"Thanks for the info." Max replies and hangs up.
"Team, evidently it's a vampire. Since we removed Dracula from the picture, the vampire hierarchy is in disarray. Vlad was pretty much the unquestioned king of all things vamp, but there are a lot of powers at the next tier who probably think they deserve a shot at the crown."
Shame and grief strike Oswald at the sight of the news. He recoils with guilt.
"Maybe we should reach out to Cesarina. I know she went to do... churchy things so you think it's alright to bother her?"
Peering down at the pumpkin, Æthelweard waves off Gracie's suggestion to contact Cesarina;
"No need to contact her Gracie. I recall an essay by Alexandru Balan entitled Monștri, spirite și diavoli din Balcani... quite a brilliant read it was too... but I digress."
He gestures toward the suspicious squash, then continues;
"Balan wrote that among the folklore of the Romani, a sort of "vampyre pumpkin" exists. When a pumpkin is kept too long in a home, they gain a sentience of sort... draining good fortune and mental fortitude from the home's denizens! Not a particular threat and be destroyed by immersion in boiling water, then sundering with a wooden implement..."
Quite pleased with himself he straightens his back with a wince;
"So easily dealt with I would say. Mystery here is which ambitious vampire put it here in the first place, and for what nefarious purpose eh?"
The lanky academic retrieves what looks like a shaving mirror from his jacket, furtively glancing at it;
What has the brute to say?
His reflection is a burly brute, mirroring his own hair colouring and with the same golden eyes.
"Alright, so bloody pumpkin mash it is. Is it me or is this all entirely insane?"
She holds up her shovel. "The handle will serve as a wooden bashing implement, I reckon. You think we can just steam it in the autoclave? Or we could get water boiling over some bunsen burners in the lab. But I don't know if we've got a large enough container to put it in, except maybe a bucket... Max, any clever ideas?"
Max magically creates the cooking equipment to make vampire pumpkin soup. "Let's just cook and stake this thing. The real issue is the vampire who created it. Where'd you get this thing?"
Though the pumpkin seems normal enough on the outside (with the exception the blood tracery), the flesh is fibrous and dry. You place it in the cauldron that Max conjures, and smash it with the shovel handle. The flesh releases a puff of dust, and the inside of the cauldron is splattered with thick red-black liquid. You take care not to get any of the liquid on you.
Max moves his hands and intones the name "Zozimos", pouring boiling water from a glowing stone.
The only way you can think to describe the results is that the pumpkin...screams.
In the end, you are left with a grey mush.
Cesarina:
Father Law proves resourceful, and soon comes up with the materials Cesarina requests.
Cesarina does the ritual in a relatively secluded space, in order to not terrify the locals. She lets Father Law know ahead of time, in case something happens to her.
The Professor watches impassively as the pumpkin dissolves, before commenting on the discussion;
"Insane indeed, but then what is not when it comes to the supernatural heroics of Eldritch eh? If we are dealing with vampyres or their ilk, then might I suggest the giant would be a better companion? While my knowledge on myth and lore is substantial, our Good Knyght here capably forearmed on such matters..."
Æthelweard chuckles to himself rather gruffly for such cultured scholar...
Although she notices it, she is not necessarily alarmed that the medievalist refers to her as Gode Kc-neekht.
"Hold on, we're not currently under attack, and we are in a greenhouse attached to a laboratory that is part of a conservatory open to the public. Though his sniffer might be useful in tracking where this thing came from, I'd rather leave the giant at home until we know more about what's going on. As I said, I don't know where this thing came from. I was working in here, I saw a flash, and this thing appeared under the tarp. It wasn't here before and I don't think any doors were open. This was oh... 20 minutes ago, max?"
Grace deposits the pot and all with the pumpkin remains in a receptacle destined for an incinerator. "I've dived a good bit into British mythlore. That's a good ways away from the Balkans where you said these pumpkins come from. That's why I thought contacting Cesarina might be a good idea. She's dealt with Vlad before, she might know of other vampires. But I know she's busy. Max, you got any way of finding anything else?"
Max pauses calculating his words. ”I don’t sense any unidentified magic in the area. I might detect some residual magic if it was teleported.”
“If it was placed here, it was probably a vampire. Both for the speed to avoid you noticing and the fruit’s creation.”
“I’m not against contacting Cee. She probably has had more vamp experience, at least more than our encounter with Vlad. I’ve frankly lost track of what she’s doing at the moment.”
“We could use technology. See if this area is key card controlled or under video surveillance. That’s not my specialty, but I’ve binge watched my share of crime dramas.”
“Your call, Gracie. This is your personal space.” Max summarizes and looks to the professor for consensus.
Cesarina:
Father Law proves resourceful, and soon comes up with the materials Cesarina requests.
Cesarina does the ritual in a relatively secluded space, in order to not terrify the locals. She lets Father Law know ahead of time, in case something happens to her.
Cesarina retreats to a prayer cell, not one of stone that an Anchorite might be bricked into, but a modern room of drywall with warm wood trim. Incense sweetens the air and helps her focus.
The room darkens, at least it appears so at first, but then Cesarina realizes that her vision is elsewhere. The place is dark and immense. It takes time, moving in darkness but eventually you find a glimmer of light, sunlight, filtered through forest canopy and twists and turns of stone. A cave. Stone formations spike from the floor and ceiling. From the mouth, you can orient yourself. Miles from the city, deep in the forest.
There is a firm knock on Oswald's door.
"I think we'd best get a vampire expert on this sooner rather than later. This might be some weird prank or something but I'd rather rule out anything worse. We also need to figure out if I was the target or the garden was. I'll send a message to Cesarina, and in the meantime see if anything else weird has popped up here."
She smiles weakly at both of them. "Thanks for coming on short notice, I appreciate it, I really do. You don't have to stick around unless you feel like helping separate seedlings." She looks at her still dirt-stained fingers. With one of them, she contacts security. "Hartwell here again. Code Fuchsia downgraded to Lavender. If anybody's seen anything else weird, or seen anybody sneaking around the staff only area, can they let me know?"
A heavy knock on the door breaks Oswald from his drunken Twilight Zone binge. His room in complete disarray with mountains of beer cans and tiny bottles of liquor around his poorly constructed pillow fort. Ozzie lets out a belch. "Oswald's not here right now. Try again later."
The cave is, like most caves, dark. Technically, it is a cavern, not a cave. Ancient, wet, it winds through the rock like a many headed snake, several mouths open into the rainforest. In places, roots thick and thin stick out of the ceiling, wrapped around stalactites that hand from the ceiling like misplaced fangs.
Whether this is your first time or you hundredth, there is nothing quite as mind clearing as fighting blood sucking monsters in a cave...cavern.
And the monsters...Only a nearly blind person would say they are human shaped, but the general outline is there. Legs and arms are long. The legs end in iron hooks rather than feet, hooks great for climbing stone or trees, or for eviscerating prey. The arms end in many fingered hands, some 8, some 9, some 15. Each finger is tipped in a long iron claw. The teeth, perhaps surprisingly, are blunt, but also iron. Instead of hair, they have long grasping tentacles that end in tiny iron graspers.
And they are everywhere. On the ceiling, the walls, coming out of side tunnels and holes above and below.
Cesarina says these are Asanbosam. Vampires. Descended from a group of cannibals who made a deal with a devil (not the devil, she doesn't think) long ago.
A heavy knock on the door breaks Oswald from his drunken Twilight Zone binge. His room in complete disarray with mountains of beer cans and tiny bottles of liquor around his poorly constructed pillow fort. Ozzie lets out a belch. "Oswald's not here right now. Try again later."
A stylized image of a woman on one of the beer cans moves, wagging a scolding finger, "Now Oswald, that isn't very hospitable."
The knock comes again, this time more insistent.
[ooc]What episode is on?]/ooc]
A heavy knock on the door breaks Oswald from his drunken Twilight Zone binge. His room in complete disarray with mountains of beer cans and tiny bottles of liquor around his poorly constructed pillow fort. Ozzie lets out a belch. "Oswald's not here right now. Try again later."A stylized image of a woman on one of the beer cans moves, wagging a scolding finger, "Now Oswald, that isn't very hospitable."
The knock comes again, this time more insistent.
[ooc]Shadow Play
"Listen, beer can lady, I'm taking a little mental vacation. A bit of R&R. Escaping to my own personal paradise. Just me, these cans, and my good friend Rod Serling."
Grace, who likely summoned her armor and weapon before entering the cave, is more than happy to go to town on these dangerous creatures.
But perhaps cursed by the unluck from the evil pumpkin still, she doesn't seem to be able to connect.
Gracie with Calesvol tears through the beasts like evil butter.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Gracie cuts through vampires, dust flying in the light of Calesvol, iron chunks clinking and rattling against stone. Her armor enhanced movement sends her springing from target to target.
The knock comes again, this time more insistent.
"Listen, beer can lady, I'm taking a little mental vacation. A bit of R&R. Escaping to my own personal paradise. Just me, these cans, and my good friend Rod Serling."
The knock comes again, more insistent this time. Oz can't quite place it. With it a voice: "Oz, look, I know you are busy in there, but we need your help out here."
It is warm, melodious, rich, soft but not quite southern. Oz has the impression that the voice has a mustache, but he isn't sure why.
The Professor merely hangs back in awe of the prowess of their Good Knight.
Gracie continues to slice through iron infused tree lurking vampires. Cesarina burns a few to ash with some holy light, but seems distracted. Something troubles her, tickling the back of her mind.
By the time you are finished clearing the lair, the smell of iron, rust, and blood fill your nostrils. Climbing from the mouth of the cavern, light and rain spill into the opening, a rainbow hangs in the air.
The first unexpected thing you notice is the smell of a cigar, subdued by the rain but still noticeable. Cesarina recognizes the smell as particular to a cigar shop in New Orleans, White Cross Tobacconists.
Into the light pouring into the cave steps a man, silhouetted so you can't see his features clearly. He wears what looks like a bomber jacket and military cut pants and combat boots, and his square head is complimented by a flat top.
"So, Team Eldritch, it seems like you've noticed you've got a vampire problem. Name's Leroy Dutch. You won't have heard of me, I'm afraid."
Before leaving the cave, Grace, out of morbid curiosity, picks up one of the iron fingernails off the stone floor.
Grace nods politely, though looks the man up and down who has conveniently arrived just after they have finished fighting with some level of wariness. "And what brings you here, Mr. Dutch?"
Dutch seems calm. "No need to be concerned. There is nothing within 500 miles that could even think about causing any of us trouble, now that you have cleared that cave. What brings me here is that Mother Superior there has created a vacuum, and you know what they say about Nature and a vacuum. The Count von Count was the lid on a pressure cooker the last hundred and fifty years or so. Reckon you took the lid off without bringing the pressure down. Without a Lord of the Vampires, Vamps got no leader, no one to keep them in their place. No rules. You are going to see trouble, more trouble than my people will be able to handle. And before you ask, "my people" is an organization called ARCADE, and you've never heard of them. And you won't remember them as soon as I leave."
Cesarina glares at the man.
"If we've never heard of you, it means you have some reason to be afraid of the attention of the Church...and team Eldritch for that matter. That doesn't especially incline us to trust you, 'Mr. Dutch'. Particularly not as you've already threatened us with what...mind magic? Telepathic abilities?"
Max actively listens to the "man." The mage is well-practiced at hearing preposterous stories which are all true.
"Well, then do you have a plan or a suggestion of direction? Since you and your ARCADE organization appear to be the experts on vampires." He asks Dutch politely.
"I don't think he's threatening us, Cesarina, so to speak. More like saying the organization's warded from notice." She shrugs. "Though it'd be easier to trust you sir, if you'd shown up to help rather than after the fact."
"Not afraid of the Church. Worked with plenty of Fathers and Mothers and Sisters and Brothers. Don't have much use for religion, as I don't appear to have much chance of heading to Heaven ner Hell. Don't do much threatening, and if I needed to I'd use Betsie, here," he pats the Colt at his hip."Your forgetfulness isn't a threat, more of a fact. Eldrich called it 'The Gravity of Balance.' I never understood what that meant, exactly. But what it does is that only a limited number of people can know about ARCADE at once. As for showing up after the fact, I've been cleaning up the storm you caused in New Orleans before I could get here to talk to you. Also wanted to get to you all at the same time. Makes it easier to have a conversation than to have all of you try to piece it together with fuzzy memories. I imagine Villa would be more of an expert on the toothy lot than I am. But I am an expert on the current situation. Just wanted to give you a heads up. Be happy to stick around for a while. Bessie would enjoy working with Arth...Viv's sword again."
He nods at Gracie.
The knock comes again, this time more insistent.
"Listen, beer can lady, I'm taking a little mental vacation. A bit of R&R. Escaping to my own personal paradise. Just me, these cans, and my good friend Rod Serling."
The knock comes again, more insistent this time. Oz can't quite place it. With it a voice: "Oz, look, I know you are busy in there, but we need your help out here."
It is warm, melodious, rich, soft but not quite southern. Oz has the impression that the voice has a mustache, but he isn't sure why.
Oswald reaches for another cold one. It cracks open with a quick, sharp "tss" before downing the whole thing. He crawls over his cans and cracks the door open just enough to fit his face. "Ok listen, let's get one thing straight: I can't help anyone *hiccup*. I can get in the way, I can clumsily botch the whole thing, or I can simply stay right where I am and not ruin a single thing. If you need my help finishing up a meal or opening up a jar of pickles, I'm your guy. If you need my help saving lives, you're better off calling Grace, Ces or Max. Just don't call the Professor... or me. Deffos not me. "
Professor brow furrows as he takes in the words and countenance of the newcomer;
"Excuse me old chap. You say we won't remember... this all sounds like we are to be mind-wiped or some nefarious method you secret service dark ops people use! I would like to forewarn you if that is your intent Master Dutch... while I, being a humble academic will succumb... you may unlock the oaf... my other. He will not be as malleable, and will likely eat you for trying."
He tips the nod to the Agent of ARCADE;
"Forewarned and all that eh since we're on the same side!"
The knock comes again, this time more insistent.
"Listen, beer can lady, I'm taking a little mental vacation. A bit of R&R. Escaping to my own personal paradise. Just me, these cans, and my good friend Rod Serling."
The knock comes again, more insistent this time. Oz can't quite place it. With it a voice: "Oz, look, I know you are busy in there, but we need your help out here."
It is warm, melodious, rich, soft but not quite southern. Oz has the impression that the voice has a mustache, but he isn't sure why.
Oswald reaches for another cold one. It cracks open with a quick, sharp "tss" before downing the whole thing. He crawls over his cans and cracks the door open just enough to fit his face. "Ok listen, let's get one thing straight: I can't help anyone *hiccup*. I can get in the way, I can clumsily botch the whole thing, or I can simply stay right where I am and not ruin a single thing. If you need my help finishing up a meal or opening up a jar of pickles, I'm your guy. If you need my help saving lives, you're better off calling Grace, Ces or Max. Just don't call the Professor... or me. Deffos not me. "
As Oswald opens the door, an absurdly bright light fills the crack of the opening. Through the bright light, he can see the hallway of his apartment building beyond, but that it stretches to the right and left for what seems like infinity, door after door after door without end. There doesn't seem to be anyone there.
"If I was going to hit you with the weejie-woojie, why would I tell you in advance? I didn't make the Gravity, and I don't control it. Just want you to know up front that this is a temporary sort of arrangement. I would also offer, Professor, that although this is your first time working with me, through some time travel whosiwhatsis, it is my third time working with you. And for proof, I could offer you a sort of watchword, whisper it in your ear like."
He steps toward the professor,
"Wait, what storm in New Orleans have you been talking about? I've been hunting down carnivorous Curcubita maxima."
Max actively listens to the "man" but starts to get impatient with Gravity magic.
He essentially repeats his question, "Right, then do you have a plan or a suggestion of direction? Since you and your ARCADE organization appear to be the experts on vampires the situation."
"Well, any of you ever read Anne Rice? New Orleans is a lot like that, but with more teeth, oh, and more were-jaguars. St. Germain is making his own bid to be the new Lord, and before he could do that he needed to consolidate his power in his home base. A combined 'kill the vampires who aren't on my side' and 'feed on the sheep enough to boost my own power' have put Germain in good position."
"Sorry to have put you good folks hackles up. I'm not here to tell you what to do, but I was thinking I'd make sure to stabilize any portals attemption to connect to theater or