direction was obvious for everyone to see they'd only manage to intervene in the aftermath. Chasing after a surge of arcane energy was like trying to outrun a wave. Still, Holden added nothing else and turned tails - not so much to flee as to get back to his own vehicle.
"We shall need transportation for the injured and the survivors," he grimly noted over his shoulder. "Shamus' strength and your roots will be of use in order to clear some of the debris, but there is little else for us to do at this juncture."
While Coach and several of the surviving members in their little squad were hard at work either hexing or hot-wiring cars into working order, Three had a harder time composing himself. The visions he'd been given would stay by his side for the rest of his life, he felt, and time would bring them the kind of clarity he honestly didn't want, right now. He approached Neasa, looking as though he had trouble focusing on any given point around her face. He seemed dazed and disoriented.
"I, uh... I saw what we're up against," he weakly said, on the tone someone else might've used to announce their intention to throw up. "I just - Can't think, right now..."
Aidan sighed. "If only - If only they were all insane jerks, you know?" he said, looking too far gone to care about making sense for the moment. "But there's good ones in the mix, people who never asked for any of this, and we're gonna kill 'em because we can't tell them apart!"
He frowned in the glassy, unfocused sort of way stoned people sometimes did. "All I know is She's lying and the Architect is important. I don't know who that is, though."
* * *
Archie did snap out of it, but one look off in the boulevard's direction was obvious for everyone to see they'd only manage to intervene in the aftermath. Chasing after a surge of arcane energy was like trying to outrun a wave. Still, Holden added nothing else and turned tails - not so much to flee as to get back to his own vehicle.
"We shall need transportation for the injured and the survivors," he grimly noted over his shoulder. "Shamus' strength and your roots will be of use in order to clear some of the debris, but there is little else for us to do at this juncture."
While Coach and several of the surviving members in their little squad were hard at work either hexing or hot-wiring cars into working order, Three had a harder time composing himself. The visions he'd been given would stay by his side for the rest of his life, he felt, and time would bring them the kind of clarity he honestly didn't want, right now. He approached Neasa, looking as though he had trouble focusing on any given point around her face. He seemed dazed and disoriented.
"I, uh... I saw what we're up against," he weakly said, on the tone someone else might've used to announce their intention to throw up. "I just - Can't think, right now..."
Aidan sighed. "If only - If only they were all insane jerks, you know?" he said, looking too far gone to care about making sense for the moment. "But there's good ones in the mix, people who never asked for any of this, and we're gonna kill 'em because we can't tell them apart!"
He frowned in the glassy, unfocused sort of way stoned people sometimes did. "All I know is She's lying and the Architect is important. I don't know who that is, though."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
Neasa placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and looked him over with concern. "The Architect? That name seems familiar for some reason," she murmured and then sighed. "Definitely need to look at those letters when we have a calm moment..." Glancing to Ciaran, she pursed her lips and then looked to the human. "For now, let's just regroup and help out where we can."
Sophia groaned in frustration at her own helplessness to prevent the damage and the deaths resulting from the detonation. "I know...It's just...Nevermind," she stated, eyeing the far-off horizon of the soon-to-be massacre.
***
Aislinn shrugged. "He can be a little overprotective, and perhaps he worries about being caught by them. From what I know, they manage to find positions of power here on the surface world and use them to their advantage for the Others. Void Weavers have been our mortal enemies for a very long time. They've captured us to be slaves or worse; the Finfolk have also faced such issues."
Sophia groaned in frustration at her own helplessness to prevent the damage and the deaths resulting from the detonation. "I know...It's just...Nevermind," she stated, eyeing the far-off horizon of the soon-to-be massacre.
***
Aislinn shrugged. "He can be a little overprotective, and perhaps he worries about being caught by them. From what I know, they manage to find positions of power here on the surface world and use them to their advantage for the Others. Void Weavers have been our mortal enemies for a very long time. They've captured us to be slaves or worse; the Finfolk have also faced such issues."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"I had gathered as much," confirmed the Malk. "Disappearances plague Winter's coastal regions, and some of my country's darkest designs are purported to not be of Mab's mind. The former White King is one such example, although Oberon subdued him with the Warmth of the Hearth."
He pursed his lips together. "Giving a single monster a good soul could not possibly be enough - but we have felt Mab's displeasure at this. In the years that followed the Archduke's rebirth as one of the Court, the winters were long and hardy within Faerie. Mab was furious. As for the man who now calls himself Spector, only his true seeming remains monstrous. The mind that pilots it has charmed many with its congenial affectations."
Gubbin looked thoughtful. "Our enemies have multiple means to corrupt us and many angles of attack. It is best for us to consider our situation one step at a time, considering."
* * *
They all drove off after the arcane discharge and were soon treated to a distressing sight, ten blocks away from the park. The street had essentially exploded, blowing one of the elevated train's support struts away and off into a nearby storefront. The train and subway services hadn't been closed in the attack thanks to a lack of coordination, and now the citizens were paying the price for it. A train had derailed and crashed to the ground below as a result of the bent tracks. Glass shards and large chunks of loose asphalt could be seen everywhere. Smoke was rising in thick plumes as some of the crushed vehicles below had caught on fire. Previous damage caused by the Abominations was difficult to tell apart from what the accident had created.
What was notable, however, was the set of bluish cracks that snaked throughout the accident's location. Slowly, with the odd sound Sophia would recognize from having seen older ley lines break away during the Battle of Hope, more arcane tears and gashes were spreading outwards like a sort of rash on the city's surface. It felt as though asphalt, brick and concrete could make the same sound a sheet of paper would, when torn apart with opposite pulling motions. That sound, however, was amplified a hundredfold and rendered in a ghostly, almost surreal manner. She'd know what that meant out of experience and out of her tree's Faerie-born ingrained knowledge: people would become exposed to uncontrolled doses of via , and the side-effects of this were numerous. She'd see it in the shambling and dazed survivors of the accident, who wandered around their blaring cars with looks of utter shock on their faces, blue vapors seeping into gaping wounds they'd received and being inhaled with every breath. Their flesh was being knitted back into shape and, inexorably, it was being changed on the deepest level imaginable.
For a while, that was all there was to see. After a few moments, however, an old man shambled out of the wrecked subway car that had nosedived into the street, his head lolling at an odd angle. The broken neck was mended with a series of sickening popping sounds - and then his flesh burst into flames. He must've been the descendant of an ancestral line of mundanes, so his body couldn't handle what little excess arcane potency it had absorbed. His body reacted as if he'd tried to tap into a ley line without the proper skills and precautions - and spontaneously combusted. There was nothing Sophia or anyone else could do except watch him scream for help, as these blue-white flames would not be smothered by any material from the mortal plane. If he survived, he'd emerge as a lich. If he didn't, there wouldn't be anything left other than a pile of greasy bones and whatever bits of fat, clothing and skin would be left.
Nearby, another survivor - a woman in her early thirties - started compulsively scratching her right forearm. Stone-like growths were revealed as she scratched her dying skin away, horror birthing on her face and opening her mouth in a silent scream. Someone else was heard calling for help in the wreckage, and the sound of protesting, screaming steel and aluminum was heard. Before long, a little girl no older than twelve years old was seen carrying a heavyset adult male anthro pig out of the train in a fireman's carry that would have been physically impossible for her to manage. In an even more unlikely turn of events, she was completely unharmed.
"Well," sighed Amazo, "looks like we're about to need to hold a welcoming committee... Congrats, You're a Superhuman."
He pursed his lips together. "Giving a single monster a good soul could not possibly be enough - but we have felt Mab's displeasure at this. In the years that followed the Archduke's rebirth as one of the Court, the winters were long and hardy within Faerie. Mab was furious. As for the man who now calls himself Spector, only his true seeming remains monstrous. The mind that pilots it has charmed many with its congenial affectations."
Gubbin looked thoughtful. "Our enemies have multiple means to corrupt us and many angles of attack. It is best for us to consider our situation one step at a time, considering."
* * *
They all drove off after the arcane discharge and were soon treated to a distressing sight, ten blocks away from the park. The street had essentially exploded, blowing one of the elevated train's support struts away and off into a nearby storefront. The train and subway services hadn't been closed in the attack thanks to a lack of coordination, and now the citizens were paying the price for it. A train had derailed and crashed to the ground below as a result of the bent tracks. Glass shards and large chunks of loose asphalt could be seen everywhere. Smoke was rising in thick plumes as some of the crushed vehicles below had caught on fire. Previous damage caused by the Abominations was difficult to tell apart from what the accident had created.
What was notable, however, was the set of bluish cracks that snaked throughout the accident's location. Slowly, with the odd sound Sophia would recognize from having seen older ley lines break away during the Battle of Hope, more arcane tears and gashes were spreading outwards like a sort of rash on the city's surface. It felt as though asphalt, brick and concrete could make the same sound a sheet of paper would, when torn apart with opposite pulling motions. That sound, however, was amplified a hundredfold and rendered in a ghostly, almost surreal manner. She'd know what that meant out of experience and out of her tree's Faerie-born ingrained knowledge: people would become exposed to uncontrolled doses of via , and the side-effects of this were numerous. She'd see it in the shambling and dazed survivors of the accident, who wandered around their blaring cars with looks of utter shock on their faces, blue vapors seeping into gaping wounds they'd received and being inhaled with every breath. Their flesh was being knitted back into shape and, inexorably, it was being changed on the deepest level imaginable.
For a while, that was all there was to see. After a few moments, however, an old man shambled out of the wrecked subway car that had nosedived into the street, his head lolling at an odd angle. The broken neck was mended with a series of sickening popping sounds - and then his flesh burst into flames. He must've been the descendant of an ancestral line of mundanes, so his body couldn't handle what little excess arcane potency it had absorbed. His body reacted as if he'd tried to tap into a ley line without the proper skills and precautions - and spontaneously combusted. There was nothing Sophia or anyone else could do except watch him scream for help, as these blue-white flames would not be smothered by any material from the mortal plane. If he survived, he'd emerge as a lich. If he didn't, there wouldn't be anything left other than a pile of greasy bones and whatever bits of fat, clothing and skin would be left.
Nearby, another survivor - a woman in her early thirties - started compulsively scratching her right forearm. Stone-like growths were revealed as she scratched her dying skin away, horror birthing on her face and opening her mouth in a silent scream. Someone else was heard calling for help in the wreckage, and the sound of protesting, screaming steel and aluminum was heard. Before long, a little girl no older than twelve years old was seen carrying a heavyset adult male anthro pig out of the train in a fireman's carry that would have been physically impossible for her to manage. In an even more unlikely turn of events, she was completely unharmed.
"Well," sighed Amazo, "looks like we're about to need to hold a welcoming committee... Congrats, You're a Superhuman."
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TennyoCeres84
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"We do what we have to do," Sophia responded softly, sighing. She tentatively walked forward and looked to see if she could help anybody.
In her tattered uniform, Crystal shook her head lightly at the transforming superhumans. "I'm wondering what Doherty's doing as of now. There's so much clean-up to do that it's hard to know where to start," she surmised, moving forward to to aid people.
***
"Of course," agreed Aislinn, then looking around. "Do you think it'd be okay for me to get up and move? I know my ribs are still going to be tender, but I'm tired of just laying here and talking," she stated. "I feel like getting back in contact with the others, touching base with my parents, or something..."
In her tattered uniform, Crystal shook her head lightly at the transforming superhumans. "I'm wondering what Doherty's doing as of now. There's so much clean-up to do that it's hard to know where to start," she surmised, moving forward to to aid people.
***
"Of course," agreed Aislinn, then looking around. "Do you think it'd be okay for me to get up and move? I know my ribs are still going to be tender, but I'm tired of just laying here and talking," she stated. "I feel like getting back in contact with the others, touching base with my parents, or something..."
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IamLEAM1983
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"We're still in the thick of it," noted Francis. "Doherty either hasn't heard or it's about to reach his office."
He sighed. "More fault lines are going to open across town, more via's going to seep out, more people will be exposed... We'll still be seeing the effects of this on the population or on any descendants they might have decades from now. I don't know how things are going to turn out nation-wide, but the registration measures just heard their death knell in Rhode Island. Today's victims are never going to accept being treated like potential criminals."
Three, in the meantime, was slowly coming around. He'd pushed the Architect and the Void Weavers in the farthest corner of his mind - at least for the time being - and stepped forward, pulling another survivor out of the train's wreckage. Amazo had managed to conjure a stream of high-pressure water forth even as he'd been talking to Crystal, and made sure to to keep any risks of further explosions or fire under control. All Archie could do, besides clearing more debris, was hope that Jimmy still had his old telegraph plugged in somewhere at the Harp & Blackthorn. He extended his head's antenna and quickly broadcasted an abridged description of the state of things.
* * *
"Of course," agreed Gubbin, who stood up from his chair but remained nearby, in case Aislinn would need a helping hand. "In any case, we should hear from the Gruffs before we even leave Ever-"
He was stopped by the returning Gruff. "Mother Deidre, Lady Aislinn?"
The Elf gave the large caprine creature a worried look. "How are the news, Roland?
- Better," he replied. "It would seen Hope has traded one calamity for another. The otherwordly assailants have vanished across the city, following a shaft of light that shimmered into being a few paces in front of the Centennial Tree. Lord Gawain's planted device was detonated and, as feared, the arcane payload ventured along the nearest main ley line. Some infrastructure elements have been damaged, some victims are reported; but there is more."
Gubbin's feline eyes narrowed. "What more?
- As one of the city's major ley lines has been ruptured, arcane energies are seeping into the air in greater concentrations than observed in the past mortal generation. Our magisters are quite clear on the consequences of this: more superhumans and sensitives are to expect in the general population. Judging by the population density, there will be too many screening subjects to test for the current measures to remain in place. While some lives have been lost in the aftermath to the creatures' invasion, it would seem that Governor Smith has won his gamble. The mortal plane's superheroes are to be freed from legal intercession, unless obstructionist measures are put in place."
Gubbin blinked a few times. "Is this your personal opinion, Sir Gruff? You have gone above the call of duty for a simple battle report..."
Roland smirked at this. "I may be a Gruff, Sir Malk, but I've also a Bachelor's in Political Sciences. The Fae always do well in studying the political machinations of the mortal plane's inhabitants."
He sighed. "More fault lines are going to open across town, more via's going to seep out, more people will be exposed... We'll still be seeing the effects of this on the population or on any descendants they might have decades from now. I don't know how things are going to turn out nation-wide, but the registration measures just heard their death knell in Rhode Island. Today's victims are never going to accept being treated like potential criminals."
Three, in the meantime, was slowly coming around. He'd pushed the Architect and the Void Weavers in the farthest corner of his mind - at least for the time being - and stepped forward, pulling another survivor out of the train's wreckage. Amazo had managed to conjure a stream of high-pressure water forth even as he'd been talking to Crystal, and made sure to to keep any risks of further explosions or fire under control. All Archie could do, besides clearing more debris, was hope that Jimmy still had his old telegraph plugged in somewhere at the Harp & Blackthorn. He extended his head's antenna and quickly broadcasted an abridged description of the state of things.
* * *
"Of course," agreed Gubbin, who stood up from his chair but remained nearby, in case Aislinn would need a helping hand. "In any case, we should hear from the Gruffs before we even leave Ever-"
He was stopped by the returning Gruff. "Mother Deidre, Lady Aislinn?"
The Elf gave the large caprine creature a worried look. "How are the news, Roland?
- Better," he replied. "It would seen Hope has traded one calamity for another. The otherwordly assailants have vanished across the city, following a shaft of light that shimmered into being a few paces in front of the Centennial Tree. Lord Gawain's planted device was detonated and, as feared, the arcane payload ventured along the nearest main ley line. Some infrastructure elements have been damaged, some victims are reported; but there is more."
Gubbin's feline eyes narrowed. "What more?
- As one of the city's major ley lines has been ruptured, arcane energies are seeping into the air in greater concentrations than observed in the past mortal generation. Our magisters are quite clear on the consequences of this: more superhumans and sensitives are to expect in the general population. Judging by the population density, there will be too many screening subjects to test for the current measures to remain in place. While some lives have been lost in the aftermath to the creatures' invasion, it would seem that Governor Smith has won his gamble. The mortal plane's superheroes are to be freed from legal intercession, unless obstructionist measures are put in place."
Gubbin blinked a few times. "Is this your personal opinion, Sir Gruff? You have gone above the call of duty for a simple battle report..."
Roland smirked at this. "I may be a Gruff, Sir Malk, but I've also a Bachelor's in Political Sciences. The Fae always do well in studying the political machinations of the mortal plane's inhabitants."
-
TennyoCeres84
- Site Admin
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Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
This news caused Aislinn to lift herself off of the cot with some aid from Gubbin and gathered her pelt and Deirdre's healing ointment. "Well, if that's the case, then it's au revoir to SuReCA," she stated, sounding slightly pleased. "On the other hand, it seems like we'll be helping other supes get used to their abilities and potentially dealing with those that don't want to play nice."
The selkie smiled to the Elf and bowed her head. "Thank you for your healing hands, Mother Deirdre," she said. She glanced over at the Malk. "I'm thinking we can swing by Nessie's in Mertown and find my parents there. They might even be able to help out with the relief effort," she stated, shrugging.
***
Crystal nodded, sighing at the ordeal that had been left in the aftermath of the citywide assault. She began moving debris away to make room for possible ambulances. Sophia had moved on to using nearby roots to lift heavy objects off of survivors, with Neasa and Ciaran helping her. Meanwhile, Aspasia managed to rescue elderly people from a wrecked bus.
The selkie smiled to the Elf and bowed her head. "Thank you for your healing hands, Mother Deirdre," she said. She glanced over at the Malk. "I'm thinking we can swing by Nessie's in Mertown and find my parents there. They might even be able to help out with the relief effort," she stated, shrugging.
***
Crystal nodded, sighing at the ordeal that had been left in the aftermath of the citywide assault. She began moving debris away to make room for possible ambulances. Sophia had moved on to using nearby roots to lift heavy objects off of survivors, with Neasa and Ciaran helping her. Meanwhile, Aspasia managed to rescue elderly people from a wrecked bus.
-
IamLEAM1983
- Site Admin
- Posts: 3712
- Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:54 am
- Location: Quebec, Canada
Re: Chapter I - Sword and Shield
"Then I shall lead you there without delay," agreed the butler, "though I surmise that my presence by your side will require some explanation. There is not much time for us to spend putting others up to speed, I'm afraid, and your parents will expect some sort of reasoning on your part.
- I doubt they'll have time to object, honestly," noted Mother Deirdre as she led the pair back to the front door. "Nessie's is bound to have turned into a makeshift refuge; if the lucky ones didn't simply hoist their anchors and sail off temporarily."
To that, Gubbin couldn't really reply. They'd have to see for themselves. Still, with final blessings from the Elven woman, they were both off and heading deeper into Evergloam, in search of a reasonably expeditious Faerie gate to Mertown. Evergloam was somewhat more landlocked than Hope, however, and had no direct Mertown-like analog. It made the search for a direct connection a bit more difficult than for locations in Green Island or the mainland, but Gubbin was both a manservsant by trade and a Malk. He knew the local streets like only a combination between a glorified GPS in a tie-and-tails outfit could if it had been crossed with a sentient alley cat. Before long, he'd led Aislinn to a point in the city that didn't exactly smack of a visually recognizable connection with Hope: the streets had stopped corresponding and the storefronts didn't match in theme or purpose.
"This should do," he nonetheless announced, stopping in front of a cobbler's storefront. "Mertown is harder to reach from Faeside thanks to the inhabitants' distrust of the Fair Folk and of Wyldfae such as myself. With no strong alleigiances or any sense of common goals, the thresholds here reach further and are less stable. We have no choice but to risk reaching your parents well after the events resolve themselves, madame. We may yet arrive on the hour of the creatures' dismissal, or our allies may have spent hours looking for us."
He started to open the door, pausing in the characteristic way of someone who was shunting a bit of arcane power through the otherwise mundane action. He used that slight lull to look back at the roane over his shoulder. "I may only hope you shall use your new station to better my people's standing amongst your kind, madame. If Hope is to face further perils, petty squabbles will have to be abandoned."
* * *
More time passed, with the vigilantes doing whatever they could to assist the survivors. They weren't alone, however, the National Guard and the meta-screening arm of the CDC having been called in. Hope alone didn't have enough resources to deal with sudden rashes in the appearance of metahuman or superhuman subjects, so the Center for Disease Control tended to oversee identification and tracking operations country-wide. It wasn't exactly well seen in the public eye, however, as it contributed to the impression that newfound superhumans were somehow diseased or abnormal, somehow. More stricken by some affliction, in some cases, than gifted with new skills and responsibilities.
Slowly and surely, the initial panic turned into Sophia and Archie coordinating with First Aid and security teams, fear and horror gave way to the efforts of harrowed minds to box away diagnosed cases neatly and efficiently. Most of the sudden flare-ups had the advantage of being cases that would lose in potency over time. From experience, Amazo knew that ground-zero exposure to massive via leaks was something the body typically purged over time. The lucky ones would revert close to mundane status, while the unlucky ones would forever be stuck with an unwanted skillset to keep in check. Such was the case with the newborn lich from earlier, who was seemingly set to survive the ordeal.
It took a while, but the mayor would soon be seen doing rounds in emergency camps and the former refugee foxholes, taking in the damage suffered and the casualties endured. At every turn, one conclusion stuck out amidst everyone who'd been lucky enough to hear a recount of the last days' events: if it hadn't been for Holden's little band of relative unknowns or for Aidan Drake's involvement, there'd be a lot more bodies piled up in the streets and some sort of coup would have taken place in the local Winter Fae organization.
By the mortal plane's estimates, four hours had passed. Jimmy Winters was starting to escort Renton locals back home with the use of armed detachments, while offering to shelter those who would've lost everything in the attack. Weasel Biggs returned to his tower and from there, took a VTOL ride to Sandhill to check on his largest basin of supporters. Generally speaking, everyone was trying to patch things together again, to set the stage for a fairly weak attempt at normalcy. It'd be months before things would return to normal, nevermind how Karthian materials made previously year-long renovations a matter of a few weeks.
Aidan had quickly chosen to throw his lot in with the National Guard and the refugee camps' watchmen. He'd spent almost two hours simply doing the rounds in front of a setup of guardsmen who called out names in order to double-check on known survivors, and then another two with an apron tied behind his back and his rifle traded for a soup ladle. Fear, panic, exhaustion or just plain being worried sick or lost - the explosion had given a lot of people several reasons for being famished, and the already downtrodden were even more beleagered than before. In any case, giving the maintenance Clanks and the city drones their jobs back felt like a relief. Filling bellies with a few portable stoves swiped from Coach's equipment and reheated stew felt more gratifying than spewing hot lead from the barrel of a gun.
As expected, the Guardsmen and Army staff waited until they'd be last in line. Civilians took priority, and it gave the city's new vigilantes plenty of occasions to be exposed to the kind of wordless gratitude they'd be forced to cope with if they stayed in this particular field of work.
* * *
Deputy Chief Seamus Mac Loch felt as though he were in over his head. Then again, considering Mertown's constituents, this was an everyday occurrence. He'd always represented a legal system they'd never really verbalized a need for, as happy as they were with simply asking local criminals or problematic residents to pack up and leave. Unfortunately, you couldn't just tell a few dozen frightened mainlanders to head home and to stop drinking Morag's stout at Nessie's, not when they'd almost lost their lives, their house and their livelihood. A lot of ship captains had seen humans in rumpled suits rush them with a handful of dead presidents, begging them for the right to be taken ashore. Then again, the local captains all had the same basic reflex: if the mainland was undergoing a tough scrape and Sophia alone couldn't handle it, a few hours spent with anchors aweigh and a few miles off the coast usually served as protection enough. It worked for selkies and it worked for sea dragons, then it'd work for humans with bribes held out like an offering to Poseidon.
"The shaft of light's gone, Seamus," cried out Patrick Sigurdsson, a solidly-built male selkie, from the back of Nessie's. "Can't we just send them off? They're costing me fuel when I should be the one ashore, actually doing my damned job! There's quotas I have to meet, and the cannery won't run itself! I don't bring loads back, then Ulrika doesn't have work for the week, our pay gets halved and I have to feed my kids with fucking Kraft Dinner bought at the dollar store for a week! I've got Mac Loch blood same as you, and my ancestors didn't settle for factory-processed shit!"
The grey and somewhat phocine creature that wore a blue turtleneck combined with his HPD uniform's jacket narrowed its large and dark eyes. Seamus Mac Loch might've looked like an overgrown anthro seal to some, with eyes too big and too dark to evoke anything resembling authority - but he had plenty of fishing and hunting scars to compensate. His skin, while still oily, was less blubbery than a seal's typical hide, allowing the outline of his jaw to pop out and give him a more expressive countenance. Looking at him was to look at an odd hybrid that could've only made sense in a place like Hope, a local police captain grown out of the shell of a fairly salty sea dog. For over three centuries, he'd looked over Mertown first as its unofficial mayor, and secondly as its sheriff. He'd officially joined the HPD at the Vienna Accords' signature, but he'd been in its ranks for over a century in unofficial records. He'd known several Irish expatriates-turned-officers of the law and had been there when Hope had been just another stop for gold prospectors trawling the Eastern seaboard and using his inns and taverns as waystations.
He'd seen folks like Sigurdsson before, and had seen them by the buckets. Devoted husbands and mothers, one and all. Christian sorts, sometimes, or at least secular roanes who stuck to ancestor worship. People with strong values, basically. The salt of the Earth.
They were usually bigoted and self-serving to a fault, willing to break tbeir backs for their community, but unwilling to raise a finger for anyone else. People liked to think selkies coild do no wrong, and television series liked to portray most Theriomorphs as being innocent or flawlessly deserving of trust. He knew Mertown's bad apples by sight and the good ones by name. He knew them because that was his job, and they stood as a small island packed to the gills with people who'd live for a few centuries, one and all. That was a lot of time to spend getting to know the local ruffians.
"Then you'll feed your kids Kraft Dinner, Sigurdsson," he proclaimed, bits of old Irish brogue resurfacing as he spoke. "You'll shut up, you'll bloody well like it, ya git, and you'll stomp over your pride and ask this good community to handle your father's gravlax and lutefisk if you can't make ends meet for the month. We've stuck by one another, we'll keep sticking by each other, and we'll especially keep sticking by the mainlanders, you hear? I may be your old Cap'n for the lot of you, but I'm also your Deputy Chief. You elected me, you wanted me here, so here's me doing my own damn job. Any man who holds out his hands for roanes while snobbing humans isn't deserving of the quality of life we've tried to give ourselves here.
I'll close my eyes on your selling lots and boats only to my kith and kin, all o' you. Your boats, your business. If I hear it said that Mertown lacks a heart, however, or doesn't have a clue as to what charity means, then I'll find every occasion to drag the offender's name through the mud! There are people dying out there, or so Lowell tells me, and of you were fine with holing up here and leaving the mundanes out?!"
His small wooden pipe was firmly wedged between his lips. It produced a few plumes of smoke as he glared at the assembly taking up the pub's tables. "Some of you aren't fit to be sea dogs, I reckon," he gloomily observed. "I won't give names, you know who you are. I swear, I ought to do a round-up of your pelts and your boat keys, for those of you who can't change. I'd cut up a few into lady purses and shoe leather, for all you deserve. Toss the keys in the drink and leave you to the Welfare dogs.
- Yeah, well, what does a werewolf know about-"
Seamus' beer stein slammed down on the table so sharply as to draw the room into a stunned silence. Dark eyes glared at Patrick Sigurdsson, daring him to speak again, but no other word was spoken. It was a long minute before Seamus found another pair of eyes in the room.
"How are our guests, McConmara?" he asked, designating Aislinn's father.
- I doubt they'll have time to object, honestly," noted Mother Deirdre as she led the pair back to the front door. "Nessie's is bound to have turned into a makeshift refuge; if the lucky ones didn't simply hoist their anchors and sail off temporarily."
To that, Gubbin couldn't really reply. They'd have to see for themselves. Still, with final blessings from the Elven woman, they were both off and heading deeper into Evergloam, in search of a reasonably expeditious Faerie gate to Mertown. Evergloam was somewhat more landlocked than Hope, however, and had no direct Mertown-like analog. It made the search for a direct connection a bit more difficult than for locations in Green Island or the mainland, but Gubbin was both a manservsant by trade and a Malk. He knew the local streets like only a combination between a glorified GPS in a tie-and-tails outfit could if it had been crossed with a sentient alley cat. Before long, he'd led Aislinn to a point in the city that didn't exactly smack of a visually recognizable connection with Hope: the streets had stopped corresponding and the storefronts didn't match in theme or purpose.
"This should do," he nonetheless announced, stopping in front of a cobbler's storefront. "Mertown is harder to reach from Faeside thanks to the inhabitants' distrust of the Fair Folk and of Wyldfae such as myself. With no strong alleigiances or any sense of common goals, the thresholds here reach further and are less stable. We have no choice but to risk reaching your parents well after the events resolve themselves, madame. We may yet arrive on the hour of the creatures' dismissal, or our allies may have spent hours looking for us."
He started to open the door, pausing in the characteristic way of someone who was shunting a bit of arcane power through the otherwise mundane action. He used that slight lull to look back at the roane over his shoulder. "I may only hope you shall use your new station to better my people's standing amongst your kind, madame. If Hope is to face further perils, petty squabbles will have to be abandoned."
* * *
More time passed, with the vigilantes doing whatever they could to assist the survivors. They weren't alone, however, the National Guard and the meta-screening arm of the CDC having been called in. Hope alone didn't have enough resources to deal with sudden rashes in the appearance of metahuman or superhuman subjects, so the Center for Disease Control tended to oversee identification and tracking operations country-wide. It wasn't exactly well seen in the public eye, however, as it contributed to the impression that newfound superhumans were somehow diseased or abnormal, somehow. More stricken by some affliction, in some cases, than gifted with new skills and responsibilities.
Slowly and surely, the initial panic turned into Sophia and Archie coordinating with First Aid and security teams, fear and horror gave way to the efforts of harrowed minds to box away diagnosed cases neatly and efficiently. Most of the sudden flare-ups had the advantage of being cases that would lose in potency over time. From experience, Amazo knew that ground-zero exposure to massive via leaks was something the body typically purged over time. The lucky ones would revert close to mundane status, while the unlucky ones would forever be stuck with an unwanted skillset to keep in check. Such was the case with the newborn lich from earlier, who was seemingly set to survive the ordeal.
It took a while, but the mayor would soon be seen doing rounds in emergency camps and the former refugee foxholes, taking in the damage suffered and the casualties endured. At every turn, one conclusion stuck out amidst everyone who'd been lucky enough to hear a recount of the last days' events: if it hadn't been for Holden's little band of relative unknowns or for Aidan Drake's involvement, there'd be a lot more bodies piled up in the streets and some sort of coup would have taken place in the local Winter Fae organization.
By the mortal plane's estimates, four hours had passed. Jimmy Winters was starting to escort Renton locals back home with the use of armed detachments, while offering to shelter those who would've lost everything in the attack. Weasel Biggs returned to his tower and from there, took a VTOL ride to Sandhill to check on his largest basin of supporters. Generally speaking, everyone was trying to patch things together again, to set the stage for a fairly weak attempt at normalcy. It'd be months before things would return to normal, nevermind how Karthian materials made previously year-long renovations a matter of a few weeks.
Aidan had quickly chosen to throw his lot in with the National Guard and the refugee camps' watchmen. He'd spent almost two hours simply doing the rounds in front of a setup of guardsmen who called out names in order to double-check on known survivors, and then another two with an apron tied behind his back and his rifle traded for a soup ladle. Fear, panic, exhaustion or just plain being worried sick or lost - the explosion had given a lot of people several reasons for being famished, and the already downtrodden were even more beleagered than before. In any case, giving the maintenance Clanks and the city drones their jobs back felt like a relief. Filling bellies with a few portable stoves swiped from Coach's equipment and reheated stew felt more gratifying than spewing hot lead from the barrel of a gun.
As expected, the Guardsmen and Army staff waited until they'd be last in line. Civilians took priority, and it gave the city's new vigilantes plenty of occasions to be exposed to the kind of wordless gratitude they'd be forced to cope with if they stayed in this particular field of work.
* * *
Deputy Chief Seamus Mac Loch felt as though he were in over his head. Then again, considering Mertown's constituents, this was an everyday occurrence. He'd always represented a legal system they'd never really verbalized a need for, as happy as they were with simply asking local criminals or problematic residents to pack up and leave. Unfortunately, you couldn't just tell a few dozen frightened mainlanders to head home and to stop drinking Morag's stout at Nessie's, not when they'd almost lost their lives, their house and their livelihood. A lot of ship captains had seen humans in rumpled suits rush them with a handful of dead presidents, begging them for the right to be taken ashore. Then again, the local captains all had the same basic reflex: if the mainland was undergoing a tough scrape and Sophia alone couldn't handle it, a few hours spent with anchors aweigh and a few miles off the coast usually served as protection enough. It worked for selkies and it worked for sea dragons, then it'd work for humans with bribes held out like an offering to Poseidon.
"The shaft of light's gone, Seamus," cried out Patrick Sigurdsson, a solidly-built male selkie, from the back of Nessie's. "Can't we just send them off? They're costing me fuel when I should be the one ashore, actually doing my damned job! There's quotas I have to meet, and the cannery won't run itself! I don't bring loads back, then Ulrika doesn't have work for the week, our pay gets halved and I have to feed my kids with fucking Kraft Dinner bought at the dollar store for a week! I've got Mac Loch blood same as you, and my ancestors didn't settle for factory-processed shit!"
The grey and somewhat phocine creature that wore a blue turtleneck combined with his HPD uniform's jacket narrowed its large and dark eyes. Seamus Mac Loch might've looked like an overgrown anthro seal to some, with eyes too big and too dark to evoke anything resembling authority - but he had plenty of fishing and hunting scars to compensate. His skin, while still oily, was less blubbery than a seal's typical hide, allowing the outline of his jaw to pop out and give him a more expressive countenance. Looking at him was to look at an odd hybrid that could've only made sense in a place like Hope, a local police captain grown out of the shell of a fairly salty sea dog. For over three centuries, he'd looked over Mertown first as its unofficial mayor, and secondly as its sheriff. He'd officially joined the HPD at the Vienna Accords' signature, but he'd been in its ranks for over a century in unofficial records. He'd known several Irish expatriates-turned-officers of the law and had been there when Hope had been just another stop for gold prospectors trawling the Eastern seaboard and using his inns and taverns as waystations.
He'd seen folks like Sigurdsson before, and had seen them by the buckets. Devoted husbands and mothers, one and all. Christian sorts, sometimes, or at least secular roanes who stuck to ancestor worship. People with strong values, basically. The salt of the Earth.
They were usually bigoted and self-serving to a fault, willing to break tbeir backs for their community, but unwilling to raise a finger for anyone else. People liked to think selkies coild do no wrong, and television series liked to portray most Theriomorphs as being innocent or flawlessly deserving of trust. He knew Mertown's bad apples by sight and the good ones by name. He knew them because that was his job, and they stood as a small island packed to the gills with people who'd live for a few centuries, one and all. That was a lot of time to spend getting to know the local ruffians.
"Then you'll feed your kids Kraft Dinner, Sigurdsson," he proclaimed, bits of old Irish brogue resurfacing as he spoke. "You'll shut up, you'll bloody well like it, ya git, and you'll stomp over your pride and ask this good community to handle your father's gravlax and lutefisk if you can't make ends meet for the month. We've stuck by one another, we'll keep sticking by each other, and we'll especially keep sticking by the mainlanders, you hear? I may be your old Cap'n for the lot of you, but I'm also your Deputy Chief. You elected me, you wanted me here, so here's me doing my own damn job. Any man who holds out his hands for roanes while snobbing humans isn't deserving of the quality of life we've tried to give ourselves here.
I'll close my eyes on your selling lots and boats only to my kith and kin, all o' you. Your boats, your business. If I hear it said that Mertown lacks a heart, however, or doesn't have a clue as to what charity means, then I'll find every occasion to drag the offender's name through the mud! There are people dying out there, or so Lowell tells me, and of you were fine with holing up here and leaving the mundanes out?!"
His small wooden pipe was firmly wedged between his lips. It produced a few plumes of smoke as he glared at the assembly taking up the pub's tables. "Some of you aren't fit to be sea dogs, I reckon," he gloomily observed. "I won't give names, you know who you are. I swear, I ought to do a round-up of your pelts and your boat keys, for those of you who can't change. I'd cut up a few into lady purses and shoe leather, for all you deserve. Toss the keys in the drink and leave you to the Welfare dogs.
- Yeah, well, what does a werewolf know about-"
Seamus' beer stein slammed down on the table so sharply as to draw the room into a stunned silence. Dark eyes glared at Patrick Sigurdsson, daring him to speak again, but no other word was spoken. It was a long minute before Seamus found another pair of eyes in the room.
"How are our guests, McConmara?" he asked, designating Aislinn's father.