"That is, perhaps, a fair suggestion. We do not, for the most part, know each other, and since we are going into battle, perhaps it's time we learn a bit."
Silver Tiger bows to the group and says "My name is Silver Tiger, and I am the first student at the Temple of Harmonious Balance, as I believe I mentioned earlier. I am trained in the 49 steps and the 7 ways, and I am the master of the Gau Fist. As I said, I was meant to meet with Master Eldritch, but then I was brought here. I know very little of the so-called industrial world, but I do know right from wrong."
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"For those joining Seven in the invasion of the Netherworld, perhaps we should get acquainted before we depart and depend on one another for survival." Sinclair suggests.
Briareus turns and points a couple hands at Sinclair. "That, my friend, is an excellent idea. You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar. How's'about we all bond over a heaping tablefull of shawarma? My treat.
I know this great place, it's practically across the street. Gimme sec."
He again activates his phone and within moments he starts a conversation. "Ay! Big guy! How's Martha? She still puttin' up with yous? Ah yeah, you got dat right!
So how's business? Ya ya shaddup, kick 'em all out, I'm bringin' friends over. Nah, I don't care about all dat. Put all their meals on my tab, give 'em a doggy bag, tell 'em you gotta fumigate or sumpin. Ay, who helped you out wit dat health inspector situation? Ya, ya, that's better.
Look you're gonna make your shawarma, you're gonna make melitzanosalata, dolmades, moussaka, and those nice little courgette balls. Ya, ya, about twenty minutes. Ay, hold on,"
The Hundred Handed One puts his phone down and asks the room, "Hey, do we want him to deliver here or do we wanna eat there?"
Apart from waiting for a consensus, Briareus will immediately agree with literally the first person to express an opinion, and convey that to the restaurant.
"What, exactly, is Shawarma?"
Æthelweard looks quizzically at the Viking revenant;
"Shaggy Breeches? Alas Master Nár I no longer smoke a pipe, and would never keep it in my trews. Risk of burn marks you see?"
Nár = Corpse, Dead man
"As for introductions... Quite. I am Professor Æthelweard Langfellow. Recognised expert in the field of Ancient Myth and Legend... Published several papers that some of you... well one or two of you might have read. Currently employed as Curator for the city's Hunter’s Museum of Natural History. Presuming of course this little jaunt does not annul the arrangement."
The lanky scholar smiles wistfully as he extols his own virtues, then his face hardens as he moves to discuss Eoten;
"My oafish alter-ego you have already met. A giant of antiquity with whom I share a... complex... bond... I can summon him from his gaol in Avalon, at the expense of my own self taking his place. The brute's attributes I'm sure have been self evident."
He pauses, as background talk turns to food;
"A bite to eat would be spiffing Master Briareus. Do they have English tea?"
Gylfir sighs."I wish it were so. I am cursed to unlife, an endless walk upon this Earth, ever denied the glory of Valhalla or any other afterlife. No sensation, little emotion. All passion for life gone."
"It is not a fate I would wish upon my worst foe. The witch who cursed me unfortunately did not share such compassion."
"I-I'm sorry. That's awful. Maybe with all these mythical and magical types around, someone can figure out how to undo the curse."
"Good Knight, if you wish, I can return you to wherever you came from, or I can reach out and find your friend with some assistance from you."
She nods, shifting from side to side nervously. "To be clear, I'm in. I just need to get to Winnie, or get a message to her. If there's time before we go, then yeah, I'd rather do it in person. If there's no time, I'll do what I have to. But she'll contact the Embassy and my parents and start a whole mess if I just disappear. I get that it might be inconsequential if this Una takes on the world, but, well, I'd rather them stay safe not complicate things because they think you've kidnapped me or something. I don't know what the others' lives are like here; like, I reckon the Dunwich here doesn't have parents to ask permission for something, but most folks got someone in their lives. But if the world's about to end... well..." she swallows... "Maybe everyone should get a minute to say goodbye."
"For those joining Seven in the invasion of the Netherworld, perhaps we should get acquainted before we depart and depend on one another for survival." Sinclair suggests.
Grace smiles, fortunately completely oblivious to Max's thought process, and says encouragingly, "See, that's more like it!"
When an opening to introduce herself presents itself: "I'm Grace Hartwell. I'm 18 and I'm from a pokey part of London you've never heard of. Look, I'm gonna be completely honest: one month ago, I nearly drowned, and for reasons I still don't half understand, I got this magic sword bound to me. During the one time I've been in one actual tangle with supervillains, the press called me 'Good Knight Gracie.' Which makes the point, I guess. I chased off two of the supervillains." She looks down at her feet. Those observant or close by may notice she is shaking a little (although her armor makes no noise). "I was beat by the third." She looked up, shifting awkwardly. "I've got no superhero training, no contacts, no teams, and no idea how 90% of this superheroing stuff works. I'm telling you this not because I don't want to help. I do. I will. But I reckon I could also be a total liability for those of you who've been fightin' monsters for thousands of years if I just stumble in and get in your way." She gives a look to Deadman and Dunwich in particular on that. She steadies her jaw. "And despite what Seven said, I've never met a Master Mage before. The woman who bound all this to me, I think she was a faerie or something; anyway, she..." she indicates the armor, "She said a 'darkness was coming' and she gave me what she did to help stop it. No more details than that, but given what Una and all of you have said, this must be what she meant. And I take seriously the responsibility that was given me, and I'm not backing out. At the same time, I know I've got a lot to learn from you." She sputters. "I mean, I don't want to be a burden to you. I know you've got more to worry about than minding an accidental superhero. But well... I'm just saying... I want to help, and I'll try not to get in your way."
She looks at the floor, flushing, deeply self-conscious.
"What, exactly, is Shawarma?"
Grace half-smiles. "Finally, a question I can answer. Shaved meat on flatbread. It's brilliant. Although if you don't eat meat, there's veggie versions too."
"Connections are not always meetings, Grace. Unless I miss my guess, that sword you bear has spend a significant amount of time around Merlin, and he placed his own enchantments on it. Perhaps when time allows, we can go ask him, but for now, food is a good idea. We don't know how long our foray might take, and it is never a good idea for mortals to eat in other realms."
"Have the food brought here, we can eat and plan in the old war room."
Seven directs you do a bank of elevators on the wall behind the reception desk, well, behind where the reception desk had been. As she approaches the elevators, a fan of red light from a sensor above one of the doors washes over the young Master Mage. She steps into the elevator as it opens its doors and punches in series of numbers before beckoning you into the elevators. "I could just open a portal to the basement, but that causes the automated security systems to have a conniption, so best to follow protocol. Cynthia, I'm going to show our guests to the basement. When AEGIS arrives, see to detaining the fomorians and getting the lobby back in order, please. And bring the food down when it arrives"
You step into the capacious elevator, larger than most freight elevators and tall enough even if Eoten were with you. You descend about 60 feet before the doors open. Before you is another large room, this one about 40 by 40 and 15 feet high. The walls are covered in banks of old fashioned CRT screens ranging from 20 inches wide to one that is the full 15 feet tall. In the center of the room is a large U-shaped table with 12 seats.
"Of course, this room is mostly a museum piece now. Almost all Freedom League business is handled from the satellite, but this will do for our purposes."
Silver Tiger will decline any meat on his food.
As they enter the bowels of the building, the Professor limps to the nearest chair and folds himself wearily into it.
"Miss Seven. Your suggested scenario where AEGIS second me to for special investigational case is most agreeable, and will keep our HR department from questioning where their expensive curator's seat remains empty for such time as thwarting this Queen of the Netherworlds takes eh."
He turns his gaze to you all:
"While we wait for Master Briareus' culinary surprises to arrive, I wish to sound you all out on a proposition. Once this is all over, I'd like to mine your collective mythic knowledges on matters supernatural for some papers I may write, perhaps even a book! Don't worry I'm not interested in your exposing any of your identities or such. I'm far more interested in your experience and knowledge pertaining to your areas of expertise or cultural folklore. Something to pass the time between battles and such eh?"
Sinclair follows Seven down to the old war room. He had been there two times before on academy museum tours. So, he knew how long the elevator ride was and what to expect when the doors opened. But this time, he was not there on a tour. It had finally happened. He had made it to the big leagues. His chin still stung from where that Formorian slugged him to remind him that the big leagues hurt.
He walked a similar circuit around the famous U-shaped table as his previous tours failing to stop staring at Seven. Max watched her for any crack in her veneer. She must be as heartbroken as he was about Adrian's death, but the heavy Mantle of the Master Mage had fallen onto her shoulders. She must be completely focused on living up to the high expectations of her previous master and the legacy of Master Mages of Earth. He would do anything for her. And now, he thought that she needed him to support her as a superhero.
Dr. Langfellow's question snaps him out of his introspection. He smiles under his mask. And continues at the same pace to approach his future employer, who he had first met and interviewed with three months ago, while taking off his mask. He reaches out to shake the hand of Dr. Langfellow, "Hello, Doctor Langfellow. You've probably already guessed, because using my last name is not terribly discrete. I look forward to helping you write that book." Dr. Langfellow's future intern, Max Sinclair, sits down next to him at the table with an infectious eighteen year old smile.
"I do not know much about the supernatural, but I would be happy to discuss philosophy with you." offered the young man.
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The food brought down by the simulacra receptionist represents the best shawarma and Greek food in the tri-state area. The lamb meat is hot and lean and well-spiced, the dolmades, stuffed grape leaves, carry anything from rice to pork to mushrooms, the courgette balls are made with a heady mix of zuccinni and feta, and the moussaka is light enough to be cut with a spoon.
"So, yeah, introductions. I been waitin' for this. You heard of Zeus? Ares? Aphrodite? I was there when they was born. They had a real jerk of a dad and they had a war called the Titanomachy. I was Zeus' muscle.
They called my Briareus, my bros, there's more of me, call us Hecatoncheires. Dunwich Horror is, ah, kinda my Super Hero name, y'know? Makes people take me seriously, like.
So, uh, I kinda do hands-y stuff. Like dis."
All his hands shoot out and deliver a small, deliciously smelling bag to each of you. Inside is a flaky and sweet baklava.
"Heh. I love doing dat. And yeah, professor, I seen, like, everything, so I'd love to talk to ya about it.
Anyway, where is dis Una chick an' what are we doing about her? I'm not really an ideas man."
His phone rings.
"Oh, uh, 'scuse for a sec. I gotta take dis.
Oh, hi honey."
He turns away.
He speaks softly, but one gets the impression its the kind of conversation that includes phrases like 'I know I said never again but,'.
As he receives a series of affirmations on his proposal, Æthelweard nods gratuitously then eyes the eager young man who makes his formal introduction;
"Maxwell Athersmith Sinclair... Ah yes, our incoming intern...Excellent references as I recall. Did wonder if it were you... that is Sinclair, but then you could have been a relative or some such."
He shakes the lad's hand with a awkwardly returned smile.
"... Quite... Well I trust we shall both be able to keep our collective secrets? No need to worry the museum's funding board with tales of giants and wizards on their books. Regardless I look forward to working with you in both this capacity and the museums... should we survive of course."
The lanky academic gestures towards the spread before them;
"Did anyone spot any tea in amongst this Olympian feast?"
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Max listens with wonder to the actual Greek titan. "So, your brothers would be Cottus and Gyges? Are they guarding the titans behind the gates of Tartarus, then? Or, should we not believe everything that we read?" He asks with a smile and genuine interest.
He tucks into the meal trying satiate a ravenous hunger. Plus, he remembers Serena's words that they might need eat for awhile. He tries everything and takes three helpings of the stuff that he particularly likes.
Upon the doctor's question, Max jumps up and collects a cup of tea from Cynthia and delivers it to his soon-to-be boss.
"Professor, if we get through all this, I'll be happy to tell you whatever, though I reckon you know more'n I do, unless you want a summary of Marion Zimmer Bradley. My mum's an archeologist, though, maybe she could offer some historic context."
Unchided for her lack of experience, Grace relaxes and tucks into the food when it arrives--after she's done taking in all her surroundings.
As Max gets tea for the professor, "Hey miss," she says to the android, "I wouldn't mind a cuppa, too, please."
Silver Tiger eats very little, mostly just rice, and drinks water to go along with it.
Wordlessly, Max returns to Cynthia to collect a second cup of tea and delivers it to Grace.
While he was affronted with her behavior, he was not raised without manners. He would serve her as he wished to serve Serena. Maybe Serena would notice.
Then, he settles down next to the doctor.
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"Gylfir, son of Hrongar." the undead introduces himself. "The people of the streets have taken to calling me 'the Deadman'."
Gylfir pokes at the strange food curiously, but doesn't actually eat any.
"While we wait for Master Briareus' culinary surprises to arrive, I wish to sound you all out on a proposition. Once this is all over, I'd like to mine your collective mythic knowledges on matters supernatural for some papers I may write, perhaps even a book! Don't worry I'm not interested in your exposing any of your identities or such. I'm far more interested in your experience and knowledge pertaining to your areas of expertise or cultural folklore. Something to pass the time between battles and such eh?"
"Any question I can answer, I will. I have been around a long time, and seen much. So much it's hard to sift through."
When offered, Grace will have a message sent to Win, to tell her and her parents she has to do what the woman who saved her life in the lake asked her to do. She knows if she sees Winifred again, she'll just want to stay, and duty called.
As the tea is offered, "Cheers," Grace says to Max. "Maybe I was wrong about you."
She gestures toward Silver Tiger. "Listen, Seven said we're headin' to another realm and can't eat there. You sure you don't wanna fill up more? If it's a dietary thing, we'll find you something... this might be your last chance to have a decent meal for awhile."
"I must confess that I fear none of what you consume here will suffice for me. Worry not, however, I am more than fine. Thank you for your concern."
The Hypnotist digs into the shawarma, watching the others as they eat and converse. If there was one thing he's learned from years of his profession, it's to observe, as people tend to show their true selves if you just observe.
He made mental notes of each hero. Not on purpose, but out of professional habit. He finally breaks his silence, shawarma swinging freely in his hand as he speaks with a full mouth.
"Mate, this shawarmas is exactly what I needed! Just fantastic. Now, I gotta ask ye Dr. Longfellow, my peoples-- we've got a long-standing tradition of passing down songs, dances, art and all. Y'see, we didn't write our history down, but we sang them, painted them, danced them. There are plenty of academics who've traveled down to Australia to hear from the indigenous population, but y'see, my ah.... how do I put this... the warriors of the dreamtime that came before me, before my gen'ration, they had a strong stigma against sharing our songs. Sadly, our ilk have been wittled down. A lot of the newer warriors are gaining the power but not the knowledge of what came before. I know this might not be your field of expertise, but if you & I can perhaps get t'gether, it could really help us both out."
The Professor nods in thanks at each of the affirmations in turn, between sips of tea and bites of the offered fare.
"Oh you bear a blade of legend, so I'm sure you have some insights my dear. Marion Zimmer Bradley? Not familiar with her... What field does she operate in?"
"Gylfir Hrongarsonn it would be an honour. Look forward to sifting through those memories..."
Æthelweard nods, understanding the issues that Hypnotist raises, then he produces an audio recorder, waving it triumphantly; "Songs can be recorded old boy. Wonders of modern technology! While I deal in the past, must agree that sadly too many cultures and folklore have been consigned to history... Perhaps we can at least stymie this trend eh?"
The thin academic leans back, his face turning more serious;
"As we discuss fare and rationing on this endeavour we collectively embark on... I should mention that the oaf... that is Eoten will, when hungry devour most things. Giants of olde, be they trolls, ogres, oni or whatnot, were renowned as eaters of most things that walk, crawl or reside in the realm. My alter ego is no different and will gorge on anything to fuel himself. You are in do danger... but Mistress Seven's threatened ire will only deter him for so long... Thought it prudent to mention..."
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Briareus salutes The Hypnotist with a fist full of moussaka. "Any time! If I can't splurge for me chumms, who can I splurge for?"
He turns to Sinclair. "Miláte epísis elliniká?"
"Do you speak Greek as well?"
"Ay, sorry, I don't meet many people who got a leg up on the old country. But yeah, my bros are still there. We all of us had a good gig just keeping watch over things. I mean, there's not a one of 'em we couldn't handle if things got outa hand.
Well, I guess there was that one guy...but, eh, you know he got a Special so don't worry about him.
Anyways we're chillin' down there until future wife came down and said Zeus was takin' smack about us, and, oh yeah, there's some stuff going on that she needed help with.
T' make a long story short, badda-bing badda-boom, I get married and I've spent the last couple millennia telling everyone the hundred-handed ones were the -good- guys in all that."
My alter ego is no different and will gorge on anything to fuel himself. You are in do danger... but Mistress Seven's threatened ire will only deter him for so long... Thought it prudent to mention..."[/b]
"Really? A'ight, I'll bring some doggy bags.
Also, ah, where we goin'? When we goin? I'm sorry but did we have a plan that I ain't grabbed?
I'm not that bright."
Seven picks at her food, eating only a couple of falafel and some garlicky pickles. She seems distracted during your conversation, staring into the distance, though given her abilities, perhaps she is looking at things you can't see.
"I can take us to Una's Netherworld easily enough. Eldritch taught me the 1001 keys of Anog, and few realms are barred to such knowledge. I intend to lead our small force to her citadel there. We go in, a small strike team, and take her out. She expects us to meet her here to defend from her invasion, but we can stop it before it starts. Of course, some of you have much more experience than I do, so I am open to your opinions."
"Will you be able to return us once we have beaten her?"
Expertise (Magic = What to expect in the Netherworld?): 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (12) + 16 = 28
Max grins a bit at Grace's comment but doesn't reply.
To Briareus, Max replies a bit startled, "Uh. Is that Greek? Sorry, I can't understand without magic. It only takes a few seconds." He mumbles what sounds like a short lullaby and softly waves his hands.
"Είναι εκπληκτικό. Εάν δεν είναι πολύ προσωπικό, θα ήθελα πολύ να ακούσω για τη γυναίκα που παντρεύτηκες. He leaves it for another time.
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'Get her Ray?' Max quotes Ghostbusters in his head when he hears Serena's plan to stop Una.
He hopes that there is more to it than that. But, he has nothing useful to add, so he stays silently hopeful.
Æthelweard sips at his tea as he listens to Seven's stratagem;
"Would it be remiss to ask about the environment we shall be traversing in this Netherworld? Based on existing lore about such realms I can only presume it shall be dangerous from the offing..?"
Despite the young sorceresses apparent focus elsewhere, the lanky scholar continues;
"... if that is the case, then the oaf may well be required to take the journey. However subterfuge and guile are not his forte..."
Chewing on some pita thoughtfully, Grace tentatively speaks up. "Seven, this woman taunted us that we wouldn't be able to reach her. I've known far too many bullies who say 'you can't catch me' just to lure you in to knock you over. Don't get me wrong, I know you're powerful... but she claims to have done something to Eldrich himself, and if that weren't at least partly true you wouldn't've been handed his mantle, right? I mean, what I'm saying is, what if she is expecting us to try to reach her? What if it's a trap? What are the kind of precautions that be can set up in case things go haywire? Wards and the like?"
While eating, Sinclair turns to the Deadman and asks, "Gylfir, son of Hrongar, where are you from? Or I should I ask when are you from? And, which streets have you been haunting lately?" Then, he stuffs another bite of baklava in his mouth.
"I apologize, I have assumed too much. Let's back up a bit. In the multiverse, there are many dimensions. Some of them are much like ours, and others are different in any number of ways. There are, however, many dimensions that are much like ours in their basic Nature. The way magic works, the way physics works, basic biology, etc. In many of these dimensions, magic is a powerful force, and a sort of guardian is present who is the supreme magical representation of that dimension. This person is not necessarily the most powerful magician in the dimension, though that is often the case, but this person represents, and also influences, magic in that realm. Here on Earth, we call that person the Master Mage. The Master Mage has the ability to make agreements that wind their ways through the magical fabric of the realm. Eldritch was the Master Mage of Earth from 1938 until very recently. If Una agreed to stay out of our dimension, they the very nature of magic would have enforced that bargain. But not all Master Mages are benevolent overall. When a Master Mage places her own power above the needs of her realm, that realm can be twisted, the nature of magic there changing under the will of the Master Mage. We call those realms netherworlds, and there are many. But Una is the most powerful of these dark sorcerers, and her realms have taken on the title of The Netherworld, even though her domain comprises multiple dimensions. It is confusing, I know, but there is no multiversal committee to control arcane nomenclature.
"Una's realm is a sort of mismash of what you might expect from a dark fairy tale and a Dickensian nightmare. The terrain will be like Earth, though intense and bizarre. Her people live in towns and villages, but there are factories and fire driven trains. All of the monsters you would expect from such a fantastical place might be there, with a focus on European tales. Some suggest that Una herself might be from Earth, and that her experience here influenced her realm."
At Seven's descriptions Æthelweard pauses his slurps, the cup of tea hovering as he mulled on the implications;
"Ahem. Mistress Seven. This Netherworld, apart from piquing my interest with mention of dark faerie tales, Dickensian nightmares and monsters of European Folklore... My concern is that there may be a barrier betwixt Avalon, where the oaf is gaoled, and that realm. If there is, then whichever one of we two that traverse to this realm will be there for the duration. I offer vast knowledge, and superior intellect. He... well he is an ancient brute giant."
He raises the cup slowly to his lips, then pauses once again;
"Are we to be incognito? A clandestine operation as Fleming would put it? Or will the oaf blend in as easy as the other monstrous denizens?"
"Giants are likely to be present, most likely as enforcers for Una, trolls, ogres, giants. I believe the spell that connects you with the other one will bridge the space between Avalon and the Netherworld as well as it does here. And as for getting you back, it might be the best idea to make the spell that takes us there an active one. That way if something happens to me, you won't be stuck there."
"Perhaps it is a trap, and maybe we would be better off staying here."
She stands up from her seat, slamming her fist into the table. "DAMMIT, I DON"T KNOW WHAT to do. But what I know is that we can't just sit here."
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Ay oh, oh ay, no worries dear," Briareus pipes up, drinking a green bottle of some exotic malted beverage. "You wanna go right now? I say we go right now. Sooner we start sooner it's over amirite?
I'll get travel bags."
While he calmly sips his bottle, his other arms begin efficiently re-packing the considerable leftovers into large paper bags for easy traveling.
"It is okay to feel anger, but anger is like a ravenous tiger; it will consume everything should you allow it. instead, guide your anger towards that which exists beyond the end of you fist, and you shall surely prevail."
Max stands up when Serena pops by slamming her fist on the table. "Seven, I'm familiar with the 1001 keys of Anog. Maybe, you can show me the key that you're using, so I can open the portal if we get separated."
"Once we're there, I can make us Invisible. Although, those that hunt by scent could still find us," Sinclair suggests and then settles his gaze on the professor for some giantreason.
As Seven slams the table, it settles into Grace's mind for the first time that the glowing-eyed woman is, rather than some legendary connection to the Freedom League, a woman perhaps not much older than herself and taking on a new huge responsibility she never had before. Which makes Grace feel more helpless, less alone, and moreover sympathetic. She gives Seven a look of concern.
"It's not fair, is it, that this gets thrown on us while the big league is somewhere else. But if we're all that's up to this, then we do it. We'll have to hope that the consequences of failure are big enough to keep us from failing. Sounds like Sinclair has a backup plan for getting us in and out. Invisible sounds good, but I reckon this bunch ain't for sneaking about otherwise. If you say we blow through the front door then I guess that's the plan."
As Dunwich cleans up, she snatches one more lamb skewer for the road.
Seven takes a moment to gather herself.
"Well, maybe not the front door. We can attempt to arrive and travel in secret, we only need to get inside her citadel. Anyone ever see that really old movie, Star Wars. It was the first one, I think. I mean, they didn't make them in order or whatever, but it was the first one. A group of heroes sneak into the enemy fortress."
"Was it called Starkiller?" Max replies clearly speaking of Episode 7, not Episode 4 with the Death Star.
"From what I've read about Una's citadel, it sits in the center of a metropolis surrounded by swamps that are full of dangerous plants and animals. In the Citadel of Sorrows is her throne room and something called the Alloy Adytum, some sort of retreat."
"Besides sneaking in there, which will already be challenging, we should try to find Eldritch. If he really is there, Una would want to keep him close so that she could gloat to him about her victory. He could provide some ideas on how to defeat her again." Sinclair offers.
Æthelweard mulls the news that other trolls, ogres and giants will be present in Una's dark realm;
"I take no responsibility for the oaf's actions should you come across others of his ilk. He will probably fight, but is as likely to eat or mate with them... A base brute he most assuredly is."
At the mention of Star Wars, the scholar seems not to register;
"Perhaps a Trojan Horse approach is required? Master Briareus don't you agree? Old myth over new media eh?"
"Grace,"[b] the Hypnotist breaks from his contemplation, [b]"do not doubt yourself. You are young, yes, but you are far more capable than you think."
Seeing the young sword-wielder reach for another skewer, he goes for the last few grape leaves and jams them all in his mouth. He begins to speak before swallowing the massive handful.
"A Trojan Horse of sorts may be a good idea, but at this point, I'd expect Una to be on high-alert. Either way, subterfuge may be our best friend in this endevour. Langfellow, that may mean holding off on conjuring the giant until the right moment. Is that something you feel comfortable with? If not, we can consider something else."
I'd also like to add that we potentially have three ways of entry. Seven with the Key, Sinclair with spell, and I, with a bit of traveling through the Dreamtime."
Æthelweard places his drained tea cup back on the table with a nod toward Hypnotist;
"No problem holding off old boy. The oaf is often a... necessary evil... Of course his physiology is much more robust than mine, so in a tight spot I may need him to ensure my own continued survival upon this mortal coil."
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"Learned Scholar, perhaps you should attempt to understand your other half instead of simply demeaning him. Opposing forces often have more in common with each other than they appear to, and recognizing the other can lead to equilibrium."
"That's nice of you to say," Grace replies to the Hypnotist. "All I can say is I'll try."
As Silver Tiger makes a remark to the Professor, Grace nods. "Well, given Eoten was actually trying to eat one of the fomorians earlier, I get some of the Prof's reservations but..." She shakes her head. "Well, he can't help being big or primitive. It's just what he is. He still fought on our side, and was a real help."
She nods along with the other planning but hasn't much to contribute.
While eating, Sinclair turns to the Deadman and asks, "Gylfir, son of Hrongar, where are you from? Or I should I ask when are you from? And, which streets have you been haunting lately?" Then, he stuffs another bite of baklava in his mouth.
"I was born in the year 763, in Scandinavia. I believe the part you know now as Denmark. I move around a lot, the better to be sure that those I hunt don't know where or when I will strike. Nowhere is safe. At least in theory."
To the greater plan:
"Do we know what time it is over there? Long experience has taught me night raids can be brutally effective." he gives a grim smile. "Perhaps we could catch this sorceress with her pants down. Metaphorically, most likely. But maybe literally if she sleeps in the nude."
"If Adrian is there, we will bring him home. Otherwise, we will see if we can access him in...other ways. As for a night visit, there aren't exactly days and nights in the Netherworld. More different levels of dimness. There is no sun, just a sort of swirling grey and red sky. I have been there before with Eldritch. I'll take us to a small town so we can get our bearings and avoid tripping any alarms at the Citadel. For now, Professor, we will take you and call your counterpart when he is needed. Everyone ready to go?"
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"One moment please." said Silver Tiger, who then began to stretch, and did a dozen pushups before springing to his feet and saying "I am prepared."
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Æthelweard mulls the news that other trolls, ogres and giants will be present in Una's dark realm;
"I take no responsibility for the oaf's actions should you come across others of his ilk. He will probably fight, but is as likely to eat or mate with them... A base brute he most assuredly is."
At the mention of Star Wars, the scholar seems not to register;
"Perhaps a Trojan Horse approach is required? Master Briareus don't you agree? Old myth over new media eh?"
Briareus erupts into laughter as the mental image is painted of the brute putting one priority over another. "HAHAHA! 'Oy, let's go beat'em'up. Oh wait, I gotta nail dis one first.' HAHAHA! Oh man I -gotta- see dat!
Ya, seeing as how I saw how Zeus conducted himself, and, oh man, that guy would nail anything with two legs. No, I take that back. The number of legs didn't matter. But yeah that guy reminds me of my bros, so I'll try t' keep him in check.
Mind, I ain't promising nothing. Especially about holding him back from something I find funny. But, ah, I'll give it a shot."
He snorts a few times, ensuring everything is packed and ready to go.
"A Trojan Horse? Yeah, Idunno. That things was...very specific to the time. Ya gotta remember Troy was just so frickin' happy that Achilles was gone, they'd've eaten that thing if it meant never seeing that guy again.
But this Una broad, she seems more like t' put the whole thing to the torch rather than take it in to her sweet inner sanctum. So I think we should just get there, get invisible, and see how it goes.
I mean, I'd -like- to sneak in, especially if she does sleep in the nude, because hey, when is that not good? But, ah, these evil overlord types tend to do away with things like sleep, so that's not really a given.
I mean, this one time I tried to sneak up and pull down the pants of Janus.
Did not go well, my friend.
We ready to go?"
Half of his hands pick up a large to-go bag and makes ready.
"Ay, if it is time, allow me this prayer. It is one that has been spoken for 40,000 years and it would mean a lot for me to uphold that tradition."
The Hypnotist sets out in the center of the group, feet firmly planted and hands outstretched. Swirls of the Dreamtime begin to well in his hands and dance around the room as he begins his prayer.
May the fire be in our thoughts
Making them true, good and just, May it protect us from the evil one.
May the fire be in our eyes;
May it open our eyes to share what is good in life.
We ask that the fire may protect us from what is not rightfully ours.
May the fire be on our lips,
So that we may speak the truth in kindness;
that we may serve and encourage others.
May it protect us from speaking evil.
May the fire be in our ears.
We pray that we may hear with a deep, deep listening
So that we may hear the flow of water, and of all Creation and the dreaming.
May we be protected from gossip and from things that harm and break down our family.
May the fire be in our arms and hands
So that we may be of service and build up love.
May the fire protect us from all violence.
May the fire be in our whole being –
in our legs and in our feet,
enable us to walk the earth
with reverence and care;
So that we may walk in the ways of goodness and truth
and be protected from walking away from what is truth.
Max tucks his light cloth mask in his pocket, because everyone else is essentially maskless. He stands up and offers to help the professor to stand from his chair.
As part of Next-Gen, Sinclair had been dispatched on missions before. But NEVER before to another dimension, especially THE Netherworld. NEVER before with Seven as the Master Mage and the only representative of the Freedom League on Earth. NEVER with the stakes so high.
But this is where he ALWAYS dreamed to be. Someone with the magical expertise to make a difference for Earth. Uncle Adrian was his hero, as were most of the Master Mage predecessors. Maybe one day, he can be good enough to wear the mantle if Serena wants to retire.
"May the Shield of the Seraphim protect me," Sinclair says while waving his arms flowing with magic.