"So how does Balmung compare to your Warden's blade, out of curiosity?"
"That is an interesting question, and one that would likely take a bit more experience with the blade to figure out. It has signs of previous damage; a spot here where te blade is buffed out more intensely, for instance; probably to polish out a nick or chip. The only way to get rid of that kind of damage is to remove all the metal around it and expose new steel underneath to manufacture a new edge. It also seems to feel like a bit of a magical void... like it drinks in magic. That might be how it sustains its own powers, or it migh be a mechanism designed to help it defeat protective enchantments."
"As for how it compares to a Warden's blade..." she smiles. "You don't expect me to give away information like that to just anyone, do you? I will say this; unlike Balmung, or what Wagner called "Nothing" in his famous opera, a Warden's blade is an extension only of the user, and is both powerless without her, and useless to anyone else."
"So, my new and reluctant companions, what do you think we should do now? I think it is clear that Set represents an immediate challenge, as he either carries the spirit and malevolence of a demon and all its power, or merely its blood, which would be merely his burden to bear. He is either a dire immediate threat of vast power, or just a kid with issues. Given the scope of the difference, and the threat if the former possibility, figuring that out should be a priority, I think."
"Once we settle that, if we can, then I think the next priority will be the other refugees, particularly if they also carry this blood of the dragon. We will need to stop the Fomor from recapturing them, and interior whatever ritual try intend with their magic, if we have not done so already by liberating this sword."
She stands again, drawing out her piece of chalk again, which is by now getting pretty small. She places the sword on a countertop, and draws another circle, more of an oval this time really, and activates it with a drop of blood from her finger.
"That should contain any magical signature it possesses while we plan, should anyone presently be attempting to home in on its location.". As she speaks, she draws a small plaster (a bandaid) from her pocket, and wraps it around the small cut on her finger. It's a bright orange number with black cats and witches hats. If anyone raises an eyebrow, she just mutters, "Halloween is coming up; they were on sale..."
"Damn. Don't know why I didn't think of it before. I do know someone I think could help. I encountered him in my other line if work; for some reason it can be hard to draw connections together when you have to function in two different worlds." Walking over to the phone she used before, she pulls out a notebook and searches a moment before finding the number she is looking for.
After she dials she waits a while before speaking, presumably waiting for someone to answer. Unsurprising for the hour, it takes a whole before anyone answers. "Hello, I apologies for calling at this hour, but I need to speak with Father Britzger. Yes, I'm aware. Please, I would not have called if it were not urgent. Yes, I can wait. Yes, I understand."
She stands there next to the phone, in silence. He carries the handset close to her ear, leafing through her notebook with both hand as she waits. A considerable amount of time goes by, perhaps 10 minutes all told before she resumes speaking.
"Father Britzger, thank you for taking my call. Yes, I'm aware. This is Dr. Lakshmi Kishan. Yes that's right, from Harvard, though that's just for the time being; I'm glad you remember me. Yes, that's right; the Interfaith Symposium in June, and you did an interview with me a few weeks later. Right, 'Jim,' I remember. I... I need your help. I have a matter that I feel goes beyond my area of expertise, and I feel that it falls much more clearly in yours. I'm with a young man right now, and there are elements involved that are... Well, I remember our conversation involving a lot of hypothetical factors, but I was impressed by your ability to express aspects of Faith in modern terms, but while still maintaining clear demarcation of the supernatural. I've met a lot of people, even among the clergy who seem to view spirituality as a metaphorical endeavour. I got the distinct impression that you were a man of particularly unusual insight," she pauses for a minute before going on, "This is not a hypothetical scenario, nor a metaphorical one, and I would very much appreciate your perspective and assistance. Yes, I'm sure this is not a matter for the police, and before you ask I am equally sure a mental health team would be just as inappropriate, I would not have called you otherwise. Yes, it's urgent. I know, I'm sorry about the time. Thank you. Here's the address," she rambles off the street and number, as well as basic directions on how to get here; apparently she was paying attention on the way. "About an hour? Yes, we'll be waiting. Thank you."
She hangs up the phone, jotting a couple of fresh notes in her journal before stashing it away again in her jacket. Afterwards, she moves back into the common area with the others, and finds a place to sit while they wait. Before sitting, she looks around the room. The boy, 'Set', sleeps upon the floor, within a chalk circle inscribed on the floor, with layers of arcane symbols and obscure script around its circumference. The sword sits on a counter in a similar circle. At least the bodies are in the basement...
She looks at her companions, "Well, if he doesn't turn around and bolt the instant he enters the room I think we'll know if he's the type that can be depended on..."
Before long, Wisp comes back with a large backpack. "So, what did I miss? Anything new attack in the last half hour?"
"It looks like the priest is much easier to get to. Why don't we go there?"
At 3:30, a black Fiat Abarth pulls into the parking area outside. Two men step out. The passenger is an older man, completely unintimidating, wearing the black tab-collared shirt of a priest. The driver is a younger man, perhaps in his thirties, fit but not bulky. He wears a grey shirt and black jacket and a knit kufi skull cap. The older man calls out:
"Dr. Kishan? I'm Father Britzger, and this is Imam Jamil al-Islam. He is a friend of mine, I thought it might be worthwhile to bring some backup given your strange request...
Dr. Kishan? Are you here?
At precisely that moment, the phone in Aaron's shop rings. Who needs rare books at 3:30 a.m.?
Aaron rubs bleary eyes, having trouble staying awake now that the excitement is over. He staggers to the telephone and picks it up.
"You've reached Drachmen's Books, and we're apparently Boston's only all-night bookstore."
A surprised feminine voice replies, "Oh, pardon me, I was expecting to get a message. I apologize for calling at such strange hours, but I needed a book named "Myths and Mysteries of Wayland Smith," I believe it is by Clive Spinage. It isn't particularly antique, but it seems to be hard to find and I thought there might be some chance..."
The voice trails off, a question hanging in the air.
"It's fine, I was up dealing with some other business anyway. I can definitely look, I tend to have a copy of most things that aren't unique."
It takes Aaron a moment in his sleepiness to realize he's heard that name before already tonight.
"May I ask who is calling? I can look for it, put your name on it as reserved if we have it, and you can come get it in the morning if that works for you?" he says, a bit suspicious now but trying to hide it.
My name is Evelyn Convoyer. I'm doing some work for a professor of comparative mythology. A second job for me, thus the strange hours. If you want to take a look you can call me back. And when do you open?"
Her voice is smooth and comforting. Not a hint of deception.
to Wisp, once he's caught up on events, and before the priest arrives
"Let me show you your choices. Follow me upstairs.'
he seems strangely eager to have a new housemate
My name is Evelyn Convoyer. I'm doing some work for a professor of comparative mythology. A second job for me, thus the strange hours. If you want to take a look you can call me back. And when do you open?"
Her voice is smooth and comforting. Not a hint of deception.
"We pen at 10 AM most days, and today is no exception."
"Yes, I'm here; call me Lakshmi. Father Britzger, Imam Al-Islam, thank you so much for coming. I am glad you thought to invite your friend; I think it might be helpful. Come on in and I will try to explain as much as I can."
After exchanging handshakes, Kishan shows the two clerics into the shop. As they get their first sight of the situation inside, with the boy asleep on the floor within the arcane circle, and the others gathered around the room, she keeps an eye on the men in order to gage their reactions.
Presuming they don't react in terror at the sight of the boy for one reason or the other, or instantly turn around and leave, she'll show them to the sitting area.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable. Would you like some coffee? Where should I start? You probably have questions... Let me ask you, do you believe that the supernatural has a presence among us in the real world?"
"Lead on, John." he says genially. "So, how do you fit into this whole crazy world?"
"We open at 10 AM most days, and today is no exception."
Well, as I said if you have a copy please hold it in my name and even if you don't I may stop in and see what else you have related to Wayland. And thanks again for answering at such a late hour. "
She rings off, and you are left with the feeling that expecting a visit from Ms. Conveyer is a thing to be both dreaded and looked forward to.
"Thank you for your patronage, miss." he hangs up the phone and looks up as a Warden and two holy men walk into a bookstore.
"Welcome! The coffee's hot, and very very strong. Here's hoping it kicks in soon."
"Lead on, John." he says genially. "So, how do you fit into this whole crazy world?"
John looks thoughtful
"Remember that poem from school about 'two roads in a forest' and 'the road less traveled'? For me it was more like 'sacked and shanghaied down the rabbit hole' and the road led to a stranger's hell. Still, I learned some tricks and in the process got out. I found they're right about going home again and made a new place here. My Father once told me we were Sons of Martha and shouldn't ask for more."
The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.
And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,
Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.
It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.
It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.
It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,
Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.
They say to mountains ``Be ye removèd.'' They say to the lesser floods ``Be dry.''
Under their rods are the rocks reprovèd---they are not afraid of that which is high.
Then do the hill-tops shake to the summit---then is the bed of the deep laid bare,
That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.
They finger Death at their gloves' end where they piece and repiece the living wires.
He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires.
Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,
And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall.
To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar.
They are concerned with matters hidden---under the earthline their altars are---
The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,
And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city's drouth.
They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose.
They do not preach that His Pity allows them to drop their job when they damn-well choose.
As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,
Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren's ways may be long in the land.
Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat;
Lo, it is black already with the blood some Son of Martha spilled for that!
Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,
But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need.
And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessèd---they know the Angels are on their side.
They know in them is the Grace confessèd, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.
They sit at the feet---they hear the Word---they see how truly the Promise runs.
They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and---the Lord He lays it on Martha's Sons!
Literature Network » Rudyard Kipling » The Sons Of Martha
Father Britzger looks closely but carefully at the circle around the boy, taking in the boy, the circle, the symbols. He stands
"Dr. Kishan, I would take some water, please, no ice. Jamil will no doubt have some coffee, dark, with far too much sugar.
Let me answer your question by saying that I recognize that someone has drawn a Circle of Power around that boy, hoping either to contain something within the circle or to keep him from some harm. Given that you have called me, I believe I can assume that you believe either the boy or the threat to be of a the influence of some sort of spirit, as we are safely within a Threshold and therefore safe from many other types of threats. "
He watches carefully as he lays out these details, looking for your response to his words.
At the same time, Jamil watches the shadows of the room, his right hand held in the pocket of his jacket.
He extends his hand to you, placing his left hand over your clasped hands if you accept his hand.
"I didn't hear any water running..." Aaron mutters.
"I didn't hear any water running..." Aaron mutters.
Kishan smiles at his apparent familiarity with the issues at hand. "Father please, if you want me to call you 'Jim' then I insist you call me Lakshmi.". She strides over to the counter, pours a cup of coffee for the imam, and draws a glass of water for the priest. She grabs a handful of sugar-packets and a spoon, scooping them up into a hand with the coffee mug. She sets them down in front of the gentlemen, reclaiming her own seat.
Without preamble she launches into the explination, "There was an incident earlier tonight. People that had no authority to do so were trying to detain the boy and some of his friends. They attempted to use magic to escape custody, and there appears to have been an accident. They were trying to harness fire, which is particularly difficult to control, especially in confined spaces, as they were. Two of the men were killed in the resulting conflagration. You may be familiar with the addictive nature of magic, particularly where certain darker purposes are employed. It corrupts, and causes a building temptation to repeat the use. We brought him here to protect him from those trying to capture him, presumably to misuse his power in some fashion, and to determine if the boy himself might represent a threat."
"So far as I can tell, there was no melevolence in the intent of the magic, and it truly appears to have been an accident. The magic they sought to use was simply to powerful to control in their emotional state. As well, the boy appears to bear none of the corruption that coincides with intentional harm by means of magic. It really does appear to have been an accident, but of course appearances can be deceiving, as we all know. I discovered something else though as I was exploring. The boy has a pressence with him; within him. I did not detect a consciousness to it, per se, but the power had a district flavour to it. It is the power of the Fallen."
She breaks for a moment before going on, standing and going to the counter to fix herself her own cup of coffee (plenty of both cream and sugar).
She resumes after sitting, "As you surmised, the circle serves both purposes; it protects him from anyone that might be following, and trying to claim him again, but it also protects us from what might be within him. He said we should call him 'Set', though he indicated that this was not likely to be his real name either. He claims that the power is of his lineage, and that it has always been there, in him and in his people, ones he calls 'The people of the dragon'. He told a story of the Fallen bearing children by mortal women, not unlike your own tales of the Nephalim. However, I was afraid to take the chance that it might not be true, and that it might be one of the fallen themselves that resides with him. In either case, he is either possessed of one of the most dangerous beings in existence, and in our very presence, or he is just a boy with an immense burden to bear, and the temptations of power that flow through his bloodline. I called you because I do not know how to tell the difference. Boy of a strange bloodline, or terror beyond knowing... You can see why I would not want to make assumptions..."
Jamil fills a spoon with sugar and then draws a lighter from his pocket, firing the spoon and melting the sugar. The smell of caramel fills the room.
Jim replies:
"If we accept that you are accurately perceiving this presence, it could be difficult to parse the difference. If the boy is possessed, and the One within is attempting to conceal his presence, it could take hours or even days to even find it. It is not as you see in the movies, a priest shows up and the demon shoots acid from its nose. There are questions to ask, the creature must be challenged. It could take hours or even days to determine whether there is a possession. It might be best if we remove the boy to a safe place where we can look after him."
He'll nod at that, "Very few get to choose their road. And those that do usually waste the opportunity." But he shrugs, "Still, it's what you do with what you're given that matters."
"Is there any way we can keep him contained while we move him to a more secure location?"
"If he is truly possessed, I have no way of binding the spirit. We can protect people and places from it, but there are no Holy Handcuffs if that is what you mean."
"In that case, if we do end up moving him somewhere I suggest a few of us escort him, should a concealed entity exist and decide to act during the transportation."
"To be honest, I was hoping you would have some means of forcing such an entity to the surface, detecting it, or at least reveal its presence. I suppose it was too much to ask that you'd know how to do something I'm not even sure is possible."
"You should know, the beings that were trying to contain him had brought him and his co-prisoners into the country in a cargo container; making him in all likelihood an undocumented immigrant. While mundane legal issues are significantly less important and urgent a consideration given the potential worst case scenario we have at hand. If you take him into your supervision, there could be all sorts of unintended complications... given I don't know if he will cooperate, the most obvious could be kidnapping and unlawful confinement. We could try to circumvent that by alerting the appropriately informed law enforcement body. Such things do exist, but of course alerting them opens us up to the complications that go along with government bureaucracy, jurisdictions, and so on. I don't know what they might do in such a case... allow us to consult and resolve the concern would be ideal, but they might very well exclude us, and their methods for dealing with the issue might be indefinite detainment, or they may even have more... permanent threat resolution methods within their protocols as well, and I would hate to see that happen should it turn out he is being truthful, and merely bears a bloodline."
back in the room
"Keep in mind, I have given him food and drink and he has accepted guest rights. Until he violates the safety of the household or I give him notice, he has my protection."
nods in greeting to the two visitors
"His wishes in this must be considered. He's in this state now because he allowed himself to be treated as a package, not a man."
Jamil speaks for the first time, his voice quiet and higher than you might have expected, "That does put us in a difficult position. But we could speak with the boy. And what of these others? It might be best if the authorities did not round up a group of Fallen enhanced warriors. Things could get out of hand quickly.
As for the Nephelhim, Jewish texts speak of Angels who lusted after men and beasts, and those unions creating all manner of monsters and giants. Perhaps that is what you have detected and not the presence of one of the Fallen itself. I find it unlikely that it would have simply gone to sleep and let you draw a circle around it."
"It would if it thought it would get us to drop our guard. It knows circles are temporary, and that we'd have to break it if we wanted to move him. Say, to a more secure location where you guys could perform an exorcism."
Aaron bops himself on the forehead as he remembers something.
"Oh yeah. Forgot something potentially important. Someone called asking for a copy of "Myths and Mysteries of Wayland Smith" earlier. But too much of a coincidence for my taste. She said she was working for a comparative mythology professor. I was groggy and forgot to ask for his name."
"You are more than welcome to speak with him. As for the circle... he was not exactly given the opportunity to object. That he has been as cooperative as he has tends to suggest that perhaps he speaks the truth, and yet, where the Fallen are concerned, how much of a chance does one take? Is it playing possum, as the Americans say, figuring we will let it out if we fail to detect a threat? Is it expecting that it can hide well enough that we will be unable to detect it, with even the best of our efforts? Is it waiting to challenge the circle until the right opportunity? Such as when we are weak, or as the magic fades at daybreak? I have no idea what the thoughts of one of the Fallen might be, but no legend I have read of them makes me think they are the type of unthinking, unreasoning beasts depicted by so many Western movies. They are cunning, intelligent, ageless, and known deceivers. I wish to take nothing for granted."
"When we rescued these refugees from their captors, and took the boy into custody while we investigated the deaths, we had none of this information. All we knew was that there had been deaths for which magic had been a factor, and 'Set' had volunteered that the use of those forces had been his. To an extent, he volunteered the information, and was convinced that doing so would mean his life. This was either extremely brave and honourable, or a cunning means to ensure he remained with us and that his companions were scattered, without supervision."
"That their captors had plans for him and his is very likely. They are a threat that have emerged across the Americas, due to the radical shifts that have occurred in the supernatural political spectrum over the last few years..." She keeps an eye on the men to see if they understand what she is referring to; just to get a clue as to how well versed they might actually be.
"Had we known that they might all bear this "Blood of the Dragon", I think we would have acted differently."
Sense Motive: That bit about "threat that have emerged across the Americas" doesn't seem to hit home, leaving them looking quizzical for a moment.
"It would if it thought it would get us to drop our guard. It knows circles are temporary, and that we'd have to break it if we wanted to move him. Say, to a more secure location where you guys could perform an exorcism."
Kishan nods in agreement.
Aaron bops himself on the forehead as he remembers something.
"Oh yeah. Forgot something potentially important. Someone called asking for a copy of "Myths and Mysteries of Wayland Smith" earlier. But too much of a coincidence for my taste. She said she was working for a comparative mythology professor. I was groggy and forgot to ask for his name."
"That does seem more than a touch coincidental. They didn't give the name of the professor, but did she leave her own? A professor in Mythology could be Dr. Nikolaev, he works with me at Harvard, so I think he'd have mentioned it - though we don't all know all of what each other are working on, so it's possible. Another might be Dr. Scully at Boston U. Much more likely it's just a cover story."
Sense Motive: That bit about "threat that have emerged across the Americas" doesn't seem to hit home, leaving them looking quizzical for a moment.
Kishan takes note of that, but leaves it to them to ask, if they want an explanation.
"She said her name was Evelyn Convoyair."
Father Jim draws a rosary from his pocket as well as a pyx, a small box used to transport a consecrated host. He steps into the circle while the Imam waits outside, occasionally flicking his lighter into flame.
The priest says a series of prayers in Latin, the Our Father, a few Hail Marys. He works methodically, a routine that he clearly knows without thought. But he is thoughtful, watching the boys response. The boy does not awake, does not stir, but after a while something begins to happen. The boy's flesh shudders and ripples in small ways. His hair blows in wind you cannot feel, the priest's breath comes in foggy chill.
Still Father Jim presses on.
And then, gradually, you realize that something is wrong. Your focus has been on the man, the boy, punctuated by the occasional click and flare of the lighter. But the shadows in the room, outside the circle, are different. Darker than they should be, strangely contoured. Revealing the past placement of items rather than the present.
And then your breath catches as you breath in chill air and breathe out fog.
As Father Jim Britzger says:
Therefore, I adjure you, profligate dragon, in the name of the spotless + Lamb, who has trodden down the asp and the basilisk, and overcome the lion and the dragon, to depart from this boy
Another voice slides across your spine rolling around the room, somehow both rigid and sinous:
Calling the Fallen Round 1
Kishan 21
Latimer 19
Aaron 17
Wisp 14
Jarrod 11
Odd John?
Let's break that into two blocks: Kishan/Latimer/Aaron then Wisp/Jarrod/Odd John then me with Fallen/Jim/Jamil
I couldn't find John's modifier, so he may need to move up. Also, he could spend a hero point to move to the top.
Activate your own complications that apply.
|
Jarrod watched the proceedings with a cautious eye, unsure of what was happening but knowing that nothing good could come of this. It seemed his gut was right as things took a turn for the weird, before turning down-right malevolent. He quickly rushed over and grabbed his shotgun, hoping that he wouldn't have to use it.
Kushan readrS into her coat, bring out himer well honed piece of 16th century steel for the third time in the evening. Focusing her will into the blade, she brought to life its powers. Instantly the blade lit up bright as a noonday sum, flooding the room with light and banishing shadows in an instant.
. . . . . . . . . . Environmental Control: Daylight (Continuous Duration, Touch Area: Burst, Progression 2: 25 ft Radius)
Casting her eyes about the chamber, she sought sight of any of the creatures, while simultaneously taking stock of her allies.
"Jim! Step out if the circle!"
Near the exit, Kishan can see a pair of glowing green eyes and a vibrating, windblown shadow the height of an NBA Center, but even in her strong light the shadow is indistinct.
Aaron and or Wisp, then John.
Aaron briefly considers drawing his normal sword, but decides it's about as useful as having no weapon at all here.
He dashes across the room, breaking the chalk circle surrounding Balmung, and picks it up. Its names light up in fire and the sword begins to glow slightly as he points it at the Fallen shadow.
"I don't know if this will kill you, but it's worth a shot. How about we find out?"
His eyes narrow into even tighter slits and he prepares to strike the foul thing down.